#Price COD

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: I've caught this stupid disease because of Y/N Price: For the last time, Simon, feelings are not an illness

[tamago-art]

💦💨

[bone-trash]

+ Konig

[gloomwitchwrites]

can we get a quick drabble of the tf141 going on a super long deployment and finding out their kid snuck their favorite plushie or toy car etc into one of the duffle bags as a good luck charm

Ah! Anon! I love this idea! It's so cute. Dad!141 is a fav. I adore picturing them as fathers so this had me in a chokehold. I hope you enjoy these little double drabbles I put together!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: fluff, dad!141, minor language

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Sweaty and jetlagged, John walks off the military plane with a weary step. Simon, Johnny, and Kyle follow behind, the three men talking softly to each other as John walks ahead of them. It’s a quick stop for a meal before he finally finds his cot in their private tent.

Dropping his duffle on the cot beside him, he unzips the bag, and freezes. On top, resting on his uniform, is his daughter’s teddy bear. It’s light brown in color, missing an arm and an eye, the red bow around its neck is frayed from years of love.

John smiles, a great warmth blooming in his heart. He brings the stuffed bear to his face, inhaling. It smells of home—of you, and of his daughter. The kid must have snuck it in when he wasn’t looking. She’d never part with it otherwise. The bear always stays by her side—a source of comfort.

Now it’s a good luck charm. And a reminder of a promise. The inclusion of the bear in his duffle is a silent command from his daughter.

Come home. Return it to me.

With great care and gentleness, John rests the teddy bear against his pillow.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What’s this?” murmurs Johnny, opening his duffle bag wider.

With a curious curve to his brow, he removes the top item where he glimpsed a bright burst of color. Tumbling out of the folds of a black shirt is a bright red toy racing car. It’s small, the kind you put on a track or push around with your hand. A black stripe across the top cuts the red in half.

It’s his son’s favorite. It’s always in a pocket or clutched in his hand. You’re always finding it in the laundry or wedged between the sofa cushions. He’d never willingly part with it, but then Johnny remembers tucking him into bed one last time before leaving.

“Take my car, Da. It’ll keep you safe.”

Johnny smiles, holding the little red car in the palm of his hand. With a chuckle, he places it on the nearby table, fingers resting on the top. He moves it back and forth, making shroom sounds like he’s in a race.

“What are you doing, Johnny?” sighs Simon, appearing like a ghost from the dark.

“Driving,” he answers, lifting it off the table, moving it through the air in front of Simon’s unamused expression.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

It’s late, and all Simon wants to do is sleep. He’s been traveling the last couple days for the mission Task Force 141 was just assigned. Price says it’ll be a long one, that they might be gone for a few months. It’s not what he wanted to hear, especially since it takes him away from his family.

Simon drops his duffle bag on the ground next to him. He sits on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache starts to form. From tomorrow on, it’ll be bedrolls and the hard ground. He should enjoy it while it’s still possible.

Simon opens the duffle bag for a fresh shirt he can sleep in. Finding one, he retrieves it, but something comes with it. A white blanket with pastel ducks on it. Small. For a child. Simon knows it. It’s his son’s baby blanket. He still sleeps with it even though it doesn’t cover his feet.

“Must of snuck it in,” he murmurs, smiling down at it.

Gently folding it, Simon places it on the bed beside him, resting his hand atop it knowing he needs to make every effort to bring it home.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Johnny peers over Kyle’s shoulder. “Have any of those sweets?”

He’s acting coy, pretending that he’s not eager for the caramels you always make whenever Kyle leaves for a mission. Johnny has a notorious sweet tooth, so you make a few extra just for him.

With a wicked, knowing grin, Kyle unzips the duffle bag.

“Let’s see here,” says Kyle, feigning ignorance about whether the caramels will be in there.

They are. He’s already eaten three.

Reaching in, Kyle withdraws the contraband. Johnny groans, snatching the bag from him. Kyle watches with amusement as Johnny pops one into his mouth.

“Piss off, MacTavish,” laughs Kyle as the Scots heads for the door.

With a smile that’s starting to hurt, Kyle reaches back into his duffle bag, and brushes against something made of a smooth material with angled, indented lines. Hand shifting, he finds that it’s round.

“What the—”

Pushing clothes aside reveals a football. It’s a classic white and black, scuffed to shit from being kicked around. This is his daughter’s. He can tell by the one pink hexagon. Turning it, he finds a little message written on the white in black ink.

For good luck. And a game.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @xllizs @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[hurrraaid]

Request for Price smiling and I can't resist this dilf

[quietwhispersofaffection]

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke in your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke on your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke on your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke on your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke on your face while he's balls deep

Price who blows his cigar smoke on your face while he's balls deep

That is all

[callofdoobie420]

A Surprise Visit

Neighbor!price x lil birdie down the road

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You groan and clutch your pounding head, as you slowly start to come to. Blinking your eyes, as you let out a loud yawn. Head turning to face your bedroom door, you could swear you heard…

Was that a knock at your front door?

Honestly you didn’t entirely remember getting home last night, but you do remember John helping you back. Maybe bringing over a bottle of wine to his place wasn’t the best idea. Your hangover was certainly agreeing with that point and—

Yeah that’s definitely a knock at your door.

Reluctantly you sit up out of bed, stretching your arms above your head. It was lazy of you, but you were taking your time. Your body just hurt. It was embarrassingly difficult, but you pulled on your hoodie — since you weren’t gonna answer the door bra-less. Just tits galore.

Your pace quickens when you hear shouting from outside. Struggling to throw on some sweat pants, usually sleeping in panties and a tank top coming back to haunt you. Stumbling down the hall to the front door.

“Hey grizzly bear! Yeah you!” A loud, but very familiar voice shouts. “What the fuck are you creeping out front for?”

“Now ma’am I—“

John’s explanation is cut off as you throw open your front door. Heaving out breaths from the sheer panic you felt.

“H-he…he isn’t creeping…” you breathe out an explanation, as you soak in the terrible physical performance you are demonstrating. “But thank you for defending me, love you very much sissy…”

“Ahhh so is he a boyfriend then?” Your sister grins wickedly, seeing an opportunity to potentially grill him.

“No,” you answer, at the same time that John answers yes. You shoot him a glare, “Would you just…he’s my neighbor. Just down the road.”

Walking up to the two of you confidently, she takes a peek at the items in John’s hands. “Yeah all neighbors bring over hangover cures…” she chuckles, “so how drunk did she get?” She asks her attention now on John.

“Perfectly loaded,” he grins, his eyes finding yours. Seeing the fury in yours, and matching it with adoration. “I don’t want to ruin a sister visit though. Just wanted to bring these for you love, make sure you’re okay.”

A blush finds its way over your face the moment he places the pain killers and antacids in your hands. Warmth lingering where his fingers brush your skin. Silently cursing your sister for just showing up today of all days.

You had planned to tell John just how you felt.

How much you wanted him. How much you hoped he wanted you too.

“Nonsense,” your sister waves him off, “I’d love to get to know you. Got to make sure there’s nothing off with my baby sisters neighbors…” she says, and it’s not lost on anyone the way she says it. She isn’t buying your bullshit at all.

You lead them both inside. Filling the kettle as they both sit at your small dining table. Tea would likely settle your nerves, but you desperately wished for that wine from last night.

A few minutes later, you set a tray with three cups, some milk and sugar on the table.

“And she flipped straight over the handlebars…” your sister laughs, as she tells the story of the time you had flipped over your bike…stopping for a frog.

In your defense, the frog was cute and who would want to smoosh any living thing. But also your knees, arms and palms were skinned for two weeks straight. You’d do the same thing too.

John let out a low belly laugh, as his eyes flicked up to you. Reaching out for his cup.

“She is quite the kind soul isn’t she…”

Your sister can’t hold back another bark of laughter, wiping her eyes, “Kind. Yeah sure, until you piss her off. I advise not doing that. She’s a little like a puppy, all cute until you push too far — then she might snap.”

It’s hard to ignore that your sister seems fiercely proud over this fact about you. And from even the short time speaking with her, John gets the sense the two of you are very alike in that regard.

He wouldn’t deny that that fire and fierceness is a lot of what drew him to you. But your sister had hit it right on the head.

He loved your soft side too. He loved the mix of both. That perfect blend that made you exactly who you were.

Counted himself a lucky man to get to meet some of your family today. Get to see some of what shaped you into who you are, as you throw your head back in laughter he hasn’t drawn from you. Yet.

To get to see you feeling so free. So light. With someone who knows everything about you, who grew with you.

He wants to be that for you going forward. Only deeper. Intimate. Longing to learn every part of what makes up your soul.

Later that night, John steps out onto your back porch. Cigar lit as he take a long drag. The sliding door pulling his attention.

Your sister walks out, pulling out a cigarette. Ah, something you two don’t share. You always claimed you hated the smell, so preferred if John smoked outside.

He’d do anything for you. So it was an easy change.

“So, when are you going to ask her out?” She asks, taking a long drag of the dart. Letting the ember flare a bit.

John chuckles softly, shoving a hand in his pocket. The other grabbing the cigar from his mouth, “honestly we were going to have that talk today…”

“Yikes…” your sister, sucks her breath in through her teeth. “Sorry for cockblocking you guys unintentionally…”

Both of them laugh at that, and he decides that she wouldn’t be a bad in-law one day. Could imagine a future of double dates with her and her future significant other. Losing himself in a daydream.

“Earth to grizzly…” she snaps her fingers at him, using her earlier title for him. “I was saying, you seem like a nice guy. Maybe a bit older than I would’ve picked for her, but hey…as long as you treat her right I don’t care.”

Slowly she stalks forward a bit, trying to seem a bit more menacing. Also completely unaware of who she is sizing up.

“But if you hurt her…what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career—“

“Are you quoting Taken at me?” John asks with a raised brow, and a low snort. “Yeah you two are definitely sisters…” he says taking a puff of his cigar.

“You know your sister definitely threatened me…” John said, as the two of you made it to his front door.

You had insisted on walking him back after he had spent all night being questioned (read harassed) by your sister.

You groaned, and facepalmed, “Oh god…I am so sorry. I should’ve known she’d say something when she went out for a smoke.”

���Is good that you have someone watching over you doll…” he smiles, as you two face each other. Reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Might have to talk about tha whole neighbor not boyfriend thing though…”

You can’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head at him. “We can discuss renegotiating titles…” you tease lightly.

His warm hand settles along the column of your neck pulling you closer. “We can talk after your sister leaves. Enjoy the time with her sweetheart.”

“John…” you say softly, leaning in, pressing up on to your toes, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Before you can close the gap, he pulls you in the rest of the way. Your lips crashing together. Sharing the feelings that were unsaid but not unrecognized. Pulling away, breathing heavily a few moments later.

“I plan to do that a lot more once she leaves…” you say with a gentle laugh, pressing one more kiss to his lips. “Goodnight John…”

Your voice a caress to his heart, watching you until you duck into your door. Shutting off the porch light.

A contented sigh leaving his lips. Still tasting you there.

“Oh little birdie, you’re all mine now…” he whispers to himself. And whatever God might be listening.

The whole universe should know. You’re his.

Par t 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Taglist 🔥

@ohdrey89 @cdgurlcathy @thebidkbutok @dija200 @ilove-otters

(Okay okay I promise next part will be the part. The one you’ve been waiting for, just had to get in a little more fluff. Trying to work on my slow burn a little)

[kittygowrite]

Burnout, cuddles, and Price

Pair: Price x Reader

Warnings: burnout (ofc),

An: I'm just crazy burnt out and going through a bitch of a depressive episode. I wrote this for myself because I'm trying my best not to cry at any given moment.

Wc: 800+

Your forehead bumped against his sternum, his hand heavy and secure on the back of your head. He let you stay there, nose pressing into the slope of his muscled chest, breathing in the smell of salt and burnt tobacco that always seemed to cling to him. It was a soothing smell. Warm and rich, rough in the way that soothed out the sharp and broken edges of your thoughts, familiar. It was a balm on your rushing mind and shot nerves, a release for the muscles that had been tensed for far too long. He let you sink into his heat, at peace after what felt like an eternity. He pulls you with him, slowly backing up to the couch in his office, sinking down with you held safely in his arms.

You keep your head stuck tight against his chest, eyes closed against the soft light in his office. Body stiff, limbs heavy, exhaustion weighing so heavily on your shoulders that even thinking about moving seems impossible. Price knows, he always does. His free hand guides your body for you, warm palms molding you to a comfortable position, pulling you to rest on top of him.

He speaks soft and low, murmuring sweet things into the top of your head, words separated by gentle kisses. He doesn’t expect a response, knows words are too hard for you right now. His hands shift to rub your back, slow and loving sweeps up and down the planes of your back. His fingers drag over the fabric of your shirt, over and over in a rhythm that has your anxious heartbeat calming.He doesn’t know what made today so hard for you, but seeing that look in your eyes — the one that screamed that you were one minor mistake from breaking down — had him whisking you away to the safe quiet of his office.

The hitch in your breath had him pausing, hands slowing to rest on your lower back. He understood that sometimes you needed to cry. Knew that it helped you to let out some of the bottled-up tension in your mind. He hated it when your eyes were all puffy and glossy tears clung to your eyelashes and framed your tired eyes, but he was always there for you when you needed it.

Your fingers caught on the fabric of his shirt, holding on like it was a lifeline in a dark sea as the first sob tore through you. It was muffled and broken, so full of hurt. Price pulled you tighter against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He held you through it. Held you while you trembled and sobbed, salty tears wetting the front of his shirt. Held you when your voice became hoarse and strained. Held you until you calmed, going boneless atop him. Held you even after you had fallen quiet, soaking in the soft quiet, listening to your shaky breaths slowly even out and slow to a gentle rhythm.

He only loosened his hold when you eventually shifted to look at him, chin resting on his chest, and tears still dampening your cheeks. He brushed a thumb under your eye, swiping away the salty wetness clinging to your skin. He presses a kiss to your forehead, knowing better than to ask if you're okay. Instead, he gently brushes his hand over your hair, softly urging you to put your head down and relax again.

A soft flutter of affection blooms in your chest at his actions. He understands you better than anyone has before, doesn’t push or ask what made you feel this way. That can come later. Now? Right now, John’s only focus is calming you down and getting you comfortable.

You let out a sigh, deflating on top of him, turning your head to press your cheek against his chest. The heavy thump thump thump of his heartbeat, slow and heavy against your ear, grounding you. He gives you a soft squeeze, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. He keeps you for a long moment before relaxing his hold, a hand gently snaking up your back. His rough fingertips trail over your shoulders and upper back before settling against the base of your neck, thumb swiping slow arcs along the edge of your hairline.

He hums softly, a low and deep sound. A soft and melodic tune he knows you enjoy.

He smiles down at you. He hates when the world pushes you until you feel like this, but he feels like the happiest man alive that he’s the one you come to. He’s the one that can make you feel better when everything has gone to shit. It warms his heart that the love of his life is able to find safety and comfort in his arms. No matter how bad the day or how hard you crashed, he would be there for you. You are his, and he is yours.

Always and forever.

[indigosunsetao3]

Just know if you challenge any of the 141 to the foot pursuit challenge on TikTok, you aren’t going to win. Yes, even Simon, with his bulk, is going to catch you. These men are lethal, they aren’t going to lose a simple chase and capture.

And good luck when they do manage to get ahold of you. Something about catching their cute little overconfident partner who thought they could get away sets off something in them. That killer instinct. The need to control and dominate. To show they will always get you and have you, no matter what.

But of course they aren’t going to kill you. They adore you and your disappointed pout and heaving chest as you try to catch your breath. They just need something to take the jittery edge off.

They may make you run again to see if they can grab you faster and pin you behind the bushes. Or cuff you in zip ties and haul you onto the house over their shoulder. Maybe drag you to the back of the car, even as you twist in protest to get out of their sweaty grip.

None of your attempts to get away will work when they are in this mindset.

You wanted to play chase, love. Now they want to play caught.

[ivviannaa]

yes ghost is the scariest looking member of the 141, but price is the one that i wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. he's unpredictable because he's constantly switching between morality and military as the guide to his actions. he's loyal as hell but also willing to cut ties whenever someone doesn't serve him anymore. he's committed to the greater good but his definition of what the greater good is isn't solid. he's insubordinate. he has connections. so yeah, ghost might be scary, but he does what he's told. price does not.

[karlachismylife]

Space feather grass was singing

I crave public validation despite my writing being at its lowest at the moment, that's why I present you a little nikprice thingy from an au inspired by soviet sci-fi, especially the cartoon "The Mystery of the Third Planet". There's a very special feel and mood about soviet sci-fi, and while I lack the skill to convey it, it means a lot to me (I grew up on it, after all), and I will keep trying to write a big multi-part work in this au, but for now have this.

This piece was written in Russian around April 12th (Cosmonautics Day, established on the day of the first human flying in space) and translated by me very badly, that's why it's so weird and unlike my usual writing style in English.

CW: established NikPrice, suggestive closer to the end, fluff, bad writing, no plot at all.

BUT I have something really cool for this piece/au to make up for my shitty writing: two artworks gifted to me by my Russian artist comrade (their telegram channel) and by @gomzdrawfr. The text is under the artworks!

A star in the sky, shrouded in a pink halo, was licking the tall hulls of the ships lined up on the flat spaceport like chess pieces on a board with wet-looking reflections. The sloping sides of the streamlined galaxies conquerors were warming up under the watchful eye of the square windows of the main building of the spaceport, a sharp spindle rising upward like a collector's needle, waiting for the spaceship butterflies. In the windless atmosphere, the noise of a busy trade hub was being carried far and wide and mixed into the familiar cacophony — the clanking of the jointed limbs of clumsy robots, the incessant rattling of belt conveyors, the electric hum of force fields.

Price stuck a cigar shaped like a long-haul freighter into his mouth and began patting the pockets of his space suit, his frown deepening with each empty one. Realising he hadn’t his lighter on him, captain cursed under his breath and reached for his blaster holster, but changed his mind halfway and turned around to run up the springy ramp to his ship for a less dangerous source of fire.

A hand in a silver sleeve appeared out of nowhere, blocking his way like a gallant barrier, and thin plasma threads lit up right between the blue eyes crossing toward the tip of his freckled nose, connecting the thin legs of the miniature model of the first artificial satellite like a spiderweb.

— Nik, — Price immediately greeted the ion lighter and its owner in a tone that was more of a fact stating rather than greeting and lit his cigar from the plasma mesh. — Startin’ to think our meetings are not accidental.

— Just doing a little delivery, captain, — Nikolai slyly evaded an  answer, smiling broadly, and hid the souvenir lighter in his chest pocket. — Are you here on duty?

Squinting in a futile attempt to keep from smiling back, Price dropped his chin to his chest with a raspy “hm,” and rocked back and forth on his heels, as if pondering what to say to his old comrade.

—  Yes, — he finally settled on the only possible option — to tell the truth — and shook the ashes onto the heat-resistant surface of the spaceport. —  Counteracting dangerous elements.

Nikolai threw his head back in a rich laugh —  Price had always noticed how freely and easily Nik laughed, as if his whole body was just waiting for another explosion of joy: laughter was born deep in his stomach, rolled freely up the broad chest and, pushing off from relaxed shoulders, flew out, catching onto the raven curls of Nik’s hair in the end, like circus gymnasts grabbing the rings under the striped roof. Compared to this, the restrained, coughing chuckles that rolled out of his own throat and got lost somewhere in his beard seemed dry to Price, as if his ability to rejoice was as tightly squeezed by the service uniform as he himself was — unlike Nikolai, who chose a free path.

Anyone who had ever seen the way John’s Neptune-blue eyes, decorated with comet tails of crinkles around the corners, sparkled as soon as they spotted the notorious smuggler, of course, knew that wasn’t the case.

— Should I start worrying already? — Nik playfully tilted his head to the side, examining John — skin kissed by all the stars in the galaxy, sprinkled with translucent freckles, round smiling cheeks, shiny and soft-looking beard; everything that made the first captain so unforgettable.

— Depends on what kind of “little delivery” you have here, Nik, — Price moved his famous hat back a little and nodded at Chimera, which he would easily recognize from a hundred thousand ships. — What if I drop in for a quick inspection, hm?

— And what if you don’t? — Nikolai turned around and placed his large, heavy hand on the other’s shoulder, slowly leading John further away from their spaceships. Their leisurely pace did not fit well with the chaotic haste of the well-organized life of the port — crews from all corners of the universe, service personnel, robots rattling with iron guts were scurrying around, but the two captains patting each other on the shoulders paid no attention to anyone, forcing everyone to go around their tall figures. — Shall we fly?

Price, hypnotized by the kind, cunning squint of the dark Labrador eyes, finally came to his senses and saw that they had approached the flyer parking lot and that Nikolai had two large rental tokens in his hand. Taking the cool circle with a shimmering imprint of the code, he chose a machine and squeezed into the cramped seat with a quiet groan, cursing under his breath in an attempt to accommodate his overly long legs — he could only wonder how Nikolai managed to get seated comfortably faster than him and bring the flyer into vertical takeoff already.

The chrome shine of the spaceport with its white and red lights got quickly left behind — Nikolai set a course, and Price habitually completely trusted the second captain. Beyond the built-up area of ​​the global trade megaport, the planet turned out to be covered in monotonous steppes. The shadows of two flyers, blurred by the murky atmosphere, glided across the wasteland, slightly wobbling on minor unevennesses of the landscape. Everything looked the same: no forests, no hills by which one could determine how much distance they had already covered — they could only rely on the machine's own meter and inner intuition.

Relying exactly on that, Nik suddenly began to descend in a graceful spiral, and John followed him. Unused to the wind, the long, soft grass with a touch of pink silver swayed in waves under the onslaught of unexpected gusts — the glitter of the reflected light of the local star made this dance look like ripples on water. Opening the canopy of the flyer, Price turned his head in search of the source of a strange sound, similar to the ringing of an endless stream of aluminum coins pouring out from somewhere, but there was nothing around except for the swaying grass, reaching almost to his waist.

— John! — Nikolai called out softly, holding out his hand in a fingerless glove to help him jump onto the springing ground. Firmly grasping the offered palm, Price stood firmly on both feet and suddenly, without warning, yanked Nik towards himself, ducking under his arm to play against his center of gravity. Almost falling over, the man caught himself and with interest flaring up in his lazy eyes dragged Price along with him a couple more steps. — Not bad.

— But you’re not that easy to fool, — Price chuckled, turning out of his unstable position and getting into a stance, ready for a sparring match with an unequal weight class.

Circling each other and getting tangled up in the pearly grass that was trying to hug their ankles, the two captains came together once, twice, three times — smiling excitedly and growling, finally they fell to the ground and began to writhe on it, dirtying their spacesuits with silver dust. Price, who knew perfectly well that allowing Nikolai to end up on top meant losing, thrashedin a bear hug like a frenzied hound, trying to saddle Nik and squeeze him in a vice of steel thighs.

— You're losing your grip, Nikolai, — he panted, holding Nik's wide wrists pressed to the ground above his head, and instantly paid for it, thrown up by strong bucking hips like a rider on a spirited stallion. To catch his balance, Price released Nik's hands for a second, which Nik immediately took advantage of, placing his hot palms on the first captain's arse and squeezing the generous muscles through the stiff fabric with a satisfied purr.

— I think I'm holding up pretty well, — he retorted, looking like a cat that had just gotten a bowl full of cream and ignoring the force Price's firm knees were digging into his sides with. Throwing his head back onto the crumpled grass blanket that was playing with a metallic sheen in the rays of a low-hanging star over the horizon, Nik smiled again and continued to knead the other captain’s ass. Curly strands scattered around his face like a black halo only made him stand out more clearly against the light background of the surrounding world, drawing all of John's attention to the eyes that were studying him with genuine trepidation, covered by a sly squint. — John...

Allowing his own legs to spread wider and pressing his crotch against the magnificent mass beneath him, John ducked down and was met halfway by Nik's lips reaching out to him. One large palm, leaving his rear, migrated to the fluffy back of his head, burying itself in the chestnut strands gilded by the local sun and pressing John even closer. Parting his soft lips, Price licked  over the other’s, slightly catching the short stubble with badger stripes of gray on the chin with his tongue, and deepened the kiss, greedily caressing Nikolai's tongue and lips.

— John, — he breathed out again, grabbing Price under his bent knee and rolling over so that he was on top without the slightest resistance from the captain, who was already melting. In the tightness of the uniform jumpsuit it was impossible to hide the erection that was becoming more and more obvious, and Nik pressed John closer to himself, allowing him to feel his own hardness.

Muttering something incoherent, Price began to fidget, tugging at the chrome zipper of the second captain, and as soon as he managed to unzip it even a few inches, he immediately pulled the elastic collar of the white top under the spacesuit down to bury his nose in the silvered curls of hair on Nik's chest and deeply inhale his warm scent. Maintaining an indecently high level of self-control, Nikolai took advantage of John's stillness to unzip his overalls completely and run his calloused palm over his soft stomach. He pressed teasingly at the lower abdomen, and Price groaned gutturally and tried to buck — failing under the impressive weight of the other's body; then Nik slid his hand higher, squeezing John’s full pec with loving admiration and immediately finding his hardened nipple with his thumb.

— Nik, dammit, — John hissed with a broken gasp, greedily squeezing Nikolai's powerful shoulders with his hands and trying to rip off the tightly fitting sleeves. Giving up when it didn't work either the first or second time, Price with a reproachful look in his eyes tugged at the other man’s belt and posingly spread his arms on the soft bed of grass, instantly jolting up when the sound of coins falling that had already turned into background noise split and multiplied and became louder. — What is this?

Blinking, Nikolai burst out laughing again and, sitting up on his heels, in a wide gesture ran his palm over the grass bowing in waves, causing a new ringing — while the ripples caused by their arrival continued to sway, adding their hum to the polyphony they had created.

— The feather grass is singing, — Nik explained, turning his loving gaze back to John. The blush that crept onto his wrinkled, freckled, wise face could have been attributed to the pink reflections of the local star if it had not already gone beyond the horizon, leaving only a white night. The alien sky lit up with pink northern lights snaking from the pole very close to their location — but John already didn’t notice two of the five moons solemnly floating up to the horizon to watch him being slowly made love to by Nik.

Waiting for fuel before leaving the next day, Captain Price stuck a cigar shaped like a long-haul freighter into his mouth and found a lighter in his chest pocket. The thin legs of the first sputnik model flared up with a plasma grid, and John, smiling until the corners of his eyes wrinkled, lit gis smoke contentedly, looking into the purple sky.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: Fight me! Simon: Look at the size of you. What are you going to do? Kick my ankle? *later* Price: Why is Simon crying on the floor? Soap: Y/N kicked him really hard on the ankle

[authorjielin]

There’s nothing better than a good old-fashioned verbal sparring to crank up the sexual tension 🔥. I absolutely love the dynamic of a sassy young girl going head-to-head with a grumpy, sexy older man 😈💥 — that mix of fire and friction just ignites everything. 😉❤️

For a long moment, neither of them said a word. The silence between them was dense, electric—like the air before a lightning strike. And Jenny, to her own surprise, didn’t flinch. She didn’t back down. She just stared back, her eyes locked onto his, daring him to say something that would make her regret it.

And then he did.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Price’s voice came low and controlled, but every syllable cut like it had teeth. “You want to end up scrubbing toilets for the rest of your life? Is that what you want?”

Jenny opened her mouth, but he held up a hand—not done yet.

“You think that was clever? Starting a damn brawl in the middle of the mess hall like it’s some kind of schoolyard playground? You think that makes you look strong?” His tone was scathing now, clipped, his accent flattening into sharper edges. “You just made my job ten times harder, and yours? A hell of a lot worse.”

His expression twisted somewhere between fury and disbelief.

“You were finally making progress,” he added, quieter now, more bitter than loud. “But over the past few weeks, you've been slipping. It's like your head's in the clouds. And then you go and kick a recruit in the balls in front of the entire bloody battalion.”

Jenny blinked. Her mouth opened slightly. "Technically," she began before she could stop herself, "he kicked first."

Price’s nostrils flared. Just slightly.

“I swear,” he growled, “if you say one more word that sounds like backtalk, I will personally assign you to mop duty from here to the next war.”

Jenny promptly shut her mouth. Mostly.

From Chapter 10: Battlefield: Cafeteria Edition

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65415928/chapters/168885460

[homosexualgirlandbags]

I fear John Price is the kinda guy who would bitch about his job and in the process, spill so so many goverment secrets in the presence of Nik without even realising it.

Just- him talking about all the classified shit like some over excited nerd (which he still is). He'll talk about the plans he was involved in, missions he had carried, the lives he saved with far too much pride in his eyes, all whilst dicing up the carrots. Coincidentally, like some bird boosting and spreading its feathers to seduce a mate into its bed (spoiler alert it works)

He'll probably pause after a second and auto correct himself, trailing off in the middle of a rant about some mission in the middle east and just- asks Nik to forget everything he just said, because of course it works like that. That's right after he kisses the man senseless (because of course) and then attempts to smooth away from the conversation by tending to the man's broken arm.

It doesn't make it any better when Laswell finds out Nik saved John as "War Criminal" on his work phone.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Im making a cosplay for a convention/ renaissance faire rn and I was curious. Who do you think of the 141 would have the most fun at those sorts of events?? I think Johnny would have a lot of fun, but i can also see the others letting loose more than they typically would.

Soap is in his element. He loves all the light, color, and sound. Doesn’t mind the crowds at all. He’s grabbing himself a massive turkey leg and a beer all while wearing his best kilt. He’s there to watch the jugglers, the fire dancers, and the acrobats. At the joust, he’s the loudest member in the crowd. Johnny is going to every food stall and dropping a bunch of money on things he doesn’t need. You won’t manage to drag him out until they kick him out.

Price would enjoy himself but stick to the calmer activities. If he’s a dad and attending the renaissance faire, he’s keeping track of all the littles and purchasing far too many things for his own kids. Daughter wants the face paint and fairy wings? Done. Son wants to spend all his time petting the animals? Fine. That’s what showers are for. The man is enjoying his drink, his grub, and corralling the young ones.

Gaz is a lot like Soap but calmer. He’s wandering through all the shops and vendors, exploring every nook and cranny he can find. Dresses up and on theme but he’s comfortable in what he’s wearing. Loves a good contest and always seeks out the hawk master to look at and talk about the birds. Better about spending his money. The man makes a budget and sticks to it for food and shopping. Absolutely Johnny’s side kick at these events.

Ghost is calm and curious during these events. You won’t see him cheering at the joust or making himself noticeable. The man wants to blend in. He wants to explore. While the vendors and shop are interesting, he prefers the artisans demonstrating their skills of blacksmithing and glass blowing. He gravitates toward admiring the work and asking questions. Between it, he’s at the mermaid cove admiring the beautiful men and women, or he’s out performing everyone in the axe throwing contest.

main masterlist

[darkbunnylove]

I don’t know if that makes sense, but there’s something so inexplicably, stupidly sexy about GhostPrice sparring, just from how evenly matched they are. Like, Price is already tall, but Ghost still stands over him, just slightly. And Ghost, who is a literal force in close combat, somehow still ends up getting pushed down by Price, who’s just a touch sharper, with a few more years of experience under his belt.

It definitely caught other people’s attention too, enough that Gaz and Soap eventually started placing bets on who comes out on top. Of course, Price told them to knock it off almost immediately. Still, they watch whenever their superiors spar, wondering what would happen if they ever took it to the bedroom.