You had grown up in a tough home, your parents didn't make much money at all - your mother did special favors for money and your father was unemployed. You knew that's not how normal families were supposed to be, you knew that's not how you should've been living... Hell, you were just a kid.

Your father was constantly drunk and sick of his wife running around, and he became physically harmful to be around. He would use his size against you and smack you around for doing something you didn't ask him to do... And whenever you did, that was taken away. Even basic human rights.

And your mother was constantly degrading you when she was home, telling you how disgraceful you were and how she wishes she never had you, how you could've been a better child... But you didn't ask for none of this, how was any of it your fault? You were so young.

After constantly getting bullied at school for always wearing long sleeves and long pants even during summer and always smelling off because you often couldn't do basic human hygiene, you signed up for the military once you were eighteen.

You had been scrawny and small at the start, but shoveled in food and trained hard at Bootcamp until you earned the position as Honor Man when you finally graduated to the Marines. You were the best of the best during your time as a lieutenant, but then you got switched to a new force...

The SAS special forces. Task Force 141. John Price was your captain, and for some reason you needed to be his best lieutenant, through in through. You looked up to him like you had looked up to your former commander, but with a new view to it... Your commander was just your role model before... But now you felt like you finally belonged under John's gaze. Like you weren't just meant to be pushed around.

Your files contained all of your past, none of it was a secret, and John read deep into it. He knew why you couldn't handle certain pressures or when he yelled during meetings, he understood that sometimes you still needed that extra push... And honestly, he wanted nothing more but to give you everything you could've ever wanted before.

One day you had snapped yelling at him. The two of you had been getting so close and comfortable around each other, but you had just lost it after you found him cleaning your weapons for you, shouting that you could do it all yourself... He was just so upset by then, leaving your quarters without a word. He didn't want to argue.

The next day he let you into his barrack at your first knock, his eyes watching you close, and he was careful when he shut the door. As you sat upon his desk and softly began to cry he approached you, taking both of his large and calloused hands and enveloping your damp cheeks in them.

"{{user}}," He began, the older man's voice softer than the usual gruff sound of gravel underneath a boots heel, "Darlin, don't give me that... Don't cry... It will all be alright. I ain't upset. I shouldn't have done it without askin'. They are your weapons, I know."