Price comes from a big family, he has 2 older brothers, 1 younger brother, and 1 younger sister. Price is right in the middle, son to a military nurse and… restaurant owner. His parents weren’t horrible, but they weren’t exactly present, instead passing on the day to day care of him and his younger siblings to his older brothers.
Not exactly fond of his parents, a little bit of a black sheep of his family, he joined the military very young. Literally nothing of note about his life before joining, he did fine in school, he played some sports, helped out around the house with chores.
He liked a lot of his superiors but he’s always liked macmillan best. He liked mac immediately, finally getting a good, solid father figure in his life. (hes also hot. Really hot.)
Mac himself was also very charmed by Price, taking him under his wing easy. He saw a lot of potential, and really wanted to mold it right. He also really wanted to ****************** and **************************** and then ********************* all over price.
So he did.
They stuck together close as price rose through the ranks, price taking multitudes of tips and advice from mac.
Currently:
World’s most comfortable and somehow most stressed gay man. Cigars really help calm his nerves bc he can have a moment to sit and collect himself. Horse races do the same, and still provide a little bit of excitement in betting. Whenever he gets the chance (very rarely) he will go rent a horse for a little trail ride.
He trusts Soap as much as he trusts/ed Gaz, but Gaz he’s taken to horse races and trail rides before. Gaz was mostly just lucky to meet him before wwiii started.
Price never quite revealed how hard Gaz's death hit him. He kept their relationship a little quiet, never introducing gaz as his Partner partner, but they obviously act like an old married couple. They work/ed very well together, like a well oiled machine. Hes felt like a piece of him has been missing since he died. Hes very good at keeping it together.
Hes very good in general at keeping his emotions together in front of others. Alone, he becomes a bit depressive. Near the end of mw3, you can also notice his control of his nerves starts slipping. During a mission, him and soap get separated and you can tell it panics him more than it maybe would have before the events of mw1 and mw2. He also flips out at the prospect of leaving delta force behind, no doubt a hard decision that hits him very, very hard even if it was out of his control. But to price nothing should be out of his control, so.
He felt rage at roach and ghost’s death. pure despair at soap’s. He felt it coming, only made it worse.
The only family he cares about checking up on is his many many nieces. They dont see each other often, bc he doesnt spend a lot of time visiting his family, but they have had a huge influence on his life. He likes dress-up games and tea parties with them.
On that note, a leave/vacation for price is spent either still on base or out in the woods. Also its so extremely rare its like an entire ordeal to try to get price to take an actual real vacation. Act of god either gaz has to argue with him over it for a month or macmillan himself has to say something
Price also encourages his boys to work to the bone, skipping out on vacations when they can. He tells them he can tell when they need a vacation, and that he'll let them know when that is. (More often than him at least)
It's definitely a manifestation of his ptsd, a nervousness that creeps up on him when he's not on active duty. To price, if he's not working, he feels like the entire world could fall apart. To price, he and his team have to be the center point of any fight he jumps on or it's not going to be done right. To price, the only good ideas are his ideas.
This also means that while intensely dedicated to the military lifestyle, he's not actually supremely dedicated to the UK. He won't be told what to do or how to act by any superior. He wants his boys safe, he respects every single member of SAS and many adjacent military orgs, but it's price's way or the highway. He's also very lucky to have met and saved mac's life for this reason, Mac has always bent the rules for price. Always.
The man's ego is massive. But his safety always feels fragile.
He actually almost feels relieved when shep betrays them and they have to go awol, he can finally act how he wants without anyone breathing down his neck. He can finish his mission.
Even while resting and waiting for soap to heal up, price feels at ease. He knows at a moment's notice (and with Nikolai's help) he can gear up and run out for his next fight. But for now he can sit beside soap in bed, read a book or scroll through his phone while soap sleeps through the pain and healing process.
He likes cold weather. A lot. Ultimately he doesn't care, because he'll go anywhere for any reason, but he likes to be bundled up and warm. Price go go comfy cosy.
Price's phone is the most cluttered phone known to man. He doesn't use folders for organizing apps, he lets them sit where they installed at. He plays candy crush and solitaire mainly, but he has a lot of apps that he saw just advertised to him. He's also a "reading my Facebook feed out to everyone" type of old man.
Nsfw:
Worlds biggest daddy kink, started young with liking dilfs, grew into him Becoming the dilf.
He cant help it, hes not into feet, but he does really enjoy literal bootlicking. The entirety of the military itself is a little bit of a fetish for him. He loves to swoop in on the new SAS recruits and impress them, to become a figure in their fantasies.
He also really likes to tease, to keep fantasies fantasies. He's 100% aware of the effect he has on younger men.
He has never dated anyone from outside of the military. He just feels as though he could never relate to them and he doesnt want to try. Civilians are civilians, meant only to keep out of his way and out of harm.
Really really really mostly into blowjobs he is a little old and a little worn out. He does not wanna undress all the way and do all the work to fuck, and nothing can beat gagging someone on his dick and listening to their hoarse voice after.
ghost is called ghost bc if you call him anything else he throws the 30 yr old man’s equivalent of a temper tantrum. roach is roach bc hes extremely hard to kill bc hes such an airheaded bimbo he does not realize when hes been hurt. soap is called soap bc .
Can you write something about Makarov x Yuri after setting off that nuke, thank you.
of course 😌 just 763 words a lil drabble. ao3 link
Yuri hasn’t slept in two days. Every night since that fucking bomb went off, he’s just laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’s counted the cracks on the walls, all of the chipped paint, the specks of dirt on the windows instead. Tonight, he spent it all fixing the hinges on the door to their little safehouse, some drab fucking thing in the middle of this hellhole country. It was squeaky. When he thinks back to that day, he thinks of the door echoing their entry to the house. It sounds louder than the bomb itself.
Glowing bright, flashing, climbing the sky. Yuri sighs. He closes his lighter again, stuffs it into his pants pocket. He takes a long drag off his cigarette and holds it loose, close to his face. It’s his fifth one of the night. It’s not even that late yet, barely breaking past midnight. 0100. Maybe 0130, if he’s lucky. Eager to get past the night again, to another day, where maybe he can stop seeing that cloud.
“You could at least be watching over comms,” comes a nagging voice. Yuri looks back to Makarov, gives him a weak smirk and a shrug before looking back at the horizon of the city.
He doesn’t sleep either, though not from nerves like Yuri does. The concoction he stays on to keep his mind busy locks him into short sleeps and naps. Even as a young man, though, Makarov had a constantly buzzing energy, a way about him that kept Yuri up all night beside him. It’s losing its charm.
“Sorry,” Yuri replies once Makarov comes to stand beside him.
“Oh, it’s fine. We’ll count this as your break.”
“Can’t count it as me being asleep?”
“You sleep so weird, Yuri,” Makarov looks over at him for a moment. Yuri keeps watching him, looking down to his eyes, studying. His mood seems light.
“Zakhaev said we could leave for home tomorrow, nothing else is going to happen here.”
“Mhm.”
“We made sure of that,” Makarov’s lips tug at a smirk. For once, something he’d done had satiated his hunger for more, a more decisive victory, a statement loud enough for everyone to hear. Even if they didn’t know it was Makarov, if they thought it was Al-Asad or Zakhaev, everyone had seen his nuke, his big beautiful mushroom cloud blotting out the sun. “Didn’t we, Yuri.”
“I was more just… along for the ride.”
“Was it not exciting,” Makarov pushes. He looks up at him now, brows a little pinched in exaggerated confusion. “Aren’t you happy?”
Yuri takes another long drag. He squirrels away from his old friend’s gaze, studying him like a stranger. “I don’t think I was ready.”
“Well,” Makarov starts, nodding his head to Yuri close enough to nearly bat his shoulder with it. “Next time I’m going to win a war in one go, I’ll ruin the surprise for you.”
“That would be nice,” Yuri chuckles.
“Though I don’t see why it would bother you. We can leave this shithole.”
“Yeah.”
“And it was the best thing we’ve done here yet.”
“Sure.”
Makarov huffs. He looks away from Yuri, back to the outline of the city at night. He wants a compliment.
“It was exciting,” Yuri settles on. He smokes when Makarov looks back at him to mask his mouth, wary of his half-truth being caught. He keeps his eyes looking at Makarov, big like he likes.
"Wasn't it?" He smiles, in his way. He leans back against Yuri, tilts his head back instead of turning to the side. Yuri obliges him, leans down to give him a peck to his forehead. Reassurance, more than anything, to him that Yuri is with him. A safety net for Yuri, to know Makarov won't hurt him for questioning his actions.
Makarov looks back to the city, quiet in the dead of night. He stays against Yuri for a moment, long enough for Yuri to finish his cigarette. As Yuri snubs out the butt, tosses it over the side of the railing, Makarov sits himself up and begins leaving.
"Hey, wait," Yuri calls to him. He pats his pockets, scoffs a little, "I forgot to bring out my pack. Can you bring it to me?"
A little test. A success when Makarov reaches into his pocket, pulls out his own pack. He only smokes the best, the most expensive, and he only shares with Yuri, and only in a good mood. He passes a thin, slender cigarette to Yuri now, nods his goodbye and goes back inside. Safe.
