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deadliestfishinthesea · 3 days

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(unedited) john price knew he would marry you the first time he saw you.

john price met you in the rain.

the memory of the encounter remains etched in his mind like a timeless portrait. as the years pass and his recollections fade, the moment of your first meeting remains vivid and unblemished.

the sky, a somber shade of ashen blue, was adorned with brooding clouds of a dark and furious pearl grey. thunder roared in the distance, while lightning ominously streaked across the sky. the rain, a gentle drizzle, tapped rhythmically on his freshly trimmed lawn and his parked truck. seated on his porch, cradling a cup of tea, john's loyal english mastiff, simply known as 'dog', slumbered beneath his chair.

he'd only had a few more days left until he was back in the field, and despite having needed a couple of days to rest, john was ready to get back to the familiarity of work- especially when there wasn't anyone waiting for him when he got home. ( well, besides 'dog' )

john had always been content with his own company, finding solace in the quiet moments spent with his loyal companion. the tranquility that came with solitude had become his sanctuary, a place where he could escape from the chaos of the world and his position; and find solace in his thoughts. but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months and then further, john's heart began to yearn for something more.

the familiarity of being alone, once a source of comfort, now felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders. the emptiness that had once brought him peace now seemed suffocating, as if the walls of his home were closing in on him. he longed for a partner who would eagerly anticipate his return home from his weeks away, someone to hold close and shower with affection.

the silence that once brought him relief now echoed with a deep longing for intimacy. the sound of his footsteps seemed hollow, and the absence of life filled the empty spaces of his home with a haunting emptiness. john couldn't help but dream of the day when his solitude would be replaced with the joy of shared moments and the love of another.

he yearned for the warmth of another's touch, the feeling of intertwined fingers and shared touches. he craved the sound of laughter filling the air, the kind that could only come from shared jokes and inside stories. john imagined the simple pleasures of cooking together, of sharing meals and conversations that stretched long into the night.

his heart ached for the intimacy of whispered secrets and stolen kisses, for the comfort of knowing that someone was there to catch him when he stumbled. he yearned for the simple pleasure of waking up next to someone, their presence a constant reminder that he was not alone in such a vast world.

john price, for the first time in what felt like decades; craved for something more.

john's focus is abruptly interrupted by a thunderous slam, causing his weary eyes to shift from his tepid cup of tea. his piercing blue gaze fixates on the source of the commotion across the street. as he observes, his attention is captivated by you, and while being lost in his own melancholic thoughts, he realizes that the rain has intensified, pouring down relentlessly. there you stand on your porch, engaged in a heated argument with a man. your gestures are animated, your lips downturned in a pained frown, and your brows knitted together in irritation.

the rain's melody drowns out all other sounds, leaving john in a world of silence from the conversation. yet, even amidst this deafening quiet, he cannot tear his gaze away from you, your eyes widening in disbelief as the man retreats into the house, slamming the door shut. price watches as you fish out a pair of car keys from your pocket, walking briskly down the porch stairs and to a car that sits in the driveway. you're immediately drenched in rain from head to toe and john finds that you still look breathtaking regardless.

inexplicably, the two of you lock eyes, and your lips pull into a thin line, your words barely audible over the pouring rain but he catches them nonetheless. "what the hell are you lookin' at?!" then you slip into the car and speed down the street before he can even process what he's heard. slowly a smirk pulls at his lips, the crowsfeet around his eyes deepening.

john price, wanted you.

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deadliestfishinthesea · 11 days

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Headcanon Johnny is a history nerd

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deadliestfishinthesea · 11 days

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The earthrealm minions

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deadliestfishinthesea · 11 days

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Hiiii could you do a forbidden hero x villain romance of captain boomerang and reader? Thank you in advance 🙃

No Use Mending Bridges

Captain Boomerang/Reader, 2.7K words

He'd been everything to you then. Now he was a crumpled mess, laying broken and battered on your couch. Rated: M

Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Request Info

CW: Mentions of blood and violence , swearing, angst, arguing, unhealthy relationship dynamics, betrayal, lying.

Please know: I think you are absolutely wonderful!

The view through your peephole is distorted; it makes his head look bulbous and alien-like, but despite the skewed image and years of no-contact, he’s still immediately recognisable. Fully prepared to tell him to take a hike unless he wants a free ride to the police station, you swing the door open only to be halted by the unobscured sight of him. His coat and gloves were torn and bloodied, one hand clutched to his ribs, the other supporting his weight on your door frame.

“Hey, stranger.” He splutters between bloody coughs. His face twitches in pain at each syllable. There’s a cluster of nasty reddish-purple bruises forming around the left side of his face, and he appears to have lost another tooth.

“What the fuck George?!” Confirming the coast is clear with a quick scan of the hallway, you herd his limping form into the apartment, where he unceremoniously spreads across the couch. “What the hell did you do? Why even come here?”

“I didn’t do nothin’.” His speech is slurred, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s drunk, injured, or both. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“Just stay still.” You instruct as you begin rummaging, looking for your first-aid kit; it must be somewhere here. “And don’t touch anything!”

By the time you locate what you’re looking for and return to his side, George is unconscious. His pupils constrict as expected when you shine a light on them. Moderately happy that he’s not concussed you allow him to sleep as you clean him up, disturbing him only to remove his coats and boots.

By the time you’re done patching him up, it's late into the night. You don’t really want to leave him alone… because he might steal something, not because you’re worried about him. But because you’re exhausted. Resolving to leave him alone for a few hours, you pack up your kit and head to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water and some painkillers.

When you return, he’s awake, barely. Bleary reddened eyes watch you in silence as you place the glass and pills on your coffee table.

“Can you talk?” You ask.

“Oh yeeeeeaaahhhhh.” His speech seems worse now than when he’d arrived. “Ripperrrr.”

He must have really got his shit rocked. Or gotten really pissed before getting his shit rocked. You wait for him to say something more, to thank you for taking him in and fixing him up. He sits there watching you back, threading his tongue between the new gap in his teeth. As more and more time passes it becomes increasingly apparent that he has nothing to say to you. Ungrateful bastard.

Although it shouldn’t surprise you, really. Years ago, when you’d been an item, you’d patched him up plenty of times, bailed him out of prison, even gotten into fights for him, and he’d never thanked you then, either. It was always someone else’s fault, someone else’s burden. He was a martyr, and you’d believed him, every time. Right up until you’d caught him red handed, fist full of stolen cash in the middle of Central City National Bank’s vault. Although every fibre of your being wanted to hear him out, to forgive him, and take him home, you knew then and there that there was no coming back from this moment.

He knew who you were and the things you stood for, and he’s barefaced lied to you, going behind your back, living a double life as a criminal.

Shaking with anger, humiliation, and heartache, you did your best to shut him out as you hauled his ass down to the CCPD, swearing never to look back. And you didn’t; you never looked up his record, never googled his name, never asked your mutual friends about him. However, that didn’t stop you from hoping for a card in the mail every holiday, or scrolling through your camera roll with a tub of cookie dough whenever you thought about him too much or turning down every offer at a date with literally one else.

He'd been everything to you then. Now he was a crumpled mess, laying broken and battered on your couch.

“Who did this to you?” You ask, maybe because you want to hear his excuse, or maybe because you really want to know who is responsible.

“Why? You gonna arrest 'em?” Between the swollen face and the way he keeps lolling his tongue around, it's difficult to make out an emotion until he follows up with what is clearly intended as bitter sarcasm: “Myyyy hero!”

You have mixed emotions. You almost want to be proud of him for not immediately giving you a name and for feeding you a story about some guy who totally started it, but really, you knew it wasn’t that. He’d probably deserved it, probably been caught with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar by a hero bigger and stronger than you, with less emotional attachment. Or maybe he’s just intentionally being a dick, still mad at you for putting him behind bars.

“I don’t arrest people, George.” You take a deep breath, determined to sound professional. “But if needs be, I will turn them in to the police.”

“Don’t ya know; Snitches get stitches.” The more he refuses to tell you, the hotter your blood runs.

How dare he turn up here, asking for your help, then refuse to let you do your job. You’d had every right to turn him away, but you hadn’t. The least he could do was tell you why he’d darkened your doorway.

“You were a mess. You are a mess, and you know it, or else you wouldn’t have come here.” Your composure is slipping, each word growing louder and more agitated than the last. You care far more than you should, and you know it, that is the problem. “Whoever did this to you must be held accountable for their actions.”

“’Must be held accountable for their actions’, blah, blah, blah. Do they teach ya all that fancy talk at crime fighting 101 or whatever it is you do?” All the colour drains from his face as he watches your reaction, the way your face twists with anger. Instant regret. “Alright, alright, am sorry. That was uncalled for. I just… can we talk about it in the mornin’?”

“Will you still be here in the morning?”

Caught in a half lie, George falls silent, turning his head to avoid your gaze. All that red-hot rage leaves your body, replaced with a similar emptiness that settles in your chest. You’d barely gotten him out of your system when he’d turned up, and now he was practically gone already. It was for the best, really. No use mending bridges and making up with him; it would do neither of your reputations any good.

“Right. I’m going to bed. Goodnight George.” You’re gone before he can respond.

The creak of footsteps against hardwood flooring stirs you from half-sleep. For a thief, he’s awful at keeping quiet. The smart thing to do would be to check on him. He was probably halfway out of a window with his pockets full of valuables, but whatever he’d taken would be a small price to pay to not have to look at him one more time.

Light from the hallway peeped into the room, not bright enough to blind you, but enough to put you on alert to the door opening. Confused and on edge, you dart up, finding George stood at the end of the bed. He’d removed his shirt and jeans, exposing some minor cuts and bruises that you’d missed, and leaving him in nothing but his briefs. A sorry sight for sore eyes.

“Forgot how uncomfortable the couch is.” He informs you nonchalantly.

“You picked it, ‘didn’t wanna pay more than $50 on a doghouse’.” You did you best to imitate his accent, earning you a laugh. The sound was strange, you hadn’t realised you’d forgotten it until you heard it again.

“Can I?” he gestures to you, to the bed.

“How bashed up is your head? Hell no.” You pull the sheets tighter around yourself.

“Oh, come on, ya said it yourself am a mess, an’ that lumpy old thing ain’t exactly helping.” The way he waves his arms around must hurt, must be agitating his wounds, and pulling his bandages loose, but the movements are so familiar, so quintessentially him, that you can’t help but smile. Clearly knowing he’s found a weak spot, he comes closer, dropping to his knees, elbows on the bed, head cradled in his hands as he bats exaggeratedly large eyes at you. “Technically, it’s our bed anyway, so… Please?”

“Fine.” He’s pulling the sheets back before you’ve even finished. Wriggling his ass against the mattress, batting the pillows into place, too late to take it back now.

“Is that my pillow?” He asks, pointing to your side of the bed.

Originally, you’d taken it because the smell reminded you of him, but it had been such a long time. It no longer smelled of him, and you could claim that you don’t remember. “Not anymore.”

“’Fine.’” He mimics you for the second time that night, probably payback for your atrocious attempt at Australian earlier.

Awkward silence befalls the room. It’s not as bad as it had been downstairs, not as hostile, but the tension is still thick. When you’d patched him up earlier, the air had been pungent with blood and steriliser. Now though, he filled the bed with a familiar spicy musk that made you more comfortable than you’d anticipated. You wondered if you’ll wash the sheets right after he’s gone, or if you’ll be swapping the pillows around once more.

You risk a peek at him, curious if he still the same up-close, all scruff and rough and homey. His green eyes are already staring back at you. Caught out, you refuse to shy away, allowing him to watch you watch him. He’s leaner now, and you note a few tattoos you don’t recognise across his upper arm and chest.

As the minutes pass, the tension simmers. It’s almost peaceful, being so close again. It all feels so intimate, so easy, at least until he says the dumbest thing you’ve heard all day.

“What happened to us, aye?”

“What happened? You lied to me, for basically all of our relationship. You humiliated me.” Once it started coming out, it didn’t stop. Unconsciously, you sit up straight, keeping your distance as you continue to rant. “You can’t just talk your way back in here and pretend like it didn’t happen. I trusted you, and you made a fool out of me.”

“Hold on now, it’s not like that.” He remains calm, still laying back in the bed, amused by your sudden outburst. His laid-back attitude had been so charming when you’d fallen for him. Now it pissed you off.

“Then what is it like, George?” His brows don’t furrow until you reach the end of the sentence.

“Stop it.” He finally sits up, hunched to ensure eye contact. “Stop calling me that!”

Even during the worst spells of your relationship, he’s never eyed you so intensely, not in this context, at least. Back then, it might have scared you, but now you were relieved to see some real emotion from him, even if he’s picking at a scab you don’t want touched. You know exactly what he’s getting at, but you don’t want to address it, so you repeat your earlier question. “What is it like?”

“You’ve never called me George before today.” He rebuffs your question again, zeroing in on his own issue. He’d never liked his birthname, so you’d never used it—not until you’d needed a way to distance yourself from him.

“George never broke my heart.” Your voice is a whisper but he’s close enough to hear it. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing as he mulls over your words. Every second is like torture until you put a stop to it. You grab his pillow from the bed as you stand. “This was a mistake. Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Please don’t.” Calloused fingers wrap around your arm, not hard enough to bruise but firm enough to keep their grip as you’re tugged back onto the bed. “I’m sorry for what I did, for all of it—the fights, the stealin’. And I’m sorry I didn’t say sorry sooner.”

Those same strong fingers drag along your arms, attempting to offer comfort. Unable to muster the resolve to fight it, you let him pull you deeper onto the bed, encasing you in an embrace that is both unwelcome and wanted.

“Do you think there’s a way we can fix us?” He asks, voice cracked. He draws closer, nestling into the nook of your neck as he awaits your response.

You’ve laid awake in this very spot missing him for such a long time. Praying that one day, this exact moment might happen, but there are things you have to be certain of first. “Are you just saying all this to get laid?”

There is hesitation that briefly fills you with dread before he replies carefully. “No.”

“Will you give it all up?” You cup his cheeks, pulling him up until you’re face to face, where you can watch his reaction. You’re both so close, so ready to fold, but you can’t give up your morals, so maybe you can convince him to change. “The whole rogue thing? Will you quit?”

“Darlin’… Loving you has nothing to do with -”

You interrupt him with a kiss, a desperate attempt to change his mind before he commits to his statement. He tastes like copper and malt. Blood and beer. It reminds you of every kiss you’d shared before now. You shove your tongue inside his mouth, craving more, and he shudders in response.

When you pull away, he watches you with a dazed expression, scabbed lips pulled into a dreamy smile.

“That was ace.” Your foreheads press together, and he closes his eyes, thinking, preserving, you’re not sure, but his smile gradually falters. “But would ya do that in front of the bonze?”

“I would.” It’s an instant response, but once it leaves your mouth you know there’s a stipulation. “If you reformed.”

“We’re just goin’ around in bloody circles.” He releases you, hands thrown in the air as he falling back against the bed with a frustrated grunt. A giggle escapes your lips at the sight, but once he’s settled, you start to miss the warmth of his body with a force you hadn’t felt since the night of your breakup.

Unwilling to let the moment go just yet, you encroach his side of the bed, resting your head on his chest. He signals his approval by stroking his hand against your back.

“We’re supposed to be enemies, you know?” You’re talking to him but don’t have the strength to move in a way that allows you to look at his face. “I should hate you, why can’t I hate you?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious why.” He gives your shoulder a playful nudge. “Am just lovable.”

He laughs at his joke, wholeheartedly. You laugh, humouring his attempt to lighten the mood.

When the laughter dries up, you lay together in silence yet again, so many pauses, both of you so uncertain how to move forward. The beat of his heart thumping beneath your ears is the only sound you can make out.

“I just gotta pull one last job.” He cuts through the quiet.

“What is it?” You make the effort to angle your head upwards, but he halts you by placing his hand on the top of your head.

“Can’t tell ya.” He taps his fingers against your head the way he would a table, one fingertip at a time. It’s a nervous tick he’d picked up a long time ago. “Nothin’ personal, just don’t want ya tryna’ stop me.”

Could you call yourself a hero if you let him do whatever he was planning? If you didn’t take preventative measures, or hold him responsible for yet another crime?

“Digger, please don’t make me regret this.”

When you wake the next morning, the space beside you is empty and cold. The wrinkled outline of his body in the sheets serve as the only proof that anyone had been there the night before. No noises rung through the flat, no footsteps, no echo from the TV, no running water. Fighting through morning fuzziness you stumble out of your bedroom, searching for your missing bedfellow, only to find an open window and an empty wallet.

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deadliestfishinthesea · 24 days

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"Morning, sleepy head."

"It's past noon, innit?" Your hair's a mess, everything hurts, and your bare toes are growing numb from the chilly spring air.

But the coffee smells good, and his eyes gleam with satisfaction at your ruined state.

"It is." He holds his cigarette between his teeth and offers you the blanket. And a place on his lap.

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deadliestfishinthesea · 1 month

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I'm just... gonna leave this here...

*silently slinks away*

Pls tag me if someone hears my call and writes something

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deadliestfishinthesea · 1 month

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Going Dark

Captain John Price x GN!reader

MDNI 18+, canon typical violence

This is my submission to the lovely @glitterypirateduck challenge using the prompts: 3. A rescue takes place 9. The entire scene takes place in the dark (power outage, blackout)

The lights go out plunging the large, open plan office into darkness, shouting and cursing erupting from the armed men and women around you, their fear unmistakable.

“Fuck, they’re here,” one of them shouts, an audible tremble in their voice.

“Shut up!” someone snaps back, the metallic noise of a weapon being handled worrying close to you. “Just remember your training and shoot anything that moves.”

“How the fuck do I see them in the dark?” the first voice whines petulantly. You worm your way under the desk, your colleague’s desk, to hide. You’re the last one left, the others dragged from the room and dead for all you knew. You were most likely the last one left alive now, and you’d already said your goodbyes in your head to everyone you’d ever loved while demands were yelled over a phone to the hostage negotiators about side your office building hours before. The sun had long set since then, and you knew times was ticking towards your final moments.

The confused hubbub around you starts to settle, the lights remaining off and darkness curling around you in your little hiding space under the desk. That is until the world explodes in a shower of glass and ear shattering noise around you. Gunfire peels around you, no matter how hard you press your palms over your ears and squeezed your eyes shut. It felt like the end of the world, and maybe it was, until the sounds suddenly stop and all you can hear is your own ragged breathing and the blood thundering through your head.

You stay still, frozen like a rabbit in headlights in your cramped space, until something touches your trembling knee and you flinch, smashing the top of your head against the desk above you and sending sparks across your vision.

“Easy now, you’re okay,” a deep voice says incredibly softly. You blink your eyes, the darkness blinding you but you’re certain if you could see everything would be swimming after that knock.

“Don’t kill me,” you plead to the unseen speaker, voice thick with fear.

“I’m one of the good guys,” the voice reassures you, and you feel a hand on your forearm gently gripping you and tugging you out from your hiding space. “Out you come,” he insists firmly, and you find yourself following his instructions and kneel on the ground beside the desk instead of crouching under it.

You can’t see him in the dark, the light filtering through the windows doing nothing to show you anything other than where the outside is. There’s a faint green light though, hovering just in front of you, and that’s when you understand.

“You’ve got those night vision things on? So you can see where you are?” you whisper, frowning. There’s a soft chuckle, and you hear him shift again and the green glow moves with the sound.

“Affirmative,” he says. “I can see them, but they can’t see me. That’s why we cut the power, it gives us an edge.”

The pale glow moves around, dipping out of sight and returning, and you assume he is looking around the room. You can only imagine the scene, the furniture thrown around, bodies on the floor… you shudder.

“D’you know your way around here?” he asks, with the same gruff but calm tone.

“Yes, I’ve worked here for years,” you answer, wishing you could see as well as he can right now. Your limbs begin to tremble, and you rub your hands together to try and keep them still. “What’s… I mean, can I ask your name?” You blurt out, teeth chattering slightly and head pounding.

“Captain Price,” he answers and you hear him get up, his equipment rustling and rattling slightly. “Up you get, let’s get you out of here.” You feel a large hand grab your wrist, the rough fabric of a glove scratching at your skin as he tugs you upwards. Your hand is pressed against something firmly. “There’s a handle there on my pack, hold that and don’t let go. That way we won’t get separated.”

“Okay, got it,” you mumble.

You barely have time to wrap your fingers around the padded material before he moves and tugs you along with him. You shuffle your feet until you manage to find a way to follow that doesn’t have you bumping into him like a straggling toddler. You quietly guide him to the door to the hallway, and tell his how to reach the stairs, but you have a suspicion he knows where he is going anyway and is just trying to give you something to think about.

There’s a loud noise to your left as you stagger down the hallway towards the stairs, and your rescuer spins towards it, pulling you down to the ground in a frightening show of reactions and speed. Blindly and clumsily you have no option but to sprawl on the floor, just a fraction of a second before bullets tear out on an opened doorway towards you.

Thankfully you manage to stifle your startled cry, but you’re sure everyone can hear the hammering of your heart over the rattling of bullets. Price shifts position and pulls you across the floor after him before, to your abject horror, straddling your chest. Thick, heavily muscled thighs encapsulate your torso, pinning you underneath him as he fires back at the attacker.

The darkness is all consuming apart from where light flares from the muzzle of the opposed weapons. In a daze of confusion and possible concussion from hitting the ground, you look up. You catch fractions glimpses of military equipment, a web of straps and pockets, above that a helmeted head and those night vision goggles. A beard pokes from beneath.

Too late you realise your hands have come to rest on those thighs, and your fingers have anchored onto a matched pair of straps across them. Probably a set of fun holsters, you tell yourself, but it’s comforting to have something solid to hold. As he tenses against the recoil of his weapon you can feel his body tense and shift, and a tiny part of your brain wonders how that would compare to him doing other activities.

The firing stops and a horrible rattling, wheezing fills the ringing silence, followed by a thump. You thank the darkness for concealing yet another dead body from you.

“You okay down there?” Price asks, and tries to move but your grip on his holster jerks him back. “C’mon, you’re okay. Let go now, nice and easy,” he says softly. You feel gloved hands peeling your numb fingers away one by one until he can move off of you, and the absence of his weight makes your anxiety spike.

“Sorry… I… um…. All the gunfire….” you babble, trying to quell the rising tide of emotion.

“Don’t worry, it’s not something I expect you to handle all that well. Just remember, you’re my mission right now. I’m here to get you out of here in one piece, so just stick close to me and do what I say, when I say,” he says, his tone calm and authoritative without making him sound unkind. One gloved hand pulls you up to your feet, and then squeezes the top of your arm in a comforting gesture.

“I bet you say that to all the hostages you rescue,” you burble in an attempt to sound less terrified, but your voice is brittle, betraying the absolute absence of bravery in you right now.

“No,” he chuckles, “just the special ones.” He actually sounds genuinely amused by your attempt at bravado, and you smile foolishly before remembering that while you cannot see him, he absolutely can see you. You’re sure you hear a soft chuff of a laugh as your expression changes to humiliation.

“Right… well… let’s get going then before anyone else jumps out,” you managed to say, the hint of a smile playing on your lips which you really hope he isn’t seeing.

“Right you are then, love,” he replies, and that word has you snapping your head back towards him. He places your hand on his back again and starts heading towards the stairs. Flirting with a heavily armed man who has come to rescue you seems a really stupid idea, but he doesn’t seem all that bothered about it. If anything, it feels like he is enjoying it.

The cavernous space of the emergency stairwell opens, the dim emergency lights providing just enough light to stop you from falling down the steps and breaking your neck as you move quickly down behind the Captain. He lifts the goggles but keeps you behind him so you aren’t shielded by his enormous bulk. Now you can see him, you appreciate just how huge he is.

“We need to cross the main foyer to get you to safety, so keep behind me still. Okay?”

“Yes, sure thing,” you answer and stop trying to peer at him. You get a hint of blue eyes above the beard, but it’s impossible to see much more as he keeps you moving. The door opens and you are quickly marched through the destruction that is left of your building's main foyer, furniture strewn around and smashed, the big windows blown smashed to pieces, and the glare of giant lamps and emergency light shining through them like supernovas.

“Nearly there now, c’mon,” he chivvies you up as you squint at the lights ahead, struggling to adjust after the near total darkness. As you pass outside to the cold night air Price pulls you forward and pushes you towards a waiting paramedic. The paramedic wraps you in a shiny blanket, as though you’d just finished running the marathon and not survived a life or death situation, and urges you towards the back of the ambulance nearby. You look back, your heart dropping as you realise Price has left your side already and is walking away towards three other tall figures.

“Wait, wait where did he go?” you blurt out as Price vanishes into the crowd of bodies and flashing lights. Police officers mill about, and you spot a few tall figures in military garb, but you lose sight of them quickly. “No, I want to talk to him,” you insist, throat burning with a sense of loss at the fact that you didn’t get to see his face properly.

A few weeks pass, life returning to its humdrum routine. Your bosses find a temporary place for everyone to work from after giving everyone that survived the attack two weeks paid leave. You find your thoughts constantly returning to Price, hearing his voice in your sleep every single night, especially those nights where the nightmares take hold. He always turns up, guiding you to safety, the feel of his solid body against yours a burning sensation. You feel ashamed, but more than once you wake up with your blood rushing through your veins and a deep, urgent ache in your stomach.

You’ve lost count of how many times you chase that feeling in the dead of night, the darkness around you allowing you to imagine that hidden face taking you all the way to your peak in your sweat soaked sheets. As you sit in the coffee shop, your face warms as you absentmindedly stir your drink and ponder exactly what your hidden rescuer looked like, until the light from the window dims. You look up and see a body silhouetted against the bright sunlight, looking down at you. A beard covering his cheeks and a beanie hat pulled down over his ears.

“Mind if I join you, love?” A familiar, deep voice asks, and your heart nearly stops as you gawp up at him.

“Please do, Captain,” you smile.

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@thriving-n-jiving @iloveslasher @thecubanator2 @bossva @xxladysquishyxx @murder-hobo @aulescev @tiredmetalenthusiast @haurasha @evolutionarry @lunamoonbby @cryingpages @yawning-grave81 @daniblogs164 @rantingraquel @waves-against-a-cliff @letmelickyoureyeballs @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @thatonepupkai @anubisisthebomb @beebeechaos @ladyxtiger @ashy-kit @meepmeepmeep1011111 @cassiecasluciluce @confuseddipshit @mandythemint @ihatethinkingofnames10 @torchbearerkyle @jinxxangel13 @darkangel4121 @cringeycookies @ttsbaby01 @supernaturalstilinski @thesinsoflust @lovifie @hayleybarnesx @katzykat @airyonna15 @hxnneydew @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @callsign-pyro @neoarchipelago @kaoyamamegami @dij-ology @blush-haze @imkumichan

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