Pink

Sitting at the bar of the Wet Wick? He’s draped himself over your body and is cuddling into your nape

Just succeeded at the smallest thing? He’s lifting you up and twirling you around

Just seeing you for the first or last time that day? Your both huddled up and swaying back and forth for at least 5 whole minutes

He’s blackout drunk? Will literally drag you around wherever with an arm around you

It irritates almost everyone around you but they don’t have the heart to say anything about it

You know except Vere, Mhin, and Ais probably-

The amount of times they’ve walked in on you two damn near molded into one, they lost count

“Should we let you two be so you can keep humping each other?” - Vere

Cue Leander’s embarrassed laughing

That still doesn’t stop him though

But in all honesty he loves the fact that you love hugs

Because that means he can be as affectionate as he wants with you :>

But it also means that whenever he’s sad mode he can just…flop into your arms and lay his head on your chest

Trust him when he says that no therapy can top the feeling of your arms wrapped around him while you gently rub his back

Will totally NOT use physical affection as a way to get what he wants

Please hug this man I can tell that he needs it

AIS

Whew boy…this one’s a doozy

He has the option to just hug you back and go about his day, but then again this is Ais we're talking about he refuses to NOT tease you

He see’s you running up to him, opened arms preparing to jump on him and he stands there, not doing a damn thing

He fully allows you to just tackle him and stand there with your arms around him

He stares down at you with that same smug grin

“Feeling touchy today, sparrow?”

Now just because he’s teasing you doesn’t mean he doesn’t like the hugs

In fact he l o v e s them

The rare days he actually does decide to reciprocate the affection he doesn’t let you go for as long as he can

He’s walking into the wet wick with your legs wrapped around his waist and arms on his shoulders, his hands sitting right underneath your butt securing you in his embrace

All everyone can do is just stare at him like “this fucking guy”

CUDDLE PILES WITH THE SOULLESS

Especially princess

The days where it’s extremely cold or he’s just feeling lovey dovey you’ll spend hours huddled up at the seaspring with princess laying across both of your laps and the rest of the soulless surrounding you

Like Leander, uses any possible reason to hug you like it’s the last time he’ll see you

Will walk up to you and lift you up with one arm to spin you around

Do not say your too heavy. He will challenge you on that

The last thing you hear before being lifted up is a raspy “come ‘er you”

The worse days where the voices of the hive mind are clouding any of his own thoughts and making him more loopy than usual, your arms is usually the first thing he seeks

Standing there for long periods of time, his body simply draping itself onto you, his head buried deep into your neck, all he needed was the feeling of your own arms around him, your face pressed against his chest

And just maybe if you listened close enough, you could hear what sounded like purring

KURAS

Hmm

Hmmmmm

I get the feeling that at first he would be caught off guard, not used to the feeling of someone clinging onto him so often

For some time he simply chuckles whenever you hug him and gives you a slightly awkward pat on the back before you pull away

But once he actually starts getting used to your affection, he’s more than happy to give it right back :>

Unlike the others who are fully prepared and have arms waiting for you, this tall man instead stands there with absolutely no intention of moving

He lets you run to him and pull him into a tight hold, paying no attention to what’s happening around him as he rests his hand on the small of your back, gently rubbing it

He never explicitly states that he loves or hates the hugs, but he does never pull away whenever you do it

If you happen to be at the clinic whenever he’s dealing with a patient and you wanted a hug he would tell you as gently as possible to wait a moment

“Give a minute would you my dear, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Very soft but very firm <3

Does not give a fuck if other people say something about your excessive hugging

He’ll give them a harsh side eye but otherwise say nothing about it 

If there is any chance he wants a hug back, he won’t directly say it, but he will make it known he wants one

Walks up to you and simply says “my love” before grabbing you by the hand to pull you close

It’s sudden, but that doesn’t make it any less wholesome

The kind of man to let you run up and hug him with all of your strength and simply continue the conversation he was having

Imagine one rare night he decides to bring out his wings and wraps them around you to add to the hug

Probably one of the few cases where he’s brought out his wings that wasn’t for “other” reasons

VERE

Wheeewwww all I have to say is, good luck

If you thought Ais was bad with the teasing, Vere will do you one better

The second you wrap your arms around him it’s like he’s programmed to bully you

“Aw well isn’t someone feeling needy.”

He’s not pulling away, but that doesn’t mean he’s shutting up lmao

The first time you did it, he simply stood there. Ears pressed down as his tail was fluffed up

He didn’t know what to do. I don’t think this guy has gotten a genuine hug before

His first instinct was to push you away, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do that. You weren’t attacking him or anything, you were just, embracing him?

Once you did pull away he replaced his initial shock with a smirk, using his pointer finger to lift your chin and ask if you wanted to touch him that badly

It takes him longer than Kuras to get used to your affection, he’s probably only used to being touched if it’s sex related unfortunately

Prefers if you gently wrap your arms around him instead of running up and practically jumping on him

He’ll be damned before he looks like a fool in public

Pray for whoever decides to be brave enough to comment on your hugging because it can go two ways

Vere says fuck it and kills them right there

Or he sends them so many passive aggressive comments they just walk away reevaluating their life

Only HE can bully you

Takes him forever to start coming to you for comfort hugs

It would have been at least some time after you’ve known each other

One day he just straight up drags you away from what your doing, making sure it was just you and him

He then proceeds to damn near suffocate you with his hold, but after a few seconds you hug him back, both of you locked in place, his tail wagging in pure glee

He tells you to pretend it never happened but you can see the way his tail sways whenever you hug him again

MHIN

In all honesty, they are probably the first one to actually push you away the first time you hug them

Not used to physical affection at ALL but also does not desire it

They didn’t mean to be so forceful when they pushed you, they just genuinely weren’t expecting you to be so…so

Affectionate?

So when you run up and jump on them one day after they just finished hunting soulless their all like “⁉️⁉️”

When you look at them with concern they just tsk and look away

“At least ask first.”

Is fully aware of your hugger tendencies they just…don’t know what to do with that

For some time you do ask first if it’s okay to hug them, and they say yes, but then they proceed to just stand there stiff as a board as you love on them

But if anyone dares to bring up your clinginess their quick to snap back at them

ESPECIALLY if it’s anyone besides Kuras

Even if they don’t show it, they do appreciate you being willing to be physically affectionate in anyway

Especially after so many years of them being convinced that no one could love a monster

Also prefers if you would gently hug them than run up, but also wouldn’t mind the second thing

If you do then they just blush and flick you on the head

Because I have a feeling that they are someone that you cannot sneak up on so there’s a good chance they heard you coming💔

After a while (like a few months) they eventually get used to your constant hugging, so if there’s ever a day where you aren’t wrapped around them then they are quick to wonder if your okay

We love soft Mhin

On the very rare days that Mhin ever seeks out your hugs for comfort, they make sure that they make it count

Like Vere, pulls you aside so it’s just the two of you and simply gives you a tight squeeze, with their hand resting on the back of your head

The only sound resounding in the near empty room was the dripping of blood, a sick echo of the liquid dripping onto concrete. (Y/N) was so out of it that she had originally assumed there was a leak in the ceiling, but she was wrong. She only realized it was the sound of her own blood when she saw the pool of the red liquid under her rippling in tune with the dripping noise.

She knew she was hurt, of course— how could she forget the rigorous hours of torture she had been subject to? But she didn’t know that a person could bleed this much and survive, it reflected in her physical state heavily. Everything hurt, even thinking.

How did she even end up here?

She led a normal life. She lived off of tips and the wage she earned by waiting tables at a cushy place downtown. After long nights and rush hours, she would return home to her apartment and plants. Along the way, she met a woman who she loved with her entire heart and was lucky enough to call her girlfriend. (Y/N) (L/N) lived as normal as life could get and yet somehow, someway, one of those life choices led to her capture and torture by members of the cartel.

“I don’t know anything!” She’d sobbed for hours as they dismantled her physical and psychological being without relent. Drawn out beatings, cuts, slashes, all blended together in her mind as one heaping pile of pain.

One name stuck out. The one that they had asked her about her connection to over and over again: El Sin Nombre.

She had no clue who El Sin Nombre was. She guessed they were some rival to the men who had been torturing her, but she knew nothing more than that and she certainly didn’t know how she fit into the equation.

She didn’t run with any cartels, or do drugs— hard ones anyway, she couldn’t imagine her marijuana use had anything to do with this. She knew for a fact that her plug didn’t dabble in selling or consuming harder drugs either, so it couldn’t have been him. Besides, who gets tortured for enjoying a blunt every once in a while? She was innocent, why couldn’t they see that?

The door pounded, wood splintering and cracking from the pressure. That wasn’t good. The cartel had been angry throughout her interrogation, that much had been clear with the way they had treated her, yet now they were unable to even keep their cool. What happened? Was she no longer “useful” to them? Had they decided she was better off dead? What made it so urgent that they couldn’t use the key and had to knock the door down?

The door finally caved under the pressure. The big group of men that (Y/N) had been expecting turned out to be just one man. One man with a gun.

Panic shot through her veins, a newfound energy along with it. She thrashed around in her chair, desperate to get away from him, yet the restraints didn’t budge.

He stomped towards her, a blank face as he held the gun in a position that suggested he was ready to lift and shoot at the drop of a hat.

She would do anything to survive, grasping at straws for a chance at life, “Hey- hey, wait wait wait- I thought- you need me, you need the information I have.” She didn’t have any information, she knew that, and it seemed so did he.

“Your information is not important.” He huffed, a deep glare etched into his eyes, “Something’s come up, I have to tie up the loose ends.”

His gun raised, aiming straight for her forehead. Tears fell from her eyes, with nothing to lose now she had no qualms crying to her heart’s content. All shame she felt dissipated as she sobbed and begged— begged for her life.

“Please- Please, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did please, please don’t kill me.”

Her throat felt raw as her sobs bordered on screams. She saw his finger wrap around the trigger and she closed her eyes as she heard a loud bang, waiting to feel the pain and then nothing at all.

But it never came.

She felt a spray of hot liquid splashing on her face, which she suspected was her own blood, but confusion consumed her as she still felt very much alive.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The man who nearly killed her was on the ground, resting in a puddle of his own blood.

“What the fuck?” She whispered, eyes wide. She looked up, met with the sight of a man. He wore a uniform, army, and he had stubble and a Mohawk. He looked like any average soldier and yet after hours of unrelenting torture, you could never be too cautious.

She struggled against her restraints once more but it only proved to be a harder task now that her adrenaline levels were fading and exhaustion was taking over.

“Hey, Hey!” He called out to her, trying to calm her down, “it’s okay, love, it’s over. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

She calmed at the thought, staring at him with hopeful eyes. “Please.” She begged. At this point, she didn’t even know what she was begging for.

He stepped forward carefully, “I’m Soap, I’m going to try and untie your restraints. Is tha’ okay?”

She didn’t like how he treated her like a scared animal but she appreciated him narrating everything he was doing. It made things predictable, less scary that way. She nodded.

Despite getting the go ahead, he continued at a slow pace, in fear of startling her or triggering something. With the state of her blood-stained body, he could only imagine the horrors she had went through in however long she had been there.

She felt nervous as he had to stand behind her to untie her wrists. Out of her line of vision, he was unpredictable. But as a seasoned soldier, he knew that, knew exactly how she was feeling, and he would do anything in his power to alleviate some of the pain.

“The ropes aren’t budging, I’m going to use a knife to cut them off, so I need you to stay real still, okay?”

She nodded.

He sawed the ropes until they fell off with a wet plop onto the soaked floor. She pulled her hands forward, shoulders aching from having been kept in that position for so long. She stared down at the red lines that followed her wrists where the ropes had been. She had struggled so much that she rubbed her wrists raw and bloody.

He walked around to the front of the chair, where he squatted down and did the same to the restraints on her ankles.

Completely unrestrained, she got slightly overzealous and attempted to stand. Her legs were weak, though, having only stood few times in the past however long when the cartel felt gracious enough to let her go to the bathroom. She nearly instantly collapsed and likely would have fallen right on top of the dead man had the soldier not been there to catch her.

“Hey, easy, easy. Don’ think you should be walkin’ on your own just yet.” He looked down at her, trying to help her stand on her own but it was proving impossible in her state, “alright, I’m going to pick you up.”

One of his hands snaked down from where they were on her sides to the pit of her knees, picking her up in a bridal carry. She groaned at the movement, open wounds aching and sending shooting pains throughout her body.

“Steamin’ Jesus, what did they do to you?” He wondered aloud, concerned at the whines and pained moans leaving her mouth.

She didn’t respond, too emotionally and physically exhausted to have a deep conversation. As he carried her throughout the compound, her eyes began to shut, almost succumbing to darkness. Soap instantly took notice.

“Hey, you can’t go dying on me now, love. Gotta stay awake. Talk to me.” He hoped she would start rambling so he could gauge the state she was in without having to take his focus off of the compound in front of him, but she just blinked at him. It was a hard task to ask of a girl who had just been through hell. But Soap was witty, and he had no problem finding another way for her to talk, “What’s your name, hen?”

“(Y/N),” it came out like a whisper, but before this she hadn’t talked to him at all so it was progress.

“(Y/N)? I like it. What’s your favorite color, (Y/N)?”

“Blue,” she murmured.

He smiled, “nice color, I like green.”

“Green? Is your full name Irish Spring?” Her voice was weak, and wavering, so it was hard to get across a tone to match the joke she had made.

He shook his head, not understanding that she was joking, “I’m Scottish actually.”

“Irish Spring, like the green soap.”

He looked down at her and smirked, “I did not think you were capable of makin’ quips like that.”

She looked away, feeling some of the effects of the blood loss hitting her. Loopy-ness being the main one, she found herself unable to control her words, “What kind of name is Soap anyway?”

“It’s not a name.” He said, kicking down a door that stood in their way. Quickly checking if the coast was clear before finishing his statement, “It’s a callsign. My real name is John.”

“John,” she mumbled, “that doesn’t really suit you.”

“You can call me Johnny if ya like-“

Just as Soap thought he was making progress, keeping the hostage’s thoughts on other things, he was met with the sound of more cartel.

“Fuck.” He muttered, mind racing through all of his options.

(Y/N) could tell they were coming, her eyes were wide and her heart rate picked up. Fear consumed her once more. Especially as the soldier set her down on the ground.

“I’m going to deal with this, you stay right here.” He explained, not giving her room to speak as he b lined it out of the door, towards the gaggle of cartel members.

All she heard were gunshots, gunshots and screaming. She made an attempt at self soothing by rocking back and forth but it didn’t help that she was wounded to shit, making her movements jagged and painful.

What if Johnny died out there? What if her only hope at escape from this awful place was shot and killed defending her?

She didn’t know if there were more soldiers, or if it was just him, all she knew was that she needed him, desperately.

God, how she wanted to peek so bad, especially when the room went silent. But she knew she couldn’t disobey the soldier. Not when it was his judgement that had gotten them this far.

Like an answered prayer, he appeared right in the doorway.

“Hey, hen.” He smiled at her, trying to cheer her up, but it faltered when he saw just how harshly she had reverted to the nervous state he had found her in.

He walked up towards her, picking her up once more. “I’ve gotcha,” he coo’d, hoping to calm her down slightly. He knew he had to get her out of there, fast, so he sped up his pace.

It went like that for a while, until they finally made it to the evac point.

Soap could see the confusion portrayed by each of his team members as he carried the wounded woman towards them. She was covered in blood and limp, to the team she looked like a corpse, yet Soap could see her eyes staring at any and everything, they still had life behind them.

The masked man spoke first, “what’s this?” His critical eyes analyzing her.

Soap could tell that his teammate’s imposing presence scared the girl, so he nodded him off to the side, “This, Ghost, is (Y/N), the cartel was holding her hostage.”

Shortly after, he turned to (Y/N), not wanting to talk about her with them right in front of her, “this is my team, Ghost, Gaz, and Captain Price.”

The man he had referred to as Captain Price stood at attention as their evac helicopter came inbound. “Plenty of time for introductions on the chopper, Soap.”

He nodded and hopped in the second the aircraft landed. In the short time it took to load everyone in, he called out to the crew who had already been in the chopper, “can I get a medic?” He yelled, gesturing towards the blood coated woman.

Thankfully, of the small crew they’d taken with them, a medic was amongst their ranks. They took to the girl, packing her bigger wounds with gauze as she groaned in pain.

“Oh, fuck!” She called out, face twisting into a grimace.

“What did the cartel want from you?” Price prodded.

Soap went to get onto him for questioning her as she writhed in pain, but Gaz beat him to it, “Jesus, Captain, the poor thing’s gettin’ treated for extensive wounds and now is when you want to question her?”

The men stared at each other, but (Y/N) relented. “I- I don’t know. They kept bringing up some guy in a rival cartel but I don’t- I don’t know anything about it.”

A loud whine left her lips as a particularly deep gash was treated. She couldn’t stop the tear that fell down her cheek from the pain.

Soap frowned, trying to stay positive, “we’re gonna get you home, alright hen?”

And she nodded, reluctant but hopeful.

The rest of the ride was a blur, at some point she passed out, she only woke up days later in a bright hospital room. To her surprise, the Scottish soldier was by her side.

“Johnny?” She mumbled, voice raw and cracking from a lack of use.

His head shot up, staring at the girl who had been asleep for nearly four days. “(Y/N), hey! How are you feeling?”

She groaned, body sore, “like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

He chuckled slightly, “yeah, you look it too. But the doc says you’ll be back to your old self in no time, whatever that is.”

“So nothing too serious?” She asked.

His lips flattened, not liking the way her words discredited what she went through. “You took quite the beating, hen. Nothing deadly or physically altering, but you broke a few ribs, got a couple of deep gashes, and you suffered so much blood loss they had to drug you up until you were fixed.”

She sighed, taking in his words, “fuck, man.”

“But the doctor only let up on the drugs now because everything’s sorted, as long as you follow the doctors orders and get one last physical, you’re good to go home until the next checkup.”

Her expression didn’t change at the good news, “I- I don’t even know where I am. Or how to get home.”

Soap grabbed her hand, “Don’t worry about that, I’ll get you where you need to be.”

She gulped anxiously, but nodded nonetheless.

By the end of the day, Johnny fulfilled his promise. She was discharged from the hospital and he himself drove her back home. He even went as far as to walk her into her house and give her his number, should she ever need him.

She stared at the ground, never good at goodbye’s but still wanting to say her thanks, “Thank you, for everything.”

He pulled her into a hug, “No need to thank me, hen, you get some rest.” And just like that he was out the door.

Unbeknownst to the two, their goodbye had been watched.

Mere minutes after Soaps departure, frantic knocking sounded at (Y/N)’s door. Recent trauma still fresh on her mind, she panicked. A million possibilities flashed through her head, all ending with the cartel knocking down her door and taking her away once more.

That idea was shattered as (Y/N) heard her girlfriend yelling behind the door, “I know you’re home, (Y/N)!”

She hesitantly stepped towards the door, unlocking and cracking it open before Valeria pushed her way into the apartment with anger written all over her face.

Valeria slammed the front door shut, fuming words spewing out of her mouth before (Y/N) could even form a sentence, “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you like crazy for two weeks and you’ve just been gone. No voicemail, no text, not even a note.”

“Val I-“

“How could you just disappear like that? I care about you (Y/N), it really fucking hurts when you can’t seem to tell me you’re going somewhere.”

(Y/N) knew she was pissed. Valeria never talked about her emotions, ever, and here she was baring her wounds to (Y/N). Sure she was regularly angry, but (Y/N) knew her better. She knew that this was worse than any superficial fight they had ever had.

“Valeria-“

“And who was that man you were with, huh? Are you doing something behind my back?”

To (Y/N), this meant cheating, but to Valeria who had met Soap before, she had feared a full betrayal. She only fell short in her words as tears fell from her girlfriend’s eyes.

“No! No, I wouldn’t do that!” (Y/N) sobbed, “I was kidnapped, I barely made it out alive. He saved me!”

“Kidnapped?” Valeria whispered to herself, but (Y/N) heard it.

“I know, I know it sounds crazy- fuck, I feel crazy,” (Y/N) cut herself off, breathing out the last part, “but yeah, I was taken by the cartel because- because they thought I had ties to their rivals but I don’t, Valeria, I swear I don’t.”

Valeria’s face shifted to an expression (Y/N) couldn’t read. Some mix of pity, sadness, and almost… guilt?

She placed her hands on either of (Y/N)’s shoulders, “(Y/N), baby, do you remember who they were asking you about specifically?”

(Y/N) sniffled, “I don’t know, it was something like El Sin Hombre— no, Nombre? I don’t know, one of those. Why?”

Valeria’s face darkened. Her eyebrows knit together and the guilty look deepened. Her glare burnt a hole into the floor.

“You do have a connection to El Sin Nombre.” She muttered.

There was a beat of silence before (Y/N) spoke.

“What?” (Y/N) asked, confusion evident, only making her more distraught.

Valeria’s eyes slowly lifted to meet her girlfriend‘s, “(Y/N), I am El Sin Nombre.”

“No.” (Y/N) mumbled, ever so slightly raising her voice, “No, you can’t be.”

She tried to squirm away from Valeria, but the grip on her shoulders was too tight. Eventually she gave up trying to get away and allowed herself to collapse into her lover’s hold, sobbing into the crook of her neck.

“Please, no.” She cried, “it hurt, Valeria, it hurt. Please god no.”

Valeria pet her hair, tears quietly streaming down her face. The sound of her lover’s pain rang out like rusted church bells, raw screaming echoing off the living room walls.

Knowing that all this was her fault— that all of (Y/N)’s pain was caused by her— it hurt more than any bullet or shrapnel that Valeria had ever felt buried beneath her skin.

“They hurt me so bad. Please, Valeria.” And, god, (Y/N) had no clue what she was begging for but all she could do in this moment was plead— for respite, for love, for an end to her pain. She was reduced to this residual ache, physically, mentally, everything hurt. She hadn’t prayed in years and yet now she found herself yearning for divine intervention.

She choked on her words, yet Valeria heard her loud and clear.

The statement made Valeria shake not only in sorrow, but in a cacophony of despair and rage.

“I’ll kill them.” Valeria’s voice carried a malevolent undertone, laced with venom and spite.

(Y/N) stilled, her eyes trailing to slightly meet Valeria’s despite the way the rest of her face was hidden behind Valeria’s shirt, “What?”

Valeria pulled her from her chest, cupping her hands around (Y/N)‘s cheeks. It was in this moment that she finally saw how bruised and swollen (Y/N)’s face was, the full extent at which those men had hurt her. A rage bubbled beneath Valeria’s skin. “I will kill each and every one of them, (Y/N).”

And it wasn’t perfect. Everything still hurt. (Y/N) still felt like she was splayed out on the floor with her guts ripped open. And yet, it was enough. The promise of healing— of fixing things, however violently things needed to be fixed. And so they sat like that, Valeria holding her lover as she sobbed, for the rest of the night, and many nights after that, as long as it took to heal.

Months later, Soap was working late at the base, filling out paperwork from a recent mission. It was likely he was the only one working this late in this part of the building. That’s why it surprised him to hear a voice from behind him.

“Working hard, soldier?”

He knew the voice, but he thought he had imagined it. He was shocked as he turned around and confirmed his suspicions. She was leaning on the desk behind him, arms crossed.

“Valeria,” he looked the woman up and down, scanning her for weapons, “Why are you here?”

She sat up from the table, uncrossing her arms, “I came to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what? I got you arrested.”

She raised an eyebrow, staring into his soul, “I know that. I’m talking about something different.”

His brows furrowed, “go on.”

“A few months ago you saved a woman who was being tortured for information.”

“(Y/N),” he confirmed.

She nodded, “(Y/N) is my girlfriend.”

His jaw nearly dropped at the statement. “She told me she didn’t have any connection to the cartel,” he frowned, slight betrayal ebbing at him.

Valeria shook her head, guilt coming back as she remembered (Y/N) sobbing the same thing to her, “She didn’t know, I hadn’t told her.”

That made him feel better, but he was still confused, “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

Valeria’s tough attitude seemed to falter, “I just- Thank you. Thank you for saving her. I didn’t even know she was taken, I fear for what would have happened had she been there any longer.”

He nodded, “She’s a good person, never hurt her.”

He’s in the middle of a briefing when it happens, discussing relevant intel ahead of a mission happening in the imminent future. Arms folded, beside the projector screen, voice taking on his gruff, clipped tone used only to convey orders, information, commands. It’s a late workday, but the intelligence that has just come in is valuable, extremely relevant to the team’s next hunt. As much as Price would like to be home, he can’t be. Duty comes first, and you’ve learned to accept that in him.

His phone rings in his pocket, and he catches Gaz’s face just in time to see the expression of ‘Really, Cap?’ Before he excuses himself, looks at the screen.

It’s you.

Normally he’d have his phone on silent for briefings, but now he’s glad he’s forgotten. He’s told you explicitly that this number is for emergencies, and emergencies only. Short of life or death scenarios, this number is exclusively off limits.

Which means when he sees the number, his heart sinks below his stomach.

He’s answering and moving before your voice even comes through, wordlessly striding from the briefing room and ignoring the questioning calls from his team after him. There’s no preamble to your conversation, and he tries to remove the anger, the fear from his voice when he speaks.

“Where are you?”

“In the bedroom.” You whisper back urgently, and he can hear the tremble in your voice, can practically feel you shaking through the phone. There’s a pause on the other end of the line as he shoves open the doors to the command center towards the direction of the parking lot.

“John.” You whisper again, voice very small, hushed and quiet. “John, there’s someone in the house.”

Price doesn’t freeze despite the cold wash of dread in his veins. There’s only motion under his feet, heart pumping full of adrenaline in his chest, where something fearful, furious, brutal coils in a low growl. 

Before he can respond, however, there’s the sudden crash of something on the other line and you whimper.

“Where are the girls?” He demands as he waves off an officer who salutes him as he walks by, swinging his hand so hard the other man flinches.

“In the bathroom. I locked them in, they’re being quiet like their mummy told them.” You reply, and he can hear the growing sob in your throat. You’re terrified, beside yourself, but you don’t say it, don’t tell him how worried you are, how you want him to come home. You know he’s already on his way, you know to be brave, and for a moment Price’s heart swells with the tender affection of pride before it quells when there’s another clatter in the background.

“Hang up and call the police.” He tells you on no uncertain terms, pulling his keys from his jacket and all but racing towards his car.

“I already did. Told them where we are but-”

You pause then, release a low, shuddering exhale that crackles through the phone. 

“John, I just wanted to say I love you.”

“Don’t.” He snaps before he can stop himself, gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. “You are going to be fine, you understand me? You and the girls. I’m on my way, the police will get there before I do.”

And if they don’t, there will be hell to pay. He adds silently.

He can hear you suck in a breath to say something next, only to pause. 

The stairs creak in the background.

Price floors the gas.

“Get the gun.” Price tells you gravely, flashing his credentials at the gate operator without looking at him. “Can you get to the safe?”

It had become necessary due to the nature of his work to ensure you had a certain level of self-defense for your safety when he wasn’t home. Price had more enemies than he could count, and while he had made every precaution to ensure nobody, not even his team, knew of your existence, he had placed a certain level of insurance with you just in case. The paperwork had been a nightmare to get through, but with the mention of his specific job description, the powers that be had allowed an exception to the laws on weapons, leaving you with a short revolver hidden in a safe in the bedroom. 

You don’t answer his query, but Price can hear a rustle, the sound of you moving across the room to the top of the dresser. 

Moments tick by, and Price doesn’t speak in the silence, not wanting to offer a single sound that may alert the intruder to where you are. You remain just as quiet, but Price can hear the low, slow click of the safe’s lock as you twist the code into place. 

April 22nd. Your eldest’s birthday.

“I’ve got it.” You whisper, barely audible through the phone. 

Price sighs in relief, the smoky breath of him curling across the dashboard as he weaves through traffic, speeding tickets be damned. 

“Good girl.” He rumbles, trying to keep his voice low, even, reassuring. “Is the door locked?”

“...Yes. Yes.” You reply back, and he swears he can hear the sound of the gun shaking in your hand as you hold it.

“Loaded?” He asks again. There’s a click that is too loud when you open the chamber to check. 

“Six bullets.” You murmur, voice a little more even, more level now in a way that makes his heart ease, makes the commanding, logical instinct of his military training activate. 

“I want you by the door.” He orders you as if you’re one of his own. “Both hands on the gun, just as I showed you. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” You answer, and that alone, the wry humor you give him nearly has him smile, chuff with affectionate laughter. Yet whatever humor he possesses is terrifyingly absent in this scenario, the one that could very well end with both you and his daughters dead by the time he gets home. 

Bloody fucking hell. Where are the bloody cops?

“John…” You whisper then, just a touch louder so he hears you better over the thrum of the engine. “I can’t hear him. I think he’s gone.”

Price allows his eyes to flutter shut for all of a moment, clamping down on the premature relief that rises in his chest. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, softer, trying to ease your frayed, tender nerves. 

He can hear you swallow over the line, trying to wet your dry throat. “I…I think so.” You tell him at last. “I don’t-”

BANG-!

The sound of the bedroom door being kicked in.

He can hear you scream from the other end of the line, voice rising sharply in panic and terror as another, deeper voice echoes in the background, rising even louder with words he can’t hear. The sound is garbled, unintelligible as your phone drops to the floor. Price can barely hear the sound of his own voice when he shouts for you, words cracking in his throat. The road around him blurs, and he looks to the display on the dashboard to gauge the time until his arrival. 

Two minutes.

Two minutes for you to die, for his two beautiful daughters to be killed as they scream for you, two minutes for the undeserved happiness of his life to be stolen from him. 

Price yells again, voice desperate, calling your name. There’s the sound of struggle in the background, and you curse at your attacker- feral, untamed, terrified. Like a wild, injured mother animal defending her young from a predator.

Yet before Price can call out for you again, there’s a crunch, another, and the line goes dead. 

The world drops out from under him. 

The tires of Price’s car screech as he takes the turn into the neighborhood far too quickly, leaning with the inertia of the vehicle as he races down the street towards the house where his whole life is falling apart.

The car lurches to a stop in the middle of the street, Price not bothering to park properly as he tumbles out of the driver’s side door and towards the front step of the townhouse.

BANG-!!

A gunshot.

Price sees the image of your smiling face in a beautiful white dress flash behind his eyes.

The house goes silent.

Price used to be a religious man. His father would drag him to church on Sundays, would insist on his boys dressing proper and maintaining the appearance of good, devout, obedient children. He tried very hard to make himself believe through his adulthood, but in the years spent toiling in the dusty, blood-soaked underbelly of the world, Price has long since convinced himself there is no God left for ruined men like him.

Even so, in this moment, he prays.

The front door is locked, latched tight. The burglar must have come through the back door into the garden. Price calls for you, and it’s a stupid move on his part, alerting the enemy to his position, perhaps startling them enough to give them an opportunity to escape. Yet the silence that greets him has his blood thrumming, deafening in his ears and he kicks, once, twice at the center of the door before the latch buckles and the thing swings open on its hinges. 

There’s crying from the bedroom.

There’s no gun on him, too frantic to grab a side-arm before he sped off base. So instead Price reaches for a knife hidden in his pocket, holding it ready in front of him as he slowly ascends the stairs. The crying is louder now, and he can tell it’s younger voices. Whimpers, tearful whispers from his two beautiful girls still locked in the bathroom. Yet the bedroom where you are remains silent, and as Price reaches the top of the stairs he tries to remember whatever saint offers the blessing of protection, safety. 

He rounds the corner, and instantly his toes bump against a limp, dead body sprawled on the floor of the bedroom. Price doesn’t look down immediately, trying to steady himself, preparing himself for the sight of his beautiful wife dead at his feet.

A dark hoodie. A surgical mask. A pool of red soaking into the carpet. 

It isn’t you. 

“John.”

Price looks up, and in the darkness of the bedroom he finds you with your back against the dresser, several drawers half open and spilling their contents onto the floor. You sit, holding the revolver, legs askew on the floor, hands trembling fiercely, shoulders shaking-

Alive.

Price collapses to his knees in front of you, and you whimper into him as he hauls you into his arms. You nearly push at him, still caught the shock of being ambushed, attacked, touched by a man that wasn’t him. When you squirm, Price merely holds you fast against his chest, murmuring low, raspy reassurances until you still. 

“Shh, it’s me. It’s me, love. You’re safe. It’s over.”

With one hand, he tucks his blade into his jacket, with the other he slowly removes the weapon from your grip, clicks the safety on, and tucks it to the side, well out of the way. No doubt the presence of the weapon will be a nightmare to deal with when the police arrive, but that’s not his concern right now. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks, turning you face up to him in his palms, and he can feel the wetness on your cheeks, can see the liquid stare of you in the darkness of the bedroom. You shake your head, lip trembling but trying not to cry, and it aches at him like nothing else. The hurt is only soothed by the taste of your lips, a desperate kiss, wet with the taste of your tears as you instinctively part for him, allowing a shuddering little gasp to break through. You whimper again, something that sounds like ‘John’, grasp at him a little harder until he tucks you back into his chest. 

“T-the girls-” You try, voice cracking, and Price hushes you, rocking just a touch as you try to calm down. 

“They’re in the bathroom.” He tells you quietly. “They’re safe.”

You hiccup at that, finally allowing a sob to break free as you cling to him, bury your face into his chest so his shirt stains with tears. 

“I-I was so afraid.” You confess, and Price merely tucks you closer to him, hauls you into his arms with the promise of safety. 

“I know, love. I know.” He tells you. “You’re safe. You’re alright. You did well, my brave girl.”

You cry a little harder at that, and at last Price hears the sound of sirens at the edge of the neighborhood, racing far too late to where the two of you sit in the darkened bedroom. 

He hauls you up into his arms when they arrive, helps you down the stairs and presses you into the arms of a kindly police woman before returning into the house. An officer in a yellow jacket urges him to stay put, but Price snarls in his face, startles him so badly the man takes a step back and pales. 

It’s easy to climb the stairs now, to come to the locked bathroom door that shelters his children from the horror they did not witness. As soon as he opens the door they spill into his arms, his two beautiful daughters, weeping against him in wordless blubbers of terror and relief. Yet the first question they ask isn’t about where he was, what has happened, why the police are there. Instead his eldest, at the age of six, her gorgeous eyes the same color as her mother's, stares tearfully up at him and asks: “Where’s mummy?”

“Outside.” He tells her with a gentleness he had forgotten he possessed, hauling her younger sister up into his embrace as she sniffles into his shoulder. “Let’s go see her.”

Yet before he steps back into the bedroom, he kneels down and stares at his brave, eldest girl and tells her: “We’re going downstairs. Don’t open your eyes until you’re outside, understand?”

She does, of course she does. He’s never given her a reason to doubt him, so the both of them squeeze their eyes shut, don’t open them even as Price lifts them over the dead man still laying oozing on the floor. 

When they get outside they rush towards you, fresh bouts of tears in their eyes, asking about the blood splattered on your nightgown, staining it crimson. He can see you panic, nearly explaining the truth, before you shakily smile, hold them both in your arms and tell them: “It’s strawberry jam, my loves. Mummy is very silly and spilled jam all over herself.”

It takes the better part of an hour to explain to the police what has happened, to have you checked over by a paramedic, one who offers peppermints to your two girls as they balance at the back of the ambulance. Price entrusts you to them, discussing the situation in low, grave tones with the officers over why they were not as quick to respond as he had hoped. The officer from earlier is defensive at first, tries to puff his chest and explain to Price the logistics of the response, and Price levels him with a mere look of stony, violent anger that instead has the man fumbling for an apology. 

It’s that alone that has the man dismiss any possible charges for you, takes one glance at the weapons permit and tips his hat at the captain with a small ‘Sir.’

At long last, after the crime scene tape has been rolled out and the house cordoned off, does Price return to you and the girls, who have calmed down considerably and now doze drowsily on either side of you, still dressed in their pajamas. You lean up into the tender kiss he bestows upon your forehead, murmurs another reassurance there before tilting you into his palms.

“We can’t stay here tonight.” He tells you gently, and you sag in relief. 

“A hotel?” You ask, and Price only shakes his head at you, watching your brow wrinkle in confusion.

“I’m taking you to base.” He replies softly, firmly. “No place safer in the world than with me.”

You know it’s true, he can see it in your smile as you gaze up at him, adoring, with a trust he still struggles to tell himself he’s earned.

So you’re bundled into his car alongside your two young girls, the three of you in the backseat as he retraces his path back in the direction of the base. It’s only once you also begin to doze off in the back seat that he hazards a glance at his phone. 

Five missed calls, three from Gaz alone, one from Soap, and one from Laswell that’s followed with a text saying “Call me. ASAP.”

He has a lot of explaining to do.

Somehow he manages to talk his way past the gate guard, who looks puzzled at the woman and two girls sleeping in his backseat. Yet he waves Price through, and eventually the four of you arrive at the officer’s quarters. Price manages to hold both of his daughters, one in each arm, with you clinging to his side, hiding your face in his sleeve as you pass the soldiers who pause with long, drawn out stares at the sight before them. It’s an unusual circumstance to say at best, and Price knows he’ll have to corner more than one man tomorrow to ensure their silence on the whole affair. All that matters right now is getting you and the girls to safety, to somewhere the three of you can bunk down and sleep this dreaded evening off. 

What Price doesn’t expect to find, however, is three younger SAS agents awaiting him in front of his bunk, leaning against the wall and talking quietly amongst themselves. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost startle at the sight of their captain holding two young girls in their nighties, and a woman at his side with blood not entirely scrubbed from her nightgown. 

“...Sir?” Gaz manages tightly after Price silently brushes him aside with little regard, unlocking his door. Yet when Gaz tries to assist the captain shoots him a look. The expression that flits across his sergeant’s face has him regretting it almost instantly, but apologies will have to wait as he ushers you inside. It takes a moment for Price to carefully deposit his sleeping daughters into the neatly made military cot, and when he does he catches your eyes just as you nod to the three men still hovering in the doorway. 

It’s with a sigh that Price rubs the back of his neck and turns towards his concerned and puzzled team, clicking the door shut behind him so the conversation does not disturb his family. 

“Introductions will have to wait until the morning.” He announces quietly, hearing the fatigue in his own voice. “They’ve had quite the night.”

“You never said you were married.” Soaps blurts out before he can stop himself, and at the look Price gives him in regards to his volume he mildly tacks on a little “...Sir.”

Price allows himself a moment to knead the bridge of his nose, huffing a suffering sigh as he decides what to say next. 

“There’s a reason I haven’t told you boys.” He explains at last, looking up. “You know our work. You know the enemies we’ve made, myself more than the rest of you. You know they will exploit every opportunity of ours that they can.”

He levels his team with a severe, grim stare. “I will never allow my family to become one of those opportunities. Understood?”

The silent, unspoken words there ring loudly in the silence that follows. 

This is a secret. For the four of us. Do not ever speak of it to anyone else.

He can see them trade glances, still confused, apprehensive, but at least agreeable to Price’s explanation. 

“Copy.” Gaz offers quietly at last, and both Ghost and Soap nod as well. Price manages to catch his lieutenant’s stare for a moment, and Simon darts his gaze to the door behind his captain, and then to Price meaningfully, nodding. 

Of course Simon would understand the gravity of secrecy that comes with this, Price thinks, and for a moment he regrets not telling his second in command sooner. 

“Good.” Price announces summarily after a beat, and the clipped tone of him has the team straighten on instinct. “We can talk more in the morning. Dismissed.”

Ghost nods, about to stride away when he catches Soap about to make further comments, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and tugging him away. Price can hear the Scot grumble in irritation, but obediently follows behind his LT. Gaz stays a little longer, shifting uneasily on his feet. 

“Sargeant?” Price asks, and the tone isn’t unkind, still regretting the venom he shot the man earlier. 

“Sir.” Gaz begins, eyes cast down to his feet. “...Are they alright?”

It’s that question, the soft, uncertain concern of his sergeant that makes Price’s shoulder go lax, has his breath exit him in a soft, steady sigh. His broad, calloused palm settles on Gaz’s shoulder, making the man look up with a worried, grimaced expression.

“They’ll be fine.” Price tells him, voice dipping low as it does for his own daughters. “They’ve had a bit of a shock, lad. They need to sleep it off, know that they’re safe now. You can help me with that come morning. Understand?”

Gaz brightens at that, always wanting to be useful, to prove himself to the man who has taken him under his wing. 

“Of course, Sir.” He offers, reassured, and Price nods. 

“Good. Get some sleep. The girls will be a handful tomorrow, I have a feeling I’ll be needing assistance.”

Gaz nods, makes finally to leave, when Price calls him once more. 

“Gaz?” He asks, making the man pause. “Call Laswell. Tell her I’ve got three VIPs I’m dealing with. She’ll understand.”

Gaz’s gaze brightens, and Price inwardly cringes, recognizing the error he’s committed. No doubt Gaz and Laswell will be having an extended conversation in his absence about the things he’s failed to mention. Yet Gaz chirps an affirmative and vanishes down the hall before Price can stop him. 

When Price returns to his room, the door clicking behind him softly, he admires the sight before him. His two daughters splay across the bed, clinging to your form tucked between them as you hush a lullaby to ease their dreams. Thankfully, they both have managed to fall asleep quickly, likely exhausted by earlier events. The sight of his girls soft, sleepy, blessedly safe in his quarters is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. 

You look up at him as he leans on the door, beckoning him into bed. It takes a moment to divest himself of all but his shirt and pants, but eventually Price manages to scoot his way into the narrow cot, hauling his youngest atop his chest to make room. She curls there with a whining, sleepy murmur before falling still once more. A hand settles in her hair, idly stroking as Price coaxes her further into dreams. 

Against his side, you scoot so your head lays against his bicep, your eldest daughter now tucked safely between you. It’s a bit awkward, the four of you trying to scrunch together on such a narrow cot, and Price doesn’t doubt that by morning he’ll be sleeping in his desk chair. Yet now, in the soft lull of evening, in the absence of gunshots and dead phone lines, he allows himself to be at peace. 

“I nearly lost you.” He finds himself rasping quietly, as if he can still barely understand the thought. You make a sound of dissatisfaction at that, nudging him in disapproval. 

“None of that.” You scold quietly, and Price holds his tongue about the fears he wants to say, the pleas for forgiveness he wants to ask of you for not being there when you needed him the most. 

“I love you.” He says instead, and despite not being an emotional man, he finds the hollow of his heart aching, empty with regret. 

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a part of him that wonders if you’ll return it, if you’ll suddenly realize how selfish he’s been in allowing himself to love you despite his duty. 

Instead you turn, grasp at his hand, bring it to your lips in a firm, tender kiss. 

“I love you too, Captain Johnathan Price.” You whisper, and Price’s eyes close, chest aching, the world quiet around him, and yet full. When he breathes, it releases as a sighed prayer to the heavens, a plea for mercy for your safety, for his own forgiveness, for the promise of another day, another hour with his family in his arms. 

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