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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

Text

Also on AO3 finally!! (after it didnt upload for some reason)

Spent and sweating with a look on your face

Word count: 3.6k

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik

Tags: Erectile Dysfunction, blow jobs, fingering, hand jobs, established relationship, smut

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: Happy valentines day @on-a-lucky-tide!! I hope you're having a fun evening!! I wrote smut for you look how brave wow (/j) You literally got me writing fics again with NikPrice back when i would lurk on your blog and here we are many many fics later. genuinely thank you, the community you have fostered here is so kind and genuine, full of support. Its really made coming back to writing fics 100x times easier so thank you for that <333 Sending you many many hugs mate <3

The flat was warm when Price stepped inside, shaking off the last of the evening chill. The low hum of the television filled the space, some old war film playing in the background, but the real sight that caught his eye was Nik—stretched out on the couch, legs lazily spread, book in one hand, the other draped over his stomach, bare from the waist up.

Price let the door swing shut behind him, exhaling slow as he took in the sight. Nik must’ve showered earlier—his hair was still a little damp, curling at the ends, and his skin carried the faint scent of something clean and familiar. He looked entirely at ease, utterly unbothered, a stark contrast to the long day Price had just waded through.

Nik barely glanced up, shifting only enough to tip his chin toward him. “You’re home.”

“Mm.” Price rolled his shoulders, slipping off his jacket, boots clunking softly as he toed them off. He walked over and leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to the top of Nik’s head, breathing him in. “Missed you.”

Nik huffed, amused, but didn’t protest when Price pressed another kiss, this time at his temple. “You always miss me.”

Price hummed in agreement, letting his fingers drift across Nik’s chest, over warm skin and old scars. “Yeah, well. Hard not to.”

Nik still didn’t put the book down, but the hand on his stomach shifted slightly, thumb grazing along Price’s wrist in a lazy, absentminded touch. That small, unconscious bit of affection had Price’s chest going warm, a deep, settled thing curling under his ribs. He kissed his way down, cheek brushing against Nik’s jaw, lips grazing the corner of his mouth.

That earned him a glance, sharp but not unwelcoming. “You are in a mood,” Nik observed, though there was no complaint in it, only quiet amusement.

Price grinned, pressing his weight forward, nudging Nik until there was nowhere for him to go but down, until the book slipped from his grip entirely and onto the floor. “Yeah, maybe.”

Nik exhaled a laugh, letting Price crowd into his space, the shift in weight naturally pulling him to sit up straighter. His hands found Price’s waist instinctively, steadying him as Price settled right into his lap, slotting against him easily. The kisses deepened, slow but sure, Price’s fingers threading through Nik’s hair as he tilted his head up, coaxing, unhurried.

Nik let out a low sound, soft and indulgent, his hands resting warm against Price’s back. But there was something else, something in the way he wasn’t quite leaning in the way he usually did. Price could feel it before he could name it—the slight hesitation, the way Nik responded but never took the lead, the small, nearly imperceptible pause between kisses.

It took him another breath to realise.

Nik wasn’t quite in the mood.

Not in the way Price was.

Price eased up just a fraction, pulling back enough to meet Nik’s gaze properly, studying him. Nik looked back at him, a small flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, something Price recognised but hadn’t quite placed yet.

That was when he understood.

Price let his hands slow, still resting against Nik’s jaw, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones. He could feel the tension beneath them, just barely there—like a string pulled too tight, not quite snapping, but not entirely at ease either.

He pressed one more kiss to Nik’s mouth, softer this time, less intent behind it. Then another, trailing the last of his affection along Nik’s jaw before murmuring against his skin, “You alright?”

Nik exhaled, hands tightening slightly where they rested on Price’s back. His mouth pressed into something wry, something just shy of apologetic. “Yeah,” he said, and Price could tell it was mostly the truth—but not entirely.

Price tilted his head, studying him. “Don’t look it.”

Nik huffed out a short laugh, but there was no real humour in it. He shifted a little beneath him, hands rubbing slow, absentminded circles into Price’s lower back. “Just—” He exhaled again, shaking his head slightly. “My body is not responding how I want it to. My apologies Mishka,”

He didn’t move away. Didn’t roll off Nik’s lap or pull back as if this changed anything, because it didn’t. Not in any way that mattered. Instead, he smoothed his hands down Nik’s shoulders, feeling the tension beneath them, and leaned in just a little, forehead brushing against Nik’s.

“That alright?” he murmured, voice low but steady, nothing teasing in it, just a quiet offer to let Nik set the pace, to let him take a breath.

Nik’s hands gripped his waist, grounding. He let his eyes close briefly before opening them again, meeting Price’s gaze with something grateful in them, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud. “Yes,” he admitted. “I-uh–,”

“I know.” Price interrupted.

Nik sighed again, this time more at ease, hands rubbing warm against Price’s back. “Sorry, lyubov.”

Price scoffed, leaning in to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be stupid,” he muttered against his lips. “Not something to be sorry about.”

Nik didn’t answer right away, but some of the tension melted out of him, his arms curling around Price’s back, holding him there as if to prove to himself that this was still alright. And it was. Of course, it was.

Price let him sit with it, let the moment settle between them like the steady rhythm of their breathing, warm and unhurried.

Eventually, Price smirked slightly, nosing at Nik’s temple. “Still think you look good like this, though.”

Nik let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”

Price grinned, kissing him again—because, really, that was the truth of it. “Can you tell me when to stop? I wanna try somethin’, yeah love?”

“Always.” Nik breathed against Price’s lips.

Price hummed, letting his fingers drift along Nik’s jaw, the rasp of stubble familiar under his touch. He tilted Nik’s head up slightly, capturing his lips again—slow, unhurried, not pushing, just feeling.

Nik sighed against him, the tension in his shoulders loosening further as Price traced lazy circles over his skin, letting the warmth between them settle into something comfortable. The moment didn’t need fixing, didn’t need salvaging. It was already good—just the two of them, close like this, the low hum of the television still playing in the background.

Price shifted slightly in Nik’s lap, hands smoothing down his sides, the fabric of his shirt bunching under Nik’s grip. His touch was steady, grounding, and Price could feel him relaxing under it, the way Nik’s breathing evened out, the slow drag of his fingers against his back.

“Still alright?” Price murmured, lips brushing against the shell of Nik’s ear.

Nik exhaled, a hint of a smile in his voice. “You do not need to keep asking.”

Price chuckled, trailing his mouth along the line of Nik’s throat, pressing another kiss there, then another. He felt the faint shudder that ran through Nik’s body, the way his grip on Price’s waist tightened just a little.

“Let me take care of you, then,” Price murmured, voice lower now, something softer laced beneath the words.

Nik’s breath hitched—just slightly—but his hands never wavered where they held him. “Mishka…” he murmured, and Price could feel the weight behind it, the quiet trust.

He kissed him again, deeper this time, fingers curling into Nik’s hair, coaxing, guiding, letting the warmth between them start to build again, slow and careful.

He felt Nik’s large paws untuck the hem of his shirt and start hiking it up, reluctantly pulling away from Nik’s addicting warmth to get his shirt off and chucked at the floor. Nik didn’t waste any time and went right for Price’s belt, opening it and unbuttoning his trousers.

The rough calluses on Nik’s palms scraped against his skin in a familiar way as Nik ran his hands all over the newly exposed skin. Nik brought his hand back up to Price’s chest, squeezing and groping at any skin available before finding his way to Price’s nipples, his hips jerking with every pinch and flick.

“Always so sensitive for me,” He groaned against Price’s lips.

“Mmm, just you, Nik. Let me–Ah!” Price was interrupted by Nik wrapping his lips around a nipple and sucking with just the right amount of pressure. His grip in Nik’s hair tightened and he dragged him back up, connecting their foreheads together. “Let me get you out of these, please.” He heaved out, gesturing at Nik’s soft sweatpants.

Price slid off of Nik’s lap and let him readjust against the couch as he knelt in between those gorgeous thick thighs.

“John, as beautiful as you are on your knees I really do not see why you are down there,” Price huffed a laugh at that, clearly Nik has no idea what’s in store for him this evening.

“Just sit back, let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Nik responded, still unsure what exactly his lover had in mind but they always found a way to have fun, he had to trust Price with this part of him too.

“Okay,” Price started to tug down Nik’s sweatpants and underwear in one go, pausing to let Nik raise his hips and trailing his hands all the way from his thighs to his calves, slowly and deliberately taking them off. Once they pooled around Nik’s ankles Price tugged them off gently and nudged them aside. He took a second to just admire his partner, laid out like this, naked and so trusting it was intoxicating.

Now that his sweatpants were off, Price could touch freely without the abstraction of fabric in his way, and he did just that. Running his hands along skin and feeling every inch of skin as his hands went higher up he could feel the hair thinning on Nik’s inner thighs before getting coarse again closer to his cock. Price just repeated this motion a couple of times, he couldn’t help himself. No matter how many times he’d done this, been on his knees for Nik, memorised every inch of his skin, it would never be enough for his greedy hands.

“You ever put the lube away from a couple days ago? Or should I go fishing in our couch?”

“Ah, you may have to use your skills and find it, Captain.” At Nik’s sheepish reply, Price dug his hand in between the cushions until he grasped the bottle and pulled it out. Setting it beside his knee for later he brought his hands back to Nik’s thighs.

Wrapping his hands around them, Price yanked Nik forward, eliciting a surprised yelp from the man above him. He shuffled forward a little and looked up at Nik as he opened his mouth and dragged the tip of his tongue from Nik’s inner thigh, up his sac and all the way to the tip of his soft cock.

“John, fuck, you have to know, you look, absolutely sinful but…it may not work,”

Price pulled back slightly, “I’m not trying to get you hard, Nik. I just want to make you feel good, let me do that. Please.”

Nik nodded at that, deciding to get out of his head and let Price do what he wants. What he wants is rarely ever deserving of a complaint from Nik, why should that change now?

Price could see Nik’s whole body slowly unwind as he relaxed into the couch, tilting his head back and slowing down his breathing. Price smirked up at Nik through his lashes,clearly pleased, it sent a shiver down the Russians spine.

Price just continued running his hands over as much of Nik’s body as he could reach even as he tilted his head towards Nik’s balls, mouthing at the skin there, inhaling his intoxicating scent that somehow always lingered even after a shower. Price felt his own cock twitch just at the smell of his partner, nuzzling further into the crease where Nik’s cock and his thigh met. Licking and tasting that area, sucking a teasing mark into the thin skin there before moving upwards.

Nik was still soft but that didn’t deter Price, he just wrapped his lips around the soft length of his partner and sucked the head into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of Nik in his mouth, making sure to pull back and then sink further down, getting Nik’s cock wet to avoid any discomfort as he continued to bob his head.

Price suddenly took Nik all the way down his throat, swallowing around the tip of his cock and burying his nose into the thick, dark patch of hair at the base of Nik’s cock. Inhaling deeply, relaxing his throat, Price reached blindly by his knee for the bottle of lube he had left there earlier. Sucking gently around Nik’s cock to keep him distracted and to keep those soft sounds coming from above him flowing, Price uncapped their lube, squeezed a small amount of it into his hand and rubbed his fingers together to spread it around.

He lowered his shoulders and rounded his back enough to get Niks legs over his shoulders, Price straightened, bringing Nik's legs up with him slightly startling the other but Price just kept up the soft, slow bobbing of his head.

He wrapped his dry hand around Nik's thigh gently kneading at the muscle and fat there, the fingers covered in lube pressed against Nik's perineum, probing softly at the skin there.

"Mm, feels good, John," Was heard above him as a hand gripped the hairs on the top of Price's head, trying to speed up the slow, lazy pace Price had set. Price wanted to keep this gentle and soft for Nik but the sound of him, the feel of him, the smell of him made that quite the challenge.

Instead of speeding up however, he decided to move his finger further along to nudge gently against Nik's opening. Spreading the warmed up lube around before slowly inching the tip of his finger in. Nik gasped above him at the feeling, spreading his legs further and melting into the couch. The movement forced Price further onto Nik's cock, choking him slightly, Price groaned at the feeling before pulling off to get some air in his lungs.

He took the opportunity to bite around Nik's thighs, to suck some light marks into the thin skin of his inner thigh. Price moved back to Nik's balls, licking at them as he pushed his finger further inside of Nik.

Price started thrusting his finger in and out and Nik, slowly and gently fucking him, working him up to the second relatively quickly. He nudged the second one in next to the first, gently pushing in, feeling the walls around his fingers tighten then relax around him.

Price trailed his tongue across Nik's cock to get it back in his mouth, feeling it twitch and leak under his tongue was intoxicating, knowing his partner was enjoying this even if he wasn't hard was heady. Or maybe that was just what being in between Nik's thighs does to him.

His fingers pushed in then pulled out gently, easing in so carefully until they were fully inside Nik. Now, Price could actually start fucking Nik. He started thrusting his fingers in faster and moving them around inside Nik until a particular spot had Nik moaning out his name, brokenly stuttering around some praise for Price.

He kept going, massaging that spot, bobbing his head and swallowing around Nik's soft cock. The man above him groaning and moaning in a mix of Russian and English. Price's name, his rank, anything to let him know he needed to keep going.

Price himself wasn't faring any better, his own neglected cock twitching with every pull of his hair, every groaned out piece of praise. His focus fully on the man under him, on making him feel as good as possible. Price's hips kept stuttering and jerking, the friction from his trousers digging into him, a mix of pleasure/pain that felt achingly good.

Suddenly Nik's moaning got more frantic. "Mishka, please, please—ah—keep going, just like that. Fuck! I—,"

Price could feel Nik's cock twitching inside his mouth, his hole fluttering around his fingers before tightening, stopping Price's shallow thrusts, forcing him to just keep moving his fingers inside of him, stroking that spot inside that had Nik so incoherent.

"I think I can—yes, yes, yeah, fuck, John!" Nik gasped above him, warning Price if he wanted to pull off. He was tugging at Price's soft locks trying to push him away, then pushing him lower.

Price swallowed around Nik and kept that same motion on his prostate until he felt Nik's cock twitch one final time and then his mouth was flooded with the taste of his partner. He really wasn't sure if Nik would even come when he got down on the floor but the reward of having made Nik come while he was soft was almost enough to push himself over the edge. Moaning around the length in his mouth, he kept his ministrations going, not stopping the movement of his mouth or his fingers, prolonging Nik's orgasm as long as he possibly could.

He kept going even as Nik started twitching above him, groaning from overstimulation.

Nik slurred above him, "John, fuck, enough, please."

Price took pity on him, pulling back, making a show of licking his lips even as he brought his mouth back to Nik's thighs. Sucking even more marks into his skin as he pulled his fingers out, making sure not to touch his prostate anymore. Nik hissed above him at the feeling.

Price finally actually pulled away, not before pressing a couple kisses across Nik's legs, lowering them gently from around his shoulders.

"So?"

"So?" He chuckled, "So, my love, you have completely melted my brain. Surely you can see that?" Nik slurred out, he sounded a little drunk even. But then, he looked down and saw Price.

Price who had tears collecting on his lashline, Price who's hair was sticking up in about a million ways. Price who's lips were red and swollen, spit slick chin shining in the dim light of their living room. His hard cock leaking into his pants leaving nothing to the imagination about how worked up he was. Really, it was his eyes that did Nik in, they looked so far away, that piercing blue gaze clouded with lust.

Nik sprung into action. He dragged Price back up, manhandling him into his lap, eliciting a yelp from Price. He tugged the waistband of his pants down, freeing his cock.

"Mmmph! You don't have to, love" Price said against Nik's lips, hand grabbing his wrist to stop him. "I just wanted to make you feel good."

"You did, solnyshko, so good, really. Now, can I please touch you?"

"Alright. Yeah, go ahead," He sighed out.

Nik took that as his go-ahead to wrap his hand around Price's cock again, not taking the time to tease him at all just started moving his hand. He let Price fuck into his fist as he pleased, the lewd, wet sounds that were a result of pleasuring Nik echoed in the room.

"Won't last long. Didn't realise how worked up I was,"

"Let go whenever you want, John."

"God, you're so good at that. Know exactly what I need." Nik pulled him into a searing kiss for that one. Tasting himself on Price's tongue was always his favourite part of this, knowing exactly what they tasted like together.

Nik rubbed a hand up over his back, into his hair, dragging it back to his chest to flick at a nipple. He kept his hand moving over Price's cock, not slowing down for a moment, matching Price's thrusts until the man above him started shivering and panting into his mouth more than kissing him.

"Yeah, just like that Nik, almost there, love," Breathlessly moaning and panting as he neared the edge. What sent him over was actually pulling away a little and looking into Nik's eyes. All he saw was pure love and adoration there, it was too much for him, he finally let go and came.

His entire body was shaking and twitching as he came, moaning Nik's name, panting as he slowly came back down to earth and looked down. He groaned at the sight—Nik’s hand and ring slick with his spend, his grip still loose and warm against him.

Nik exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded with something soft, something undeniably fond. “Mmm, shower?” he asked, voice still thick with warmth.

“You may have to carry me there.”

Price huffed a laugh, reaching up to brush damp strands of hair back from Nik’s forehead, thumb grazing the side of his face. “I think I can manage.”

Nik’s fingers flexed slightly against his waist, grounding, and Price leaned in again, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth before murmuring, “I love you, Nik. All of you, yeah?”

Nik let out a breath, eyes closing for a moment before flicking back open, steady and full of something deep and settled. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I love you too, Mishka.”

Price kissed him again—soft and lingering, not leading anywhere this time, just there, just them. Nik sighed against him, content, before shifting beneath him, making a quiet sound of protest as Price finally pulled away.

“We should go get cleaned up,” Nik murmured, stretching his arms with a lazy groan. “Then you can tell me all about that meeting, mm?”

Price rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his grin. “Over dinner?”

“Of course,” Nik hummed, squeezing his side as he made to stand. “Come. You promised to carry me.”

Price let out a grumble, but when Nik’s weight leaned into him, trusting and warm, he found he didn’t mind in the slightest.

#john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #captain john price #title is from thinking of you - a perfect circle #smh ao3 why #its fine its up now :O #very late but oh well #thinking about ED Nik again its such a good concept i need to revisit that #when im better at writing smut though oop

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

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Finally on AO3 after it lied to me telling me it was up smh

Go read it on there if you prefer :O

You call my bluff, how can I keep this up?

Word count: 1.2k

Relationships: implied GhostPrice

Tags: Very silly, inspired by art, Ghost is very down bad, they arent together yet

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: This is a gift for the lovely @gomzdrawfr we barely know each other but i absolutely love your art it always brings me a lot of joy. This particular drawing hasnt left my mind since you've uploaded it and ive been dying to write for it so now i have. Happy valentines day! <33 Hopefully this doesnt freak you out my bad if it does 0_0

Simon Riley prided himself on discipline. A soldier’s mind was supposed to be sharp, focused, unwavering—trained to cut through distractions like a blade through fog.

Unfortunately, Ghost’s mind was none of those things at the moment.

Because right now, all he could think about was lifting his Captain.

It had started as a passing thought, one of those ridiculous notions that flit in and out of consciousness before being dismissed outright. But the problem—the real, pressing issue—was that he didn’t dismiss it. He let it linger. He let it take root.

And now? Now it was a full-blown fantasy.

Price wasn’t even doing anything particularly remarkable. He was just there, standing at the other end of the room, sleeves rolled up, a cigar hanging lazily between his fingers as he pored over mission reports. The bastard didn’t even realise what he was doing, didn’t realise how profoundly, cosmically annoying it was that he looked so unbothered. So effortlessly composed. So fucking liftable.

Ghost flexed his fingers absently. He was pretty sure he could do it. No, scratch that—he knew he could do it. He’d been working out more lately, upping his deadlifts and bench press, and Price wasn’t that much heavier than the weights he’d been throwing around. Maybe a bit more solid in the middle, sure, but Ghost wasn’t about to let that stop him.

His mind supplied a vivid image of how it might go: him stepping up behind Price, arms looping around his waist before hoisting him clean off the ground like he weighed nothing. He imagined the startled grunt Price would make, the way his cigar might tumble from his lips in sheer disbelief. Ghost would hold him there, suspended mid-air, feeling triumphant and smug as Price swore up a storm. Maybe even toss him over a shoulder for good measure.

A slow, creeping warmth spread through Ghost’s chest. Fuck, I really wanna do it.

And then the thought—the dangerous, irrational thought—took an even more deranged turn.

What if he just… buried his face in Price’s back? Just thunked his head against him like some oversized cat marking its territory? What if he just took a big inhale too? What if he just filled his lungs up with Price's intoxicating scent?

Ghost had seen videos of big cats rubbing against their handlers, knocking them around with sheer weight alone, and now the mental image of himself doing that to Price was seared into his mind.

Would Price let him? Probably not. But maybe. If Ghost timed it right. If he made it quick enough, took advantage of Price’s soft spot for him.

Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?

He scrubbed a hand down his mask, barely resisting the urge to groan. He was losing his goddamn mind, and the worst part was, he wasn’t even ashamed of it. If anything, he was tempted.

Because it wasn’t just some unhinged urge—it was Price.

It was the way Price carried himself, all rough edges and commanding presence, but with the kind of warmth underneath that Ghost couldn’t look away from. It was the way he laughed, the rare deep rumble of it that made Ghost’s chest go tight. It was the way Price had a habit of standing too close, completely unaware of how much space he actually occupied in Ghost’s head.

It was the way Price had his little habits—how he’d run a hand down his beard when he was thinking, or the way he bounced when he was feeling restless, fingers gripping his vest. The way his accent thickened when he was particularly exasperated, or how his blue eyes sharpened when he was assessing a situation. Ghost could list a dozen things about the man that made his brain short-circuit, and not a single one of them had anything to do with the fact that Price was his superior officer.

He wasn’t just some bloke Ghost wanted to wrestle to the ground for fun. No, it was something worse, something worsebecause it came with an emotion Ghost didn’t quite have a name for but felt deep in his ribs whenever Price clapped a hand on his shoulder or called him ‘Simon.’

Ghost sighed and slouched further into his seat, arms crossed. Maybe if he just stopped looking at him—

“Yer makin’ that face again.”

Ghost stiffened, head snapping up. Price was looking at him now, one brow raised in amusement.

Shit.

“…What face?” Ghost asked, voice carefully neutral.

“The one where you’re plottin’ somethin’ daft.”

Ghost blinked. He was absolutely not making that face. He was making his normal, everyday blank expression. The same one that had struck fear into the hearts of enemy combatants for years. There was no fucking way Price could tell that, just moments ago, Ghost had been contemplating rubbing his head against him like an over-affectionate housecat.

How he could even read Ghost's expression through the mask had always been a mystery. Price knew him too well, it should scare him but it doesn't, it never has.

“I’m not plottin’ anything,” Ghost lied.

Price hummed, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.” He turned back to his reports but didn’t drop the smirk. “Whatever you say, Simon.”

Ghost exhaled slowly. Disaster avoided.

And yet—and yet—

The urge still hadn’t left.

No, if anything, it had gotten worse. Because now, in the absence of fantasy, his brain had moved into problem-solving mode. Could he get away with it? Could he pull it off? If he were fast enough, if he caught Price off guard, maybe—

Ghost bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe he needed to accept that this was just who he was now. A man consumed by the overwhelming, irrational desire to manhandle his Captain and fucking nuzzle him. A lost cause.

A complete and total, lost cause that was actively fighting for its life as Price casually stretched, arms rolling back, giving Ghost a perfect view of his broad shoulders and back flexing under the fabric of his shirt.

Ghost’s jaw clenched. His hand curled into a fist.

Get. A. Fucking. Grip.

“Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t involve me having to clean up any of your messes.” Price’s voice snapped him back to the present.

Ghost barely processed the words. All he could focus on was the fact that, when Price shifted in his seat, his damn jacket rode up just slightly, exposing a sliver of his back, displaying all the little moles and freckles and those two distinct dimples in his lower back that look perfect for his fingers to dig into and oh, for fuck's sake.

Ghost clenched his fists.

He was going to lose it.

He was actually going to lose it.

He had to get out of here before he did something insane. Like follow through on these godforsaken thoughts.

“Right,” Ghost muttered, pushing himself up from his chair a little too quickly, a little too stiffly. “Gotta… check on something.”

Price barely glanced up. “Mmhm.”

Ghost turned on his heel, marching toward the exit. He needed fresh air. He needed to not be in this room thinking about how catastrophically down bad he was.

As he reached the doorway, he heard Price’s voice again, this time tinged with unmistakable amusement.

“Oi, Ghost.”

Ghost paused but didn’t turn around.

“…If you’re thinkin’ about doin’ whatever it is you’re thinkin’ about doin’—” Price’s smirk was practically audible. “—I’d think about it first.”

Ghost didn’t respond. Just gritted his teeth and forced himself to step outside before he did something really stupid. He couldn’t move until the door shut behind him. He inhaled deeply, exhaled through his nose, and flexed his fingers at his sides.

Maybe, maybe he could let this ridiculous urge go. Maybe he could shove it back into the depths of his mind and act like a normal person.

…Or maybe, just maybe, he was gonna pick the perfect moment to put his theory to the test.

Because one day—one day—he was gonna lift that man.

And no force on earth was going to stop him.

#john price #simon ghost riley #captain john price #ghostprice #priceghost #title is from anything you want - JAWNY #ao3 try not to delete my shit challenge impossible apparently #jacks fic didnt go up either :)#its fine pfft just annoyed #anyway its up now :D

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

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hoping these are actually in the wip pfft but for the guessing game thing: gaze or muttered :O

Q, my beloved 🧡

My Witcher AU for the Big Bang Event has 14 results for gaze (its 25K long, so I have an excuse at least xD)

“Pass out,” Nik says seriously, the somber tone making Price meet his gaze as he continues, “You wouldn’t stop screaming. You…begged for it to stop. I didn’t know what else to do, so I…” Nik trails off and cringes in on himself, guilt etched into his face. Price realises what he means.

As for mutter, I figured I'd pick one of the other WIPs I've got cos i think it turns up in all of them xD This is from the GazRoach horror thread I'm still kinda playing with.

“Alright, so far we have more dust. That’s a surprise.” Gaz mutters, panning his light around. Metal bunks are haphazardly strewn around, rusted and sagging with the motheaten remains of blankets rotting where they’ve fallen to the floor.

#actually so excited about the horror thing it looks so cool from what ive seen #(not meant to rush you or put pressure ofc)#and im a joy???? hexx youre so sweet wtff <33 #i do think those are pretty common words tbf but even when i looked at my own wips i was like huh #more and less then i thought at the same time #how?#no idea lmao #super excited for the big bang as well its such a cool event :O

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

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Sleep for the ask game (seeing as I also can't sleep) <3

eyyy join me in the sleepless night wooo!! (don't its really not that fun its just me blasting metal through my headphones while i make bread and pickles lmao)

I'm actually going through my wips right now seeing whats worth keeping/combining or deleting so sleep is here in two different wips since both docs were open :O

This ones the (so far) opener for the smut scene im working on

“Thought you’d sleep in for once,” Ghost muttered, leaning down to meet Price’s lips in a lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed—just a slow, easy press of their mouths, like they had all the time in the world.

second one is from an actually touch-starved Ghost poly141 thing that i never knew what to do with, gonna see if i can work this scene into anything coherent before i archive it lol

He remembered the first time he’d been able to hug Price, the way he’d held him tightly, steady and sure, his silence a quiet reassurance that left Ghost feeling vulnerable in a way he hadn’t anticipated. That moment had been a turning point, a sign that maybe he could let them in, even if it took time. And then there was Soap—his ever-warm presence, who’d somehow coaxed him out of his own head that first night they’d slept close. He could still feel the warmth of Soap’s hand on his back, tracing gentle, calming circles that had lulled him into the best sleep he’d had in years. And Gaz—Ghost felt his chest tighten with fondness at the memory of Gaz’s quiet patience, the way he’d spent weeks researching ways to help, bringing Ghost suggestions without ever pushing, encouraging him to take things at his own pace. It was Gaz who’d suggested nights like this, slowly, a few minutes at a time, until they could finally share the closeness they’d all wanted in deep sleep.

i really liked what i wrote i just have no idea what to do with it. hmmm we'll see it may yet see the light of day :O

#asks #lionamongfoxes #im slowly losing it with the sleep thing #my sleep schedule has been fucked which means insomnia is winning #am i helping by spending all night doing food prep and experiments in my kitchen?#no not really lmao but im having fun and my brain is slowing down for the first time all week so ill take it !!#thanks for the ask though!!! i hope you do get some sleep eventually <33

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

Note

do you have nowhere somewhere?

i actually have all three anon pfft

the game referenced :O

Nowhere:

Ghost responded in kind, his movements deliberate but growing more frantic as the tension between them mounted. His fingers found their way to Price’s hair, tugging just enough to earn a low groan that vibrated against his lips. The sound sent a spark through Ghost, and he leaned in further, his weight bearing down on Price until there was nowhere else for them to go.

Somewhere:

Ghost let out a low sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan, his hands gripping the back of Price’s chair as if to steady himself. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Price’s ear as he spoke, his voice low and rough. “You talk too much, John.”

Ghost hesitated for the briefest moment—just long enough for Price to notice, to look up and meet his gaze, as if asking for permission without a word. And when Ghost gave a short nod, his lips pressed into a firm line, Price made quick work of the shirt, dragging it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind them without a second thought.

Told:

Price huffed a laugh, his voice laced with exertion but still tinged with maddening amusement. “Don’t look so surprised. Told you—I’ve thought about this.”

#asks #anon #this is interesting actually never thought about what words im using often or not pfft #trying a new brand of yeast if this fails me im gonna cry /j #i wish my oven could do sourdough so i didnt have to use yeast so often #but alas it is a microwave oven that can barely cook focaccia

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

Note

took for the game!

the game in question :O

Took appears twice!!

Whatever playful teasing had been between them was long gone, replaced by something raw and consuming. Snaking a hand into Ghost's hair, Price pulled him back with a gasp and looked up at Ghost, his chest heaving, his brown eyes burning with want as he took in the sight of his lover—flushed, ruffled, and completely his.

This is from the ghostprice smut i wrote an age ago and well, im continuing it so heres the second instance further into the fic!

Price’s laugh was dark, his hands slipping higher, taking Ghost’s shirt with them and exposing his back to the cool air of the office, his palms splayed against Ghost’s broad back soothed the shiver the action elicited. “Don’t hear you complaining.” He tilted his head, capturing Ghost’s lips in another kiss—this one hotter, more insistent, as if he was trying to imprint himself in every breath Ghost took.

#asks #anon #q speaks #didnt think this word appeared at all so surprise there :O #attempting a new lacto ferment lets see how it goes #have a whole list of things for tonight cause sleep eludes me #rip my sleep schedule and work tomorrow but its fine 0_0

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

Text

Fanfiction Work-In-Progress Guessing Game

Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in

#ooooo #looks fun :O #i can't sleep so im stress cooking #this could be interesting :D

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

Text

I'm crossposting, this is also on AO3 now!!

Proclaim eternal victory

Word count: 1.1k

Relationships: GazRoach, Gaz/Roach

Tags: love confession (kind of), first kiss, competitive Roach

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: Happy valentines day @hexxedghost!! I actually really struggled to write something for you cause you like so many things but I did include Roach cause i just had to. Its how we started talking anyway so it had to be done :D I hope i got their dynamic right, it was fun to write smth a little random like this instead of hurt/comfort pffft. I wish i had the time to write smth horror based though those ideas were so goooood, definitely gonna have to revisit that :O You're always so nice and understanding, your DMs have always been open and a safe space to me and for that i want to thank you, genuinely <33

The rivalry had started as a joke.

Gaz liked to talk. Roach, despite his silence, somehow always had the last word.

It was infuriating.

At first, it had been small things—Roach raising an eyebrow at Gaz’s one-liners, shaking his head with mock disapproval when Gaz made a particularly terrible pun. But then, Roach started using his phone to reply, quick texts flashing on the screen with pinpoint sarcasm, perfectly timed to shut Gaz up before he even had a chance to counter. Sometimes, when he wanted to really drive the point home, he signed. Gaz had been making an effort to learn, but he still missed a lot when Roach signed. It certainly didn’t help that Roach had started deliberately making his signs quicker, more subtle, knowing full well Gaz was struggling to keep up.

It should not have been possible for someone who didn’t speak to be this annoying.

It wasn’t just training, either. Roach had developed an uncanny ability to disrupt Gaz’s focus at the most inopportune times. Briefings, field exercises, even casual downtime—there Roach would be, watching him with that insufferable smirk, typing something at a speed that suggested he had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The worst part? Everyone else was enjoying this.

“You’re a menace,” Gaz muttered after Roach absolutely obliterated him in a training exercise, landing a clean shot before Gaz had even spotted him.

Roach, ever smug, pulled out his phone and held it up: Get good.

Gaz swatted the phone out of his face with a huff, only for Roach to catch it effortlessly, flashing a shit-eating grin before pocketing it.

Soap and Ghost, the ever-present audience to their nonsense, watched on with far too much amusement.

“Y’know, Gaz,” Soap mused, stroking his chin like he was deep in thought, “for someone who’s meant to be the witty bastard on this team, you’re lettin’ Roach run circles round you.”

Gaz rolled his eyes. “I am not letting him do anything.”

Roach, with the worst timing imaginable, sent a single message to his phone. Gaz felt the buzz in his pocket and, with a sinking feeling, pulled it out to read it.

Yeah, but you still can’t keep up.

Gaz turned to glare at Roach, who merely tilted his head with an expression of pure, innocent delight.

“Oh, that’s it—” Gaz began, but then Roach signed something quickly to Ghost. Whatever it was, it sent the normally stoic man into a low chuckle, shaking his head as he walked away.

“What? What did he say?” Gaz demanded, looking between them. Ghost just patted him on the shoulder.

“Nothin’ you need to worry about, mate.”

Gaz turned to Roach, eyes narrowing. “That’s dirty play.”

Roach smirked behind his mask but didn’t deny it.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

The next time Roach got the drop on him in training, Gaz decided to fight dirty. He grinned, wide and slow, and stepped right into Roach’s personal space, leaning in just enough that their noses almost brushed.

Roach, who had been infuriatingly confident up until now, immediately stilled, blinking at him with sharp, surprised eyes. Gaz didn’t miss the way Roach’s fingers twitched by his side, like he was debating stepping back but refused to give in.

Gaz smirked. “What, cat got your tongue?”

Roach’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, but Gaz saw the faintest dusting of pink across his cheekbones and oh, this was brilliant.

Gaz was just about to revel in his small victory when Roach, moving faster than Gaz could react, reached up and flicked him on the forehead.

“Oi—”

Roach pulled out his phone, typed something quickly, and held it up for Gaz to read.

Try harder, pretty boy.

Gaz’s brain short-circuited.

Soap cackled. Ghost actually laughed, which was worse. Gaz was left standing there, ears burning, fists clenched, as Roach just walked away, supremely satisfied with himself.

Gaz seethed.

Alright. Fine. Roach wanted to play this game? He’d show him.

The next few days were war. Gaz spent every moment he could trying to get one up on Roach, but every attempt only seemed to amuse the other man more. Whether it was sparring, training drills, or even meal breaks, Roach found some way to fluster him. He’d smirk behind his mask, tap a quick message, and watch with clear amusement as Gaz gritted his teeth. He started stealing Gaz’s seat at meal times, casually handing him his phone with a text that read mine now before returning to eating like nothing had happened.

Gaz had never wanted to throttle someone more in his life.

It wasn’t fair. Gaz was supposed to be the smooth one. The fast talker. The one who could charm his way out of anything. And yet, every time Roach smirked at him or sent a cheeky message, Gaz felt his stomach do flips.

One evening, when they were walking back from the gym, Gaz decided it was time for revenge. He waited for the perfect moment—Roach, distracted, stretching out his arms, looking smug as ever—and stepped in front of him, blocking his path and guiding him into a slightly more secluded corner.

Roach quirked an eyebrow, amused, but before he could sign or reach for his phone, Gaz lifted a hand and hooked his fingers under the edge of Roach’s mask.

Roach stilled. His hands didn’t move to stop Gaz, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—just a moment where he let Gaz decide what happened next.

Slowly, deliberately, Gaz pulled the mask down, revealing Roach’s lips, slightly parted in surprise. Gaz felt his breath hitch at the sight of him, and for once, Roach wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing—he was watching Gaz like he was waiting for something.

So Gaz gave it to him.

He leaned in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was slow, deliberate—less about winning and more about the way Roach melted into it. Roach made a soft, startled sound against his mouth before he kissed back, his fingers curling instinctively into Gaz’s hoodie. Gaz let himself sink into it, into the warmth, the way Roach’s breath hitched when he tilted his head just so.

The world around them blurred. The distant sounds of the base, the ever-present murmur of other soldiers moving about none the wiser to the revelation that Gaz was having right now—it all faded to the feeling of Roach’s lips against his, the way his breath stuttered when Gaz moved just slightly closer.

By the time Gaz pulled back, they were both slightly breathless.

Roach blinked at him, lips red, pupils dark. For the first time ever, he had nothing to say.

Gaz grinned, victorious, his voice smug but warm. “Gotcha.”

Roach’s fingers twitched—half instinct, half hurried—before he pulled out his phone and typed furiously.

Gaz had barely a second to brace himself before Roach turned the screen towards him.

Do it again.

Gaz’s breath hitched.

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

#cod #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #gary roach sanderson #gazroach #title is from apocalypse please - muse #i realy should write more roach #look what you've done hexx smh #now i have to make a much of character stuff for him #lol no i love it hes so fun :D

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cod-thoughts · 4 months ago

Text

This is also now up on AO3 if you prefer that instead :O

Am I really worthy to be chasing any dream?

Word count: 2k

Relationships: Ghost & Price

Tags: Breakdown, Price crying, Ghost attempting to comfort, toxic masculinity, hurt/comfort, or some comfort lol

Part of a project that has a tiny explanation here. Keep reading under the cut!!

AN: Happy valentines day @whostarlockeda03!! You're always so kind and warm to those around you and the way you write??? Absolutely immaculate its insane. I love seeing you talk about your workouts too its so fun to see the gym bug go around lol. Thanks for being so kind in the tags and comments as well, always brings a huge smile to my face <333

It’s a good night. A rare one.

The kind that sneaks up on him, that settles into his bones so quietly he doesn’t realise it’s there until he’s already sinking into it.

Soap and Gaz are bickering over dinner, something stupid, something harmless. Colours, of all things.

"Teal is green."

"It’s blue, you knob—"

The argument loops back on itself, circling the same point with increasing volume and theatrics, and Price listens, watches, lets the noise fill the space around him.

It’s nice. Familiar even.

He’s not paying much attention to the words—just the easy rhythm of it, the push and pull, the lazy camaraderie. Someone makes a comment, offhanded and lighthearted, something about colour-blindness, and the conversation derails into accusations, laughter bubbling up between mouthfuls of stew.

Price laughs, too.

And then—

"C’mon, Price, you’ve gotta have an opinion—"

Soap, maybe. Or Gaz. Doesn’t matter.

"You’re the Captain. You always know the answer."

It’s teasing. Meant to be funny.

But it hits wrong. Price doesn’t react, not outwardly. Just takes another bite of food, swallows, keeps his shoulders loose. But something in him locks up.

"You’re the Captain. You always know the answer."

He realises—

He doesn’t.

Not about this. Not about anything outside of the job.

The stew turns to paste in his mouth, thick and flavourless, like he’s chewing through cotton. The warmth of the room—the easy glow of the overhead lights, the ambient heat from the others—suddenly feels oppressive, too close. His pulse quickens, but his body stays still. The weight of his own skin feels wrong, suffocating.

He can’t—fuck, he can’t sit here. Not right now.

Something curdles in his stomach. Something tightens. It’s fine, it’s stupid, it’s just words—but suddenly the air is thick, and his skin feels wrong, and his breath doesn’t quite fit in his lungs.

He doesn’t remember leaving the table. Not really. Only that one second he was there, and the next he wasn’t, walking fast but not running, moving with a purpose he doesn’t understand. The door to his office swings shut behind him, the lock clicking into place, and he doesn’t even turn the light on before he sinks into the chair at his desk.

The desk.

How many times had he done this? Sat here, alone, at the end of the day, turning over thoughts he couldn’t untangle? He used to think they were about his men. The team. The missions. The ones they lost.

His hand finds the edge, traces the rough groove where his knuckles split against it years ago. The texture is familiar, but it doesn’t ground him. The room feels smaller than it should. The walls press in.

His breath stutters.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong and he doesn’t know what it is.

Because he’s realising he doesn’t know what he likes. Not just colours—anything. He doesn’t know if he prefers tea or coffee, if he even enjoys cigars or just smokes them out of habit. He doesn’t know the last time he did something that wasn’t for duty, or responsibility, or some expectation he was supposed to meet.

His mind snags, desperate for something to latch onto, something solid, but it keeps slipping. He reaches for details, for himself—his favourite drink, his favourite place, his favourite fucking colour—but there’s nothing there. No answers. Just a void where a person should be.

He doesn’t know what it means to just be John Price.

And he realises—

There is no John Price.

Not outside of what he’s been made to be. The soldier. The captain. The leader. The man.

His breath shudders in his chest, and suddenly his hands are shaking. The tightness in his throat is unbearable, like a rope cinching tighter with every failed inhale. He grips the edge of the desk with white-knuckled force, but it doesn’t stop the way his lungs start to seize, doesn’t stop the sharp, overwhelming dread that slams into him so hard he gasps.

Oh God.

Oh, fuck—

It’s not just dread. It’s panic. It’s terror. It’s the absolute, unrelenting fear of hollowness. Of knowing that there is nothing underneath the roles he’s played. Nothing real.

His lungs convulse. His ribs refuse to expand. The air feels thick, syrupy, like he’s drowning in it instead of breathing it in. His vision narrows, edges blurring into black, his body curling inward, as if he can fold small enough to disappear.

He exhales, tries to ground himself, but the moment stretches, distorts. Time curls in on itself. The space behind his ribs turns cavernous. He’s sinking.

Who are you?

His throat closes.

What do you like?

His fingers twitch against the desk. His hands feel detached, foreign, like they belong to someone else.

Who are you when no one’s looking?

His pulse stutters. The panic is sudden, sharp-edged, spreading fast. His fingers tighten, nails scraping against the wood. His lungs lock up, his body curling inward before he even realises he’s doing it, because there’s nothing inside him, nothing at all.

Nothing but echoes.

He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, but it doesn’t stop. The walls are too close, his skin is too tight, his chest is collapsing in on itself—

His breath stutters out, sharp and uneven. His hands shake.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t fucking breathe.

The walls are too close.

The walls are—

A knock.

The world tilts. The panic doesn’t stop, but it shifts, knocked off course by something just loud enough to cut through the spiral.

"Price?"

Ghost’s voice.

The sound of the door opening. Footsteps.

Price’s chest still heaves. His lungs still burn. He squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t— he can’t be seen like this, can’t be this in front of anyone, can’t—

A hand, hovering.

Not touching, but close enough that he feels it.

"Jesus," Ghost breathes, voice quiet. "What happened?"

Price can’t answer. His hands are still shaking. His breath is still wrecked.

He grips the edge of the desk, trying to keep himself from completely falling apart, but his fingers don’t feel real, his skin is numb, and his chest is too tight.

Ghost doesn’t move away.

And—

And that’s good, because Price is coming undone at the seams, and he’s terrified, and he can’t do this alone.

He doesn’t realise he’s shaking harder until Ghost shifts forward, steady, patient. The same hand that hovered now settles, gloved fingers curling firm around Price’s wrist, grounding him.

"Breathe," Ghost murmurs. "With me."

Not an order. Not a request.

A lifeline.

Price tries. He really does. But his lungs still feel locked, his ribs still caving in.

Ghost doesn’t let go.

"Again," he says, voice low, even. A deep inhale, slow. "With me."

The breaths don’t come easy. They hitch, falter. Price’s ribs still feel tight, like something is trying to claw its way out of his chest.

But Ghost stays. Doesn’t move, doesn’t waver. His hand is still wrapped around Price’s wrist, solid and steady, thumb pressing against the thundering pulse there like he can anchor it, slow it down.

"That’s it," Ghost murmurs. "Keep going."

It’s a process. Slow and agonising.

But eventually, eventually, the dizziness starts to ease. The walls don’t feel like they’re closing in anymore. The air doesn’t feel so thick.

Ghost watches him, unreadable, waiting for Price to reach whatever words he can manage.

When he does, they come out hoarse, wrecked.

"I don’t think I know who I am."

It’s barely more than a whisper. Feels fragile, pathetic, admitting something so fucking weak.

But Ghost doesn’t react the way he expects.

There’s no scoffing, no disbelief. Just a slow inhale, steady as ever.

"You do," Ghost says.

Price lets out a ragged breath. Shakes his head. "I don’t."

"You do," Ghost repeats, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "You’ve just been carrying so much for so fucking long you don’t know what’s yours anymore."

Price exhales sharply. His hands flex against the wood of his desk, and he shakes his head again because he doesn’t—

"I can’t—" His throat closes, frustration laced in the words, in the helplessness that swells like a wave about to break. "I don’t know what I like. I don’t know what I want. I don’t even—" His voice frays. "There’s nothing in me, Ghost."

Ghost shifts, just slightly, his grip tightening. "That’s not true."

"It is," Price hisses, voice breaking. "It is."

And fuck, he wants to stop talking. Wants to swallow it down, push it away, pull himself together, but he can’t. Not now. Not when the words are already spilling out, raw and shaking and desperate.

"I’ve spent my whole life doing what I’m supposed to. Being what I’m supposed to. And now I—" He breathes sharp through his teeth, jaw clenching. "I don’t even know what’s left. If there’s even anything left."

Ghost doesn’t answer right away.

He’s watching, quiet, the way he always does. Assessing. Weighing words before he speaks, like every syllable has to count.

When he finally does, his voice is solid, certain.

"You’re not hollow, Price."

Price exhales, heavy, exhausted. "Feels like it."

"I know," Ghost says. His thumb brushes over Price’s wrist, slow and deliberate. "I know it does. But it’s not true."

Price swallows hard. Doesn’t speak.

"You think there’s nothing in you?" Ghost murmurs. "Then what is it that pulls me back to you every fucking time?"

Price looks at him, startled.

Ghost holds his gaze. Doesn’t waver.

"You ever thought about that?" he presses, voice quiet, steady. "Why I always end up here? Why it’s you I trust? Why it’s you I follow?"

Price can’t answer.

"Because it’s not duty," Ghost continues. "Not orders. Not some fucking expectation. It’s you."

Price feels something crack in his chest. A fracture deep in the marrow.

"Maybe you don’t know who you are," Ghost says. "But I do."

His grip tightens, firm, grounding.

"You’re the bastard who lectured me about my shit diet for weeks after finding out I lived off MREs." His voice is rough, fond, carrying something real. "You’re the man who stayed behind to get Gaz out of that compound. You’re the one who carried Soap for two miles when he was too fucked up to walk."

The words settle into the cracks, solid. Tangible.

"You’re the only one who knows exactly how I take my tea, the one that keeps a spare hat for Kyle when his gets lost. You’re the man that makes sure Johnny gets to spend Christmas with his family every year, “ Ghost takes a deep breath to steady himself and continues, “You know everyone down to the smallest detail, even if they don’t know you back."

Price stares at him, breathing shallow, throat tight.

"You think there’s nothing in you?" Ghost shakes his head, slow. "You’re fucking wrong."

The words hit. God, they slap him in the face in a way Price never thought words alone could.

Price breathes, sharp and uneven, as something unspools in his chest.

And it’s too much.

The weight of it, the relief of it, crashes into him so fast he barely has time to react before he’s moving.

Ghost doesn’t stop him.

Price slides off of his chair, his knees slamming into the floor to meet Ghost. Price grabs him by the shoulder, his breath breaking apart, and Ghost meets him halfway, catching him as Price folds forward, their foreheads knocking together, arms winding around each other in something raw and wordless, the sharp edges of Ghost's mask digs into Price in that familiar way it always has.

Ghost arms are warm. Steady. Unshakable in a way that makes Price feel held for the first time in years.

Maybe the first time ever.

He doesn’t sob, but his breathing shudders, the last of the tension bleeding from his body as he clutches onto the one person who isn’t letting him disappear.

Ghost shifts slightly, his hand pressing firm against the back of Price’s head, fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. A quiet gesture, something grounding, something real.

"You helped me find myself years ago, John. It’s time I repay you, yeah?” Ghost admits before guiding Price’s head into his neck and wrapping his arms tighter around him.

“I’ve got you," Ghost murmurs. "As long as it takes."

Price squeezes his eyes shut, exhales against the curve of Ghost’s shoulder.

It’s not a fix. It’s not a solution. There’s still a long road ahead. But for now, this is enough.

#cod #john price #simon ghost riley #call of duty #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #still mad it didnt upload on valentines lmao #but its up now :O

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