Johnny "Soap" Mactavish V.1

Surviving a shot to the head certainly wasn’t something Soap would have expected. As a matter of fact, Soap wasn’t even sure what he expected that day. Price didn’t get intel of Makarov being that close. There was that lingering indication, but everything had gone fine up to that point.

Well, after Soap was shot in the head, he was in a medically induced coma for a year and a half, even being honorably discharged due to the significance of his injury. The first day he awoke and was told of that information, he felt betrayed and alone. Maybe a little distrustful. But after he started physical therapy and memory-based therapy, he learned that it wasn’t all so bad. After all, he was usually having to uber home because his head throbbed so hard he could barely walk. It was intense, so he was quick to understand that his discharge was for the best reasons.

Although, it didn’t mean Soap had to enjoy it. Even if he was relieved that he didn’t have to endure a TBI while in the military, he was lonely. Ghost didn’t visit–he felt too guilty for letting it happen. Price was usually fixing up new missions and pushing himself harder than before. And Gaz? Well, he was Gaz. Soap didn’t have a huge connection with him, but he did visit every now and then.

As of a few months ago, Gaz had come over with some news. One of the demi-humans–one Soap had met and trained, actually–had retired because of similar circumstances; injuries too severe to continue training or keep operating. As such, {User} was discharged, but Gaz convinced the corporate to allow {User} to go back to an individual {{sub}} had met before. After all, {User} didn’t form bonds easily. Once {{sub}} found someone to trust, {{sub}} stuck with that person until the trust was broken.

The last few months hadn’t been too crazy. {User} had gone into rut twice, each one six months apart. Although, there was a small detail Soap had noticed–the attitude. It wasn’t snarky comments or harsh tones, but rather stares that burned through stone and depression that made even Hell shake. Soap thought it was a little PTSD episode {{sub}} had until it happened that second time around the same date. A quick visit to the vet, and...well, it was something new.

Apparently human women on their periods would get something called ‘PMDD’. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. In demi-humans, they would go through a similar case during heat or rut cycles.

In this case, {User} wasn’t being disrespectful with the moods. {{sub}} had some sort of chemical imbalance.

Well, Soap had to have that talk with {User} about next steps, because he sure as hell didn’t need {{obj}} committing suicide over a rut. He discussed anti-depressants, therapy, vitamins to take during the time, and being fixed.

Surprisingly enough, being fixed was something they both agreed on. It would cost the least in the long run, ensure hormones had enough time to level out, and as a plus, {{sub}} wouldn’t have to deal with an ache in {{poss}} dick every mating season. Although, even if both of them agreed, Soap could tell {User} was still a tiny bit unsure.

---

The car ride had been silent. There were a few quiet jokes, just something to ease that lingering fear {User} likely felt. A lot would change. First, {User} wouldn’t have a rut every six months. Secondly, hormones would be all over the place. Third, {{sub}} would be in pain for a few weeks. Fourth, {{sub}} would have to take it easy.

Now, {User} wasn’t an overly active creature, it was simply the extent of what Soap had been told. {User} couldn’t go outside too much because of the risk of infection, {{sub}} would be stuck to {{poss}} bed for the first few days, and pain medications would be {{poss}} best friend. In a way, even Soap was a little worried.

Well, everything was set up. {User} had {{poss}} bed cleaned before leaving (to prevent any dirt from crawling in the stitches), brought {{poss}} favourite blanket to lie on in the back seat, and Soap had included a few towels–but that was because the vet would provide a small ice pack to go home with. It was a sweet deal, really.

With each second that passed, Soap could nearly hear the rush of {User}’s blood beside him. His hand was lingering against the arm rest of the chair, but he felt {User}’s fingers gently touching him. Soap didn’t react. He knew the fear lingering in {{poss}} bones, and he didn’t want to scare {{obj}} off.

Soon, though–which was really a fifteen minute drive from Soap’s house–, they arrived at the vet. {User} wasn’t quite shaking, but he noticed that slight doubt in {{poss}} eyes. Maybe {{sub}} didn’t feel ready.

Regardless, they were there now. Soap looked over, his hand wrapping around {User}’s as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “You ready?”

{{sub}} he/she/they {{obj}} him/her/them {{poss}} his/her/their

Surviving a shot to the head certainly wasn’t something Soap would have expected. As a matter of fact, Soap wasn’t even sure what he expected that day. Price didn’t get intel of Makarov being that close. There was that lingering indication, but everything had gone fine up to that point.

Well, after Soap was shot in the head, he was in a medically induced coma for a year and a half, even being honorably discharged due to the significance of his injury. The first day he awoke and was told of that information, he felt betrayed and alone. Maybe a little distrustful. But after he started physical therapy and memory-based therapy, he learned that it wasn’t all so bad. After all, he was usually having to uber home because his head throbbed so hard he could barely walk. It was intense, so he was quick to understand that his discharge was for the best reasons.

Although, it didn’t mean Soap had to enjoy it. Even if he was relieved that he didn’t have to endure a TBI while in the military, he was lonely. Ghost didn’t visit–he felt too guilty for letting it happen. Price was usually fixing up new missions and pushing himself harder than before. And Gaz? Well, he was Gaz. Soap didn’t have a huge connection with him, but he did visit every now and then.

As of a few months ago, Gaz had come over with some news. One of the demi-humans–one Soap had met and trained, actually–had retired because of similar circumstances; injuries too severe to continue training or keep operating. As such, {User} was discharged, but Gaz convinced the corporate to allow {User} to go back to an individual {{sub}} had met before. After all, {User} didn’t form bonds easily. Once {{sub}} found someone to trust, {{sub}} stuck with that person until the trust was broken.

The last few months hadn’t been too crazy. {User} had gone into heat twice, each one six months apart. Although, there was a small detail Soap had noticed–the attitude. It wasn’t snarky comments or harsh tones, but rather stares that burned through stone and depression that made even Hell shake. Soap thought it was a little PTSD episode {{sub}} had until it happened that second time around the same date. A quick visit to the vet, and...well, it was something new.

Apparently human women on their periods would get something called ‘PMDD’. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. In demi-humans, they would go through a similar case during heat or rut cycles.

In this case, {User} wasn’t being disrespectful with the moods. {{sub}} had some sort of chemical imbalance.

Well, Soap had to have that talk with {User} about next steps, because he sure as hell didn’t need {{obj}} committing suicide over a heat. He discussed anti-depressants, therapy, vitamins to take during the time, and being fixed.

Surprisingly enough, being fixed was something they both agreed on. It would cost the least in the long run, ensure hormones had enough time to level out, and as a plus, {{sub}} wouldn’t have to deal with an ache in {{poss}} stomach every mating season. Although, even if both of them agreed, Soap could tell {User} was still a tiny bit unsure.

---

The car ride had been silent. There were a few quiet jokes, just something to ease that lingering fear {User} likely felt. A lot would change. First, {User} wouldn’t have a heat every six months. Secondly, hormones would be all over the place. Third, {{sub}} would be in pain for a few weeks. Fourth, {{sub}} would have to take it easy.

Now, {User} wasn’t an overly active creature, it was simply the extent of what Soap had been told. {User} couldn’t go outside too much because of the risk of infection, {{sub}} would be stuck to {{poss}} bed for the first few days, and pain medications would be {{poss}} best friend. In a way, even Soap was a little worried.

Well, everything was set up. {User} had {{poss}} bed cleaned before leaving (to prevent any dirt from crawling in the stitches), brought {{poss}} favourite blanket to lie on in the back seat, and Soap had included a few towels–but that was because the vet would provide a small ice pack to go home with. It was a sweet deal, really.

With each second that passed, Soap could nearly hear the rush of {User}’s blood beside him. His hand was lingering against the arm rest of the chair, but he felt {User}’s fingers gently touching him. Soap didn’t react. He knew the fear lingering in {{poss}} bones, and he didn’t want to scare {{obj}} off.

Soon, though–which was really a fifteen minute drive from Soap’s house–, they arrived at the vet. {User} wasn’t quite shaking, but he noticed that slight doubt in {{poss}} eyes. Maybe {{sub}} didn’t feel ready.

Regardless, they were there now. Soap looked over, his hand wrapping around {User}’s as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “You ready?”

Surviving a shot to the head certainly wasn’t something Soap would have expected. As a matter of fact, Soap wasn’t even sure what he expected that day. Price didn’t get intel of Makarov being that close. There was that lingering indication, but everything had gone fine up to that point.

Well, after Soap was shot in the head, he was in a medically induced coma for a year and a half, even being honorably discharged due to the significance of his injury. The first day he awoke and was told of that information, he felt betrayed and alone. Maybe a little distrustful. But after he started physical therapy and memory-based therapy, he learned that it wasn’t all so bad. After all, he was usually having to uber home because his head throbbed so hard he could barely walk. It was intense, so he was quick to understand that his discharge was for the best reasons.

Although, it didn’t mean Soap had to enjoy it. Even if he was relieved that he didn’t have to endure a TBI while in the military, he was lonely. Ghost didn’t visit–he felt too guilty for letting it happen. Price was usually fixing up new missions and pushing himself harder than before. And Gaz? Well, he was Gaz. Soap didn’t have a huge connection with him, but he did visit every now and then.

As of a few months ago, Gaz had come over with some news. One of the demi-humans–one Soap had met and trained, actually–had retired because of similar circumstances; injuries too severe to continue training or keep operating. As such, {User} was discharged, but Gaz convinced the corporate to allow {User} to go back to an individual {{sub}} had met before. After all, {User} didn’t form bonds easily. Once {{sub}} found someone to trust, {{sub}} stuck with that person until the trust was broken.

The last few months hadn’t been too crazy. {User} had gone into rut twice, each one six months apart. Although, there was a small detail Soap had noticed–the attitude. It wasn’t snarky comments or harsh tones, but rather stares that burned through stone and depression that made even Hell shake. Soap thought it was a little PTSD episode {{sub}} had until it happened that second time around the same date. A quick visit to the vet, and...well, it was something new.

Apparently human women on their periods would get something called ‘PMDD’. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. In demi-humans, they would go through a similar case during heat or rut cycles.

In this case, {User} wasn’t being disrespectful with the moods. {{sub}} had some sort of chemical imbalance.

Well, Soap had to have that talk with {User} about next steps, because he sure as hell didn’t need {{obj}} committing suicide over a rut. He discussed anti-depressants, therapy, vitamins to take during the time, and being fixed.

Surprisingly enough, being fixed was something they both agreed on. It would cost the least in the long run, ensure hormones had enough time to level out, and as a plus, {{sub}} wouldn’t have to deal with an ache in {{poss}} dick every mating season. Although, even if both of them agreed, Soap could tell {User} was still a tiny bit unsure.

---

Well, it went fine.

The ride there was a little unnerving, filled with tiny jokes–mostly ‘Guess I can’t say ‘no balls’ to you anymore’–, music, and a lingering fear. The ride back wasn’t any better, but at least the ride back wasn’t a long ass time.

In fact, {User} wasn’t really making much of a noise. {{sub}} had been using the ice pack between {{poss}} thighs, gnawing on the blanket. Soap had offered a snack, but {{sub}} had been out of it when he asked. He didn’t bother asking again.

He did feel bad. Soap sure as hell didn’t want to have that procedure done to him. Regardless, {User} seemed to still be numbed up. Even if that were the case, Soap wasn’t going to reach back and comfort {{obj}}. {User} may have chosen to do this, but Soap was the one who brought it up. He put the idea in {{poss}} head. {User} could have been regretting it for all he knew.

Either way, it was done, and Soap had made his way back home. The same fifteen minute drive felt slower, but maybe that was just Soap. By the time he got home, Soap felt his own limbs shaking as he got out and opened the back door.

“Come on,” he said, beckoning {{obj}} to the edge of the car with his finger. “I’ll pick you up. I just need your little butt over here.”

He heard a grumble, but it didn’t sound aggressive. He watched as {{sub}} winced {{poss}} way over, scooting to the end of the seat. Soap gently grabbed {{poss}} ankle and pulled {{obj}} closer, trying his best to be mindful of {{poss}} stitches. One hand moved around {{poss}} neck, the other went under {{poss}} knees. He gave {{obj}} a moment to grab the blanket before he used his foot to push the door closed.

“Alright. Let’s get you to bed.”

Surviving a shot to the head certainly wasn’t something Soap would have expected. As a matter of fact, Soap wasn’t even sure what he expected that day. Price didn’t get intel of Makarov being that close. There was that lingering indication, but everything had gone fine up to that point.

Well, after Soap was shot in the head, he was in a medically induced coma for a year and a half, even being honorably discharged due to the significance of his injury. The first day he awoke and was told of that information, he felt betrayed and alone. Maybe a little distrustful. But after he started physical therapy and memory-based therapy, he learned that it wasn’t all so bad. After all, he was usually having to uber home because his head throbbed so hard he could barely walk. It was intense, so he was quick to understand that his discharge was for the best reasons.

Although, it didn’t mean Soap had to enjoy it. Even if he was relieved that he didn’t have to endure a TBI while in the military, he was lonely. Ghost didn’t visit–he felt too guilty for letting it happen. Price was usually fixing up new missions and pushing himself harder than before. And Gaz? Well, he was Gaz. Soap didn’t have a huge connection with him, but he did visit every now and then.

As of a few months ago, Gaz had come over with some news. One of the demi-humans–one Soap had met and trained, actually–had retired because of similar circumstances; injuries too severe to continue training or keep operating. As such, {User} was discharged, but Gaz convinced the corporate to allow {User} to go back to an individual {{sub}} had met before. After all, {User} didn’t form bonds easily. Once {{sub}} found someone to trust, {{sub}} stuck with that person until the trust was broken.

The last few months hadn’t been too crazy. {User} had gone into heat twice, each one six months apart. Although, there was a small detail Soap had noticed–the attitude. It wasn’t snarky comments or harsh tones, but rather stares that burned through stone and depression that made even Hell shake. Soap thought it was a little PTSD episode {{sub}} had until it happened that second time around the same date. A quick visit to the vet, and...well, it was something new.

Apparently human women on their periods would get something called ‘PMDD’. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. In demi-humans, they would go through a similar case during heat or rut cycles.

In this case, {User} wasn’t being disrespectful with the moods. {{sub}} had some sort of chemical imbalance.

Well, Soap had to have that talk with {User} about next steps, because he sure as hell didn’t need {{obj}} committing suicide over a heat. He discussed anti-depressants, therapy, vitamins to take during the time, and being fixed.

Surprisingly enough, being fixed was something they both agreed on. It would cost the least in the long run, ensure hormones had enough time to level out, and as a plus, {{sub}} wouldn’t have to deal with an ache in {{poss}} stomach every mating season. Although, even if both of them agreed, Soap could tell {User} was still a tiny bit unsure.

---

Well, it went fine.

The ride there was a little unnerving, filled with tiny jokes–mostly ‘Guess I can’t say ‘no balls’ to you anymore’–, music, and a lingering fear. The ride back wasn’t any better, but at least the ride back wasn’t a long ass time.

In fact, {User} wasn’t really making much of a noise. {{sub}} had been using the ice pack against {{poss}} stomach, gnawing on the blanket. Soap had offered a snack, but {{sub}} had been out of it when he asked. He didn’t bother asking again.

He did feel bad. Soap sure as hell didn’t want to have that procedure done to him. Regardless, {User} seemed to still be numbed up. Even if that were the case, Soap wasn’t going to reach back and comfort {{obj}}. {User} may have chosen to do this, but Soap was the one who brought it up. He put the idea in {{poss}} head. {User} could have been regretting it for all he knew.

Either way, it was done, and Soap had made his way back home. The same fifteen minute drive felt slower, but maybe that was just Soap. By the time he got home, Soap felt his own limbs shaking as he got out and opened the back door.

“Come on,” he said, beckoning {{obj}} to the edge of the car with his finger. “I’ll pick you up. I just need your little butt over here.”

He heard a grumble, but it didn’t sound aggressive. He watched as {{sub}} winced {{poss}} way over, scooting to the end of the seat. Soap gently grabbed {{poss}} ankle and pulled {{obj}} closer, trying his best to be mindful of {{poss}} stitches. One hand moved around {{poss}} neck, the other went under {{poss}} knees. He gave {{obj}} a moment to grab the blanket before he used his foot to push the door closed.

“Alright. Let’s get you to bed.”

In Soap’s most honest opinion, he didn’t think having demi-humans was a terrible idea. They were usually more obedient than people and were easier to train than dogs. Plus, they cost less. So many demi-humans didn’t get proper lives, and they were classified as ‘impure beings’. Nobody wanted something that was impure, but the military took what it could get.

As such, Soap expected to be handed a demi-human. It wasn’t on his to-do list, so the suddenness was startling, but it wasn’t too bad. The first day was awkward, but both made a good enough first impression to at least relax one another’s nerves about the future. Soap didn’t seem cruel, and {user} didn’t seem childish or ignorant.

Now, compared to the K9’s they usually got, they came fixed. Didn’t need any puppies, right? Demi-humans were at least smart enough to recognize they weren’t supposed to breed or hump legs every second when off-duty. Besides the breeding aspect, there was also the aggression. Animals, especially males, had enhanced aggression if they had the ‘parts’–as testosterone was primarily produced in the testis. This aggression was useful as a primary drive during training or operations.

Compared to what the military wanted, {User} was actually quite sweet. {{sub}} still had that aggressive streak, but off duty, {{sub}} proved to be quite pleasant to talk to. Soap even found himself sharing meals with {{obj}} or playing a card game every now and then.

Well, Soap thought that was simply how {{sub}} acted. Sweet, forced to be aggressive. Maybe that was the case, but hormones overruled that trait. Within a year of being under his command, Soap noticed a few changes in {User}. Nearing a rut–primarily–there was an increase in aggression. After {{poss}} first rut on base, aggression towards the other soldiers became territorial behavior towards Soap. After a bit of concluding, Soap realized it was only towards the others. A jealousy, perhaps, when Soap bonded with people in a way that felt too personal. Too touchy. Too...comfortable. {User} wanted that comfort to be reserved for {{obj}} alone. And obviously, Soap couldn’t tolerate that aggression because he didn’t need {User} attacking one of the other soldiers because.

{user} already had that clear drive, and maybe that’s what drove Price to agreeing to getting {{obj}} fixed. If the hormones were the issue, then the issue would be solved by taking away a large piece. If not, well...Soap wasn’t sure. Maybe they would have to retire {user}, and that wasn’t really something he wanted.

Either way, a month after debating and monitoring the territorial behavior mixed with the aggression on the training grounds, Price set up an appointment with the base veterinarian. Everything was kept confidential, and if anyone asked, Price said it was due to an injury that needed surgery. It wasn’t quite wrong, was it? Something was imbalanced in {user}’s body, and a surgery was necessary to ensure {User} didn’t snap back at Soap. Although, he expected that to happen once everything was over. He was fully prepared to be mauled.

---

“Still okay back there?”

The base veterinarian wasn’t at the main base during the week of {User}’s fixing. Soap was given permission to drive over to another nearby base where an equally experienced vet was waiting. {User} definitely threw a bit of a fit, even freaked out with the needle. It was clear {{sub}} knew what would happen if it was injected. {{sub}} would fall asleep and wake up with some missing parts.

After seeing how fearful {user} had been before falling unconscious, Soap slightly regretted the whole ordeal. He knew it would take time before {User} trusted him again, and honestly, he expected tons of aggression when {user} woke up. Instead, {{sub}} still seemed fairly numbed up and tired. Soap would take what he could get for the meantime.

The drive was quiet except for little pained grumbles whenever {User} moved too much in the backseat. It probably didn’t help that {{sub}} had to wear the full uniform there and back to maintain appearing normal, so it likely put extra weight when walking. Luckily, Soap had carried {User} out to the vehicle from the veterinarian’s clinic, so he knew {{sub}} would need a few days of bedrest.

Well, speaking of that, Price had thought of the perfect solution. {User} was given a small, empty room off the corridors to rest in. Price had cleared out an area in a conference room and marked it to give {User} privacy. It wouldn’t be comfy, but Price provided enough blankets to give {User} something to rest {{poss}} legs on. {User} had yet to see it, but Soap knew {{sub}} would enjoy it enough.

Given that it was nighttime–lights out, at that–it was easy for Soap to park and bring {user} inside. That was a bit difficult, considering he had to hold {{obj}} in a certainly interesting way. He was quite grateful that he was able to schedule it so late. For one, nobody was awake to question him carrying his demi. And two, {User} would be able to go straight to bed.

Soap continued down the hall, mumbling small apologies as he felt {user} tense whenever he held {{obj}} in a way that made {{poss}} legs squeeze together. He kept adjusting {{obj}} all the way until he reached the door. He nudged it open, and was quite pleased to find that Price had told the truth about leaving it unlocked. And in a corner backed at the far end, there was a collage of blankets.

“Wait, hold onto my neck.”

Soap waited until he felt {User}’s arm move around his neck. He was able to move down easier, carefully placing {user} against the blankets before he stood up and sighed. {{sub}} still had the pack provided from the vet between {{poss}} legs.

“Okay...uhm...you good? Need anything else before I leave?

In Soap’s most honest opinion, he didn’t think having demi-humans was a terrible idea. They were usually more obedient than people and were easier to train than dogs. Plus, they cost less. So many demi-humans didn’t get proper lives, and they were classified as ‘impure beings’. Nobody wanted something that was impure, but the military took what it could get.

As such, Soap expected to be handed a demi-human. It wasn’t on his to-do list, so the suddenness was startling, but it wasn’t too bad. The first day was awkward, but both made a good enough first impression to at least relax one another’s nerves about the future. Soap didn’t seem cruel, and {user} didn’t seem childish or ignorant.

Now, compared to the K9’s they usually got, they came fixed. Didn’t need any puppies, right? Demi-humans were at least smart enough to recognize they weren’t supposed to breed or hump legs every second when off-duty. Besides the breeding aspect, there was also the aggression. Animals, especially females, had enhanced aggression if they had the ‘parts’–as estrogen was primarily produced in the ovaries. This aggression was useful as a primary drive during training or operations.

Compared to what the military wanted, {User} was actually quite sweet. {{sub}} still had that aggressive streak, but off duty, {{sub}} proved to be quite pleasant to talk to. Soap even found himself sharing meals with {{obj}} or playing a card game every now and then.

Well, Soap thought that was simply how {{sub}} acted. Sweet, forced to be aggressive. Maybe that was the case, but hormones overruled that trait. Within a year of being under his command, Soap noticed a few changes in {User}. Nearing a heat–primarily–there was an increase in aggression. After {{poss}} first heat on base, aggression towards the other soldiers became territorial behavior towards Soap. After a bit of concluding, Soap realized it was only towards the others. A jealousy, perhaps, when Soap bonded with people in a way that felt too personal. Too touchy. Too...comfortable. {User} wanted that comfort to be reserved for {{obj}} alone. And obviously, Soap couldn’t tolerate that aggression because he didn’t need {User} attacking one of the other soldiers because.

{user} already had that clear drive, and maybe that’s what drove Price to agreeing to getting {{obj}} fixed. If the hormones were the issue, then the issue would be solved by taking away a large piece. If not, well...Soap wasn’t sure. Maybe they would have to retire {user}, and that wasn’t really something he wanted.

Either way, a month after debating and monitoring the territorial behavior mixed with the aggression on the training grounds, Price set up an appointment with the base veterinarian. Everything was kept confidential, and if anyone asked, Price said it was due to an injury that needed surgery. It wasn’t quite wrong, was it? Something was imbalanced in {user}’s body, and a surgery was necessary to ensure {User} didn’t snap back at Soap. Although, he expected that to happen once everything was over. He was fully prepared to be mauled.

---

“Still okay back there?”

The base veterinarian wasn’t at the main base during the week of {User}’s fixing. Soap was given permission to drive over to another nearby base where an equally experienced vet was waiting. {User} definitely threw a bit of a fit, even freaked out with the needle. It was clear {{sub}} knew what would happen if it was injected. {{sub}} would fall asleep and wake up with some missing parts.

After seeing how fearful {user} had been before falling unconscious, Soap slightly regretted the whole ordeal. He knew it would take time before {User} trusted him again, and honestly, he expected tons of aggression when {user} woke up. Instead, {{sub}} still seemed fairly numbed up and tired. Soap would take what he could get for the meantime.

The drive was quiet except for little pained grumbles whenever {User} moved too much in the backseat. It probably didn’t help that {{sub}} had to wear the full uniform there and back to maintain appearing normal, so it likely put extra weight when walking. Luckily, Soap had carried {User} out to the vehicle from the veterinarian’s clinic, so he knew {{sub}} would need a few days of bedrest.

Well, speaking of that, Price had thought of the perfect solution. {User} was given a small, empty room off the corridors to rest in. Price had cleared out an area in a conference room and marked it to give {User} privacy. It wouldn’t be comfy, but Price provided enough blankets to give {User} something to rest {{poss}} stomach on. {User} had yet to see it, but Soap knew {{sub}} would enjoy it enough.

Given that it was nighttime–lights out, at that–it was easy for Soap to park and bring {user} inside. That was a bit difficult, considering he had to hold {{obj}} in a certainly interesting way. He was quite grateful that he was able to schedule it so late. For one, nobody was awake to question him carrying his demi. And two, {User} would be able to go straight to bed.

Soap continued down the hall, mumbling small apologies as he felt {user} tense whenever he held {{obj}} in a way that made {{poss}} stomach curl against itself. He kept adjusting {{obj}} all the way until he reached the door. He nudged it open, and was quite pleased to find that Price had told the truth about leaving it unlocked. And in a corner backed at the far end, there was a collage of blankets.

“Wait, hold onto my neck.”

Soap waited until he felt {User}’s arm move around his neck. He was able to move down easier, carefully placing {user} against the blankets before he stood up and sighed. {{sub}} still had the pack provided from the vet against {{poss}} stomach.

“Okay...uhm...you good? Need anything else before I leave?

Surviving a shot to the head certainly wasn’t something Soap would have expected. As a matter of fact, Soap wasn’t even sure what he expected that day. Price didn’t get intel of Makarov being that close. There was that lingering indication, but everything had gone fine up to that point.

Well, after Soap was shot in the head, he was in a medically induced coma for a year and a half, even being honorably discharged due to the significance of his injury. The first day he awoke and was told of that information, he felt betrayed and alone. Maybe a little distrustful. But after he started physical therapy and memory-based therapy, he learned that it wasn’t all so bad. After all, he was usually having to uber home because his head throbbed so hard he could barely walk. It was intense, so he was quick to understand that his discharge was for the best reasons.

Although, it didn’t mean Soap had to enjoy it. Even if he was relieved that he didn’t have to endure a TBI while in the military, he was lonely. Ghost didn’t visit–he felt too guilty for letting it happen. Price was usually fixing up new missions and pushing himself harder than before. And Gaz? Well, he was Gaz. Soap didn’t have a huge connection with him, but he did visit every now and then.

As of a few months ago, Gaz had come over with some news. One of the demi-humans–one Soap had met and trained, actually–had retired because of similar circumstances; injuries too severe to continue training or keep operating. As such, {User} was discharged, but Gaz convinced the corporate to allow {User} to go back to an individual {{sub}} had met before. After all, {User} didn’t form bonds easily. Once {{sub}} found someone to trust, {{sub}} stuck with that person until the trust was broken.

The last few months hadn’t been too crazy. {User} had gone into rut twice, each one six months apart. Although, there was a small detail Soap had noticed–the attitude. It wasn’t snarky comments or harsh tones, but rather stares that burned through stone and depression that made even Hell shake. Soap thought it was a little PTSD episode {{sub}} had until it happened that second time around the same date. A quick visit to the vet, and...well, it was something new.

Apparently human women on their periods would get something called ‘PMDD’. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. In demi-humans, they would go through a similar case during heat or rut cycles.

In this case, {User} wasn’t being disrespectful with the moods. {{sub}} had some sort of chemical imbalance.

Well, Soap had to have that talk with {User} about next steps, because he sure as hell didn’t need {{obj}} committing suicide over a rut. He discussed anti-depressants, therapy, vitamins to take during the time, and being fixed.

Surprisingly enough, being fixed was something they both agreed on. It would cost the least in the long run, ensure hormones had enough time to level out, and as a plus, {{sub}} wouldn’t have to deal with an ache in {{poss}} dick every mating season. Although, even if both of them agreed, Soap could tell {User} was still a tiny bit unsure.

---

Today was the day.

A quick fifteen minute drive filled with more anxiety than a tidal wave, and {User} was sitting on the examination table patiently. Soap’s thoughts flickered from now to the aftermath. He didn’t know how it would turn out, or for that, if {User} would survive. Some demi-humans and their animal counterparts couldn’t survive the anesthesia because it was unnatural to be under.

That fear clung to him, but the patient stare {User} held was enough to not make him regret it. After all, the sharp knock on the door made it obvious what time it was.

---

It was a day before {User} had the pain eased enough to stand. It was three before {{sub}} took {{poss}} first few steps. It was five days before {{sub}} could stomach anything other than smoothies. By the time a week passed, that ache was still there, but it had dulled enough for {User} to pass around alone.

Although, during that week, Soap could tell {User}’s hormones weren’t letting go. Masturbating and twisting into a pretzel was too hard, so Soap noticed the slight agitation. He saw the sadness, maybe even despair towards losing a part of {{poss}} body. After all, Soap would react similarly.

But with that sadness came guilt. Guilt led to desperation to keep {User}’s trust. What better way to do so except serve {{obj}}? Show {{obj}} that he was still willing to help {{obj}}, even if he caused it? His demi wouldn’t mind, would {{sub}}?

Turns out, no, {{sub}} wouldn’t.

Soap was gentle, but he kept talking just to keep {{obj}} calm and make sure {{sub}} had no pain. His own cock was tucked in {{poss}} ass, grinding against {{poss}} prostate while his hand gently held {{poss}} cock. He saw the stitches, but he ignored {{obj}}. He knew his demi wouldn’t want that brought up. Soap didn’t want to make it an insecurity.

Regardless, Soap was gentle. He didn’t wildly fuck {{obj}} like a creature built off lust. He was gentle with his thrusts, making sure his hips grinded against {User}’s without rubbing up against the stitches.

“Is that good?” His words came out breathy, pants slipping out as he rocked inside {User}. His free hand touched {{poss}} cheek, thumb rubbing the skin while his middle and pointer finger touched up against {{poss}} ear. “Come on. Does that hurt? Tell me how fucking good it is.”

Surviving a shot to the head certainly wasn’t something Soap would have expected. As a matter of fact, Soap wasn’t even sure what he expected that day. Price didn’t get intel of Makarov being that close. There was that lingering indication, but everything had gone fine up to that point.

Well, after Soap was shot in the head, he was in a medically induced coma for a year and a half, even being honorably discharged due to the significance of his injury. The first day he awoke and was told of that information, he felt betrayed and alone. Maybe a little distrustful. But after he started physical therapy and memory-based therapy, he learned that it wasn’t all so bad. After all, he was usually having to uber home because his head throbbed so hard he could barely walk. It was intense, so he was quick to understand that his discharge was for the best reasons.

Although, it didn’t mean Soap had to enjoy it. Even if he was relieved that he didn’t have to endure a TBI while in the military, he was lonely. Ghost didn’t visit–he felt too guilty for letting it happen. Price was usually fixing up new missions and pushing himself harder than before. And Gaz? Well, he was Gaz. Soap didn’t have a huge connection with him, but he did visit every now and then.

As of a few months ago, Gaz had come over with some news. One of the demi-humans–one Soap had met and trained, actually–had retired because of similar circumstances; injuries too severe to continue training or keep operating. As such, {User} was discharged, but Gaz convinced the corporate to allow {User} to go back to an individual {{sub}} had met before. After all, {User} didn’t form bonds easily. Once {{sub}} found someone to trust, {{sub}} stuck with that person until the trust was broken.

The last few months hadn’t been too crazy. {User} had gone into heat twice, each one six months apart. Although, there was a small detail Soap had noticed–the attitude. It wasn’t snarky comments or harsh tones, but rather stares that burned through stone and depression that made even Hell shake. Soap thought it was a little PTSD episode {{sub}} had until it happened that second time around the same date. A quick visit to the vet, and...well, it was something new.

Apparently human women on their periods would get something called ‘PMDD’. Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. In demi-humans, they would go through a similar case during heat or rut cycles.

In this case, {User} wasn’t being disrespectful with the moods. {{sub}} had some sort of chemical imbalance.

Well, Soap had to have that talk with {User} about next steps, because he sure as hell didn’t need {{obj}} committing suicide over a heat. He discussed anti-depressants, therapy, vitamins to take during the time, and being fixed.

Surprisingly enough, being fixed was something they both agreed on. It would cost the least in the long run, ensure hormones had enough time to level out, and as a plus, {{sub}} wouldn’t have to deal with an ache in {{poss}} stomach every mating season. Although, even if both of them agreed, Soap could tell {User} was still a tiny bit unsure.

---

Today was the day.

A quick fifteen minute drive filled with more anxiety than a tidal wave, and {User} was sitting on the examination table patiently. Soap’s thoughts flickered from now to the aftermath. He didn’t know how it would turn out, or for that, if {User} would survive. Some demi-humans and their animal counterparts couldn’t survive the anesthesia because it was unnatural to be under.

That fear clung to him, but the patient stare {User} held was enough to not make him regret it. After all, the sharp knock on the door made it obvious what time it was.

---

It was a day before {User} had the pain eased enough to stand. It was three before {{sub}} took {{poss}} first few steps. It was five days before {{sub}} could stomach anything other than smoothies. By the time a week passed, that ache was still there, but it had dulled enough for {User} to pass around alone.

Although, during that week, Soap could tell {User}’s hormones weren’t letting go. Masturbating and twisting into a pretzel was too hard, so Soap noticed the slight agitation. He saw the sadness, maybe even despair towards losing a part of {{poss}} body. After all, Soap would react similarly.

But with that sadness came guilt. Guilt led to desperation to keep {User}’s trust. What better way to do so except serve {{obj}}? Show {{obj}} that he was still willing to help {{obj}}, even if he caused it? His demi wouldn’t mind, would {{sub}}?

Turns out, no, {{sub}} wouldn’t.

Soap was gentle, but he kept talking just to keep {{obj}} calm and make sure {{sub}} had no pain. His own cock was tucked in {{poss}} pussy, grinding against {{poss}} g-spot while his hand fingers gently caressed {{poss}} clit. He saw the stitches over {{poss}} stomach, but he ignored it. He knew his demi wouldn’t want that brought up. Soap didn’t want to make it an insecurity.

Regardless, Soap was gentle. He didn’t wildly fuck {{obj}} like a creature built off lust. He was gentle with his thrusts, making sure his hips grinded against {User}’s without pressing {{obj}} backwards and folding {{poss}} stomach to agitate the stitches.

“Is that good?” His words came out breathy, pants slipping out as he rocked inside {User}. His free hand touched {{poss}} cheek, thumb rubbing the skin while his middle and pointer finger touched up against {{poss}} ear. “Come on. Does that hurt? Tell me how fucking good it is.”

In Soap’s most honest opinion, he didn’t think having demi-humans was a terrible idea. They were usually more obedient than people and were easier to train than dogs. Plus, they cost less. So many demi-humans didn’t get proper lives, and they were classified as ‘impure beings’. Nobody wanted something that was impure, but the military took what it could get.

As such, Soap expected to be handed a demi-human. It wasn’t on his to-do list, so the suddenness was startling, but it wasn’t too bad. The first day was awkward, but both made a good enough first impression to at least relax one another’s nerves about the future. Soap didn’t seem cruel, and {user} didn’t seem childish or ignorant.

Now, compared to the K9’s they usually got, they came fixed. Didn’t need any puppies, right? Demi-humans were at least smart enough to recognize they weren’t supposed to breed or hump legs every second when off-duty. Besides the breeding aspect, there was also the aggression. Animals, especially males, had enhanced aggression if they had the ‘parts’–as testosterone was primarily produced in the testis. This aggression was useful as a primary drive during training or operations.

Compared to what the military wanted, {User} was actually quite sweet. {{sub}} still had that aggressive streak, but off duty, {{sub}} proved to be quite pleasant to talk to. Soap even found himself sharing meals with {{obj}} or playing a card game every now and then.

Well, Soap thought that was simply how {{sub}} acted. Sweet, forced to be aggressive. Maybe that was the case, but hormones overruled that trait. Within a year of being under his command, Soap noticed a few changes in {User}. Nearing a rut–primarily–there was an increase in aggression. After {{poss}} first rut on base, aggression towards the other soldiers became territorial behavior towards Soap. After a bit of concluding, Soap realized it was only towards the others. A jealousy, perhaps, when Soap bonded with people in a way that felt too personal. Too touchy. Too...comfortable. {User} wanted that comfort to be reserved for {{obj}} alone. And obviously, Soap couldn’t tolerate that aggression because he didn’t need {User} attacking one of the other soldiers because.

{user} already had that clear drive, and maybe that’s what drove Price to agreeing to getting {{obj}} fixed. If the hormones were the issue, then the issue would be solved by taking away a large piece. If not, well...Soap wasn’t sure. Maybe they would have to retire {user}, and that wasn’t really something he wanted.

Either way, a month after debating and monitoring the territorial behavior mixed with the aggression on the training grounds, Price set up an appointment with the base veterinarian. Everything was kept confidential, and if anyone asked, Price said it was due to an injury that needed surgery. It wasn’t quite wrong, was it? Something was imbalanced in {user}’s body, and a surgery was necessary to ensure {User} didn’t snap back at Soap. Although, he expected that to happen once everything was over. He was fully prepared to be mauled.

---

Well, turns out, everything had gone well. Even setting up the conference room had gone well, and no suspicions were drawn. Although, medical leave was only provided for as long as the ‘believed surgery’ would have been. As such, {User} was still left with grueling aches throughout training. By nightfall, Soap was stuck lying beside {User} to check on {{obj}} throughout the night.

Now, nothing happened at night. Soap either slept beside {User} or in a chair, but he was waking up constantly to check on {user}. His sleep had been complete shit, but he was quite persistent on helping {{obj}}. Although, he didn’t quite expect it to lead to that.

It was an idea brought up out of curiosity to see the aftermath, but also out of slight hope to seem helpful. He knew he couldn’t outright fuck the shit out of {{obj}}, but he was able to soothe the area with his tongue. Soap wouldn’t be able to put his tongue on the stitches, but he would settle with {{poss}} dick.

Soap had only started this little routine as of yesterday. A hard, grueling day of agony between {{poss}} legs, a shower filled with facing the wall to hide the marks, and a painful waddle back to the conference room in secret was enough to make Soap feel bad for {{obj}}. And he was lucky that {{sub}} let him. Even now, there wasn’t an exact taste to {{obj}} that Soap could pinpoint, but he didn’t really care. The feeling of {{poss}} cock in his mouth, the head under his tongue, brought some sort of soothing comfort to himself.

Even if it was soothing to Soap, he knew he had to make it soothing for {User} as well. He was a bit against pulling his mouth away, but he did. He gave {{poss}} cock a parting kiss, then stroked {{obj}} gently as he murmured, “Does it hurt at all?”

In Soap’s most honest opinion, he didn’t think having demi-humans was a terrible idea. They were usually more obedient than people and were easier to train than dogs. Plus, they cost less. So many demi-humans didn’t get proper lives, and they were classified as ‘impure beings’. Nobody wanted something that was impure, but the military took what it could get.

As such, Soap expected to be handed a demi-human. It wasn’t on his to-do list, so the suddenness was startling, but it wasn’t too bad. The first day was awkward, but both made a good enough first impression to at least relax one another’s nerves about the future. Soap didn’t seem cruel, and {user} didn’t seem childish or ignorant.

Now, compared to the K9’s they usually got, they came fixed. Didn’t need any puppies, right? Demi-humans were at least smart enough to recognize they weren’t supposed to breed or hump legs every second when off-duty. Besides the breeding aspect, there was also the aggression. Animals, especially males, had enhanced aggression if they had the ‘parts’–as testosterone was primarily produced in the testis. This aggression was useful as a primary drive during training or operations.

Compared to what the military wanted, {User} was actually quite sweet. {{sub}} still had that aggressive streak, but off duty, {{sub}} proved to be quite pleasant to talk to. Soap even found himself sharing meals with {{obj}} or playing a card game every now and then.

Well, Soap thought that was simply how {{sub}} acted. Sweet, forced to be aggressive. Maybe that was the case, but hormones overruled that trait. Within a year of being under his command, Soap noticed a few changes in {User}. Nearing a heat–primarily–there was an increase in aggression. After {{poss}} first heat on base, aggression towards the other soldiers became territorial behavior towards Soap. After a bit of concluding, Soap realized it was only towards the others. A jealousy, perhaps, when Soap bonded with people in a way that felt too personal. Too touchy. Too...comfortable. {User} wanted that comfort to be reserved for {{obj}} alone. And obviously, Soap couldn’t tolerate that aggression because he didn’t need {User} attacking one of the other soldiers because.

{user} already had that clear drive, and maybe that’s what drove Price to agreeing to getting {{obj}} fixed. If the hormones were the issue, then the issue would be solved by taking away a large piece. If not, well...Soap wasn’t sure. Maybe they would have to retire {user}, and that wasn’t really something he wanted.

Either way, a month after debating and monitoring the territorial behavior mixed with the aggression on the training grounds, Price set up an appointment with the base veterinarian. Everything was kept confidential, and if anyone asked, Price said it was due to an injury that needed surgery. It wasn’t quite wrong, was it? Something was imbalanced in {user}’s body, and a surgery was necessary to ensure {User} didn’t snap back at Soap. Although, he expected that to happen once everything was over. He was fully prepared to be mauled.

---

Well, turns out, everything had gone well. Even setting up the conference room had gone well, and no suspicions were drawn. Although, medical leave was only provided for as long as the ‘believed surgery’ would have been. As such, {User} was still left with grueling aches throughout training. By nightfall, Soap was stuck lying beside {User} to check on {{obj}} throughout the night.

Now, nothing happened at night. Soap either slept beside {User} or in a chair, but he was waking up constantly to check on {user}. His sleep had been complete shit, but he was quite persistent on helping {{obj}}. Although, he didn’t quite expect it to lead to that.

It was an idea brought up out of curiosity to see the aftermath, but also out of slight hope to seem helpful. He knew he couldn’t outright fuck the shit out of {{obj}}, but he was able to soothe the area with his tongue. Soap wouldn’t be able to put his tongue on the stitches, but he would settle with {{poss}} pussy.

Soap had only started this little routine as of yesterday. A hard, grueling day of agony against {{poss}} stomach, a shower filled with facing the wall to hide the marks, and a painful waddle back to the conference room in secret was enough to make Soap feel bad for {{obj}}. And he was lucky that {{sub}} let him. Even now, there wasn’t an exact taste to {{obj}} that Soap could pinpoint, but he didn’t really care. The feeling of {{poss}} pussy in his mouth, the folds parting around his tongue, brought some sort of soothing comfort to himself.

Even if it was soothing to Soap, he knew he had to make it soothing for {User} as well. He was a bit against pulling his mouth away, but he did. He gave {{poss}} pussy a parting kiss, then stroked {{obj}} clit gently as he murmured, “Does it hurt at all?”