older!DomPrice | younger!SubGaz | mutual pinning, light hurt/comfort, dad kink,
Part 2 | Part 3
Price is an old, experienced dom, but he never bonded with anyone. In the late eighties, when he had presented and entered the scene, the “Old Guard” type was the social norm. If you were a dom, you had to be strict, enforce a rigid set of protocols, and stick to a formal traditional hierarchy. Even though there were some things Price liked about that, he never really fit, and he did not like the conservatism of it, the there-is-only-one-right-way-and-it’s-this-one.
He liked being soft, he liked being caring, and he liked being flexible and creative in bed. But concepts like soft doms or dad(dy) doms were not really a thing back then, and when they became a thing, decades later, he also did not really fit them.
Because he liked strict rules, he liked setting guidelines that transcended mere sex; he liked the military drill of it– that was why he excelled in the military; leadership, guidance, decision making, loyalty were engraved in his nature.
And while he was more than happy that the traditional hierarchy with stern roles for Subs and Doms was a thing of the past, he just really had a thing for good boys. Good boys who were eager to please, to obey orders, who would do anything for a little praise.
Years of not matching, of being too soft or too hard, went by, and Price told himself that he did not need anyone; he was perfectly fine on his own, and now, he was too old anyway. He told himself that he was not repressing himself, that he got his fix of domming through his job as Captain, ordering people around and making decisions was similar enough. He did not need anyone; he did not need a Sub he could guide with a strict hand, he could pamper when he did well.
And then Gaz joined the task force. An extraordinarily skilled and extremely intelligent young Sub, who quickly became his right-hand and latched onto Price without him really noticing. And oh, was he eager to meet every demand of his Captain, to comply, to serve, and do exactly as he was told. And fuck, did Price have a hard time restraining himself, forcefully having to reminding himself that Kyle– no, Gaz, was his Sergeant, so of course he would abide by his rules.
But then, there were these big, round eyes, nervously searching for an extra approval from Price whenever the smaller man had done something. It did not matter what it was, if Gaz had taken out an enemy, fulfilled a task Price had given him, finished a mission successfully, handed in his reports on time, hell, even finished his plate at the cafeteria– everything.
And Price loved giving it to Gaz, feeding him with small praises, a pat on the back, a squeeze on the shoulder, a proud grunt. Nothing that he would not say to his other soldiers (right?), nothing that would cross a line, anything but the “good boy” that was aching in his chest.
Price did not want to be inappropriate, intrusive, or the old Dom captain preying on his young Sub sergeant. Besides, he was fairly certain Kyle was already taken, as well-behaved and obedient he always was. Probably had a real lucky dom waiting for him somewhere, fulfilling all his needs after another nerve-wracking mission, calming him, training him to be so polite and docile, making sure his little pretty Sub was healthy and happy.
This strategy worked quite well, or Price told himself that. He did not need to worry about Kyle, about his undying need for approval, about his tense shoulders, about his anxieties when it came to decision making; as the young man had a Dom who took care of him, and this certainty calmed his feelings.
There was this one incident, though, where Kyle had gotten obnoxiously drunk when they were out and Price– of course– had brought him home. Essentially, carrying the smaller man home, placing him on the bed, undressing him while supporting Kyle’s swaying body. Carefully calculated, because Kyle was his treasure, delicate and precious. No lingering fingers, he made sure he did not touch Kyle, as he was not his and he was drunk. But the way his hands worked, how attentive and precise he handled Kyle, how guiding and soft he was— it was a love confession on its own. And Kyle fell forward, tucking his head into his Captains neck like Subs do to show their appreciation and obsequiousness, a pliant and vulnerable gesture. A low purr erupted from his throat and he shyly rubbed his face against Prices skin and beard, scenting.
“Sweetheart–” Price rumbled, the sweetest warning, holding on dearly to his last restrains.
“Dad....” Kyle sighed. It went straight through Price. His fingers clenched into the mattress on either side of Kyles legs, holding onto dear life, forcing himself to breathe. In. Out. In and Out.
He forced his nerves to calm down, trying to convince himself Kyle did not just say “Dad”, at most “Daddy”, maybe (which only helped a little). It went straight to his dick, straight to his Dom instincts. But Price would not be the Captain of the Task Force 141 if he could not suppress his nature. After tucking Kyle in, he left, heart throbbing and the thought of Kyle’s Dom sitting heavily in his chest. They never talked about it after, and they fell back into their routine again (or rather Price’s unintentional routine for them). Everything went back to normal.
Until the day of the horribly failed mission came. Obviously, it had not been Kyle's first failed mission, but this one– this one was different, a horrifying disaster. Price had not been part of this mission, but when he saw his drained, silent soldiers with empty stares, he knew. Kyle had not stopped at his Captain’s office when he came back, something he usually always did, and he had disappeared to write his report, only to hand it in half an hour late, which had never happened before.
And that’s how he ended up like a little heap of misery on Price’s couch, like a kicked puppy on display, quietly avoiding eye contact with Price, who was crouching in front of him. And it took a few “Talk to me, kid,”s until Kyle started blubbering, big fat tears and snot smearing all over his cheeks.
“I’m sorry for submitting the report late, Sir,” Kyle hiccupped.
“Uh-uh, that’s not it, Kyle. You need to let it out, come on, tell me the truth, son,” And that little word right there seemed to break the dam. The flood came and took Kyle under, pulling him deeper and deeper, while the words gushed out of him, how he failed the mission, and how he felt like it was his fault because he did not follow every one of Price’s orders like he usually did. It was something trivial, really, something too insignificant to have any impact on the mission, but Kyle was panicking, crying, gasping for air.
Price knew exactly what this was. A subdrop.
And it wrenched his heart to see his most precious sergeant like this, with cramping muscles and hiding his face in his shivering hands. All he wanted to do was to take him under, to guide him through this, to coddle him after. But he could not.
Price swore, trying to compose himself. “Okay, kid, listen. Listen to me. I need you to give me the number of your Dom. Do you want me to call them? Can they pick you up?”
Kyle did not answer. Price wanted to slap himself, asking a Sub in Subdrop to make a decision? How could he be so fucking stupid? He interrupted Kyle's endless stream of apologies, “Kyle, you’re dropping... I need you to give me your phone, so I can call your Dom. Can you do that for me, please?”
Kyle shook his head, making himself smaller on the couch, visibly worsening. Shit, that was his first drop, was it? “They will help you, kid, I promise. Please, let me call them”
Again, a head shake. Exasperation grew in Price. “Kyle, please, you need your Dom–”
Kyle’s voice was nothing but a mere whisper, so quiet and small that Price almost missed it. “Don’t have one”
Officially naming these fellows the Moonsprout Mandrake, nocturnal plant creatures that will grow under the light of the moon 🌙 They will remain dormant during the day and will let out a high-pitched wail if disturbed before dusk, so make sure you respect their sleep!
Fun fact, I intentionally designed these to be placed in a small pot and they look so cozy when you do 😆
older!DomPrice | younger!SubGaz | mutual pinning, light hurt/comfort (subdrop), dad kink, spanking | Part 1 | Part 2
( I can't be normal about them & I accidentally wrote like 2.5k words, sorry)
“Will you punish me, Sir?” To say Kyle’s question caught Price off guard would be an understatement.
It had been so long since Price had cared for a Sub, since he had held one in his arms, since he had kept one in his lap, warm and soft and fragile. And fuck, Kyle was so good, so pliant. It had taken Price quite some time to soothe the pretty boy curled against him, to steady his breathing and calm the shivers.
Big hands had found his tensed neck, pressing his fingers into the hardened muscles and massaging circles, strong and persistent. Eventually, Kyle had given in and had been calm enough for Price to gently pull his head out of hiding to check his face, eyes roaming attentively over the torn expression, holding him protectively by the neck.
“Look at me, baby,” Price had commanded in a deep and anchored tone, and he had put a water bottle against the plush lips of Kyle. “Drink. Ten Sips for… me. I’ll count ‘em for you.”
Price was a coward, really, but he told himself he would not be using a title without a scene negotiation, and therefore, he would not be calling himself “dad” if Kyle had not specified that he liked that.
It was fucked up, anyway. He was fucked up.
Kyle had complied, perfectly, of course, swallowing each sip mindfully, big eyes glued to his Captains. And Price had barely been able to contain himself, trying to recall every military technique he knew to avoid a boner– unsuccessfully.
Years later, Kyle would confess it had been on purpose, but for now Price had been hypnotized by these deep glinting eyes, by his Adam’s apple bobbing, by the way he hollowed his cheeks, by the wet drops on his plump lips. His head had been spinning, but Price would not be a Captain in the military if he did not master a plethora of techniques to keep his mind clear in nerve-wracking situations.
“Very good,” He had murmured in this deep, gravelly voice he knew made Subs weak, and he had seen it in Kyle too.
Sometimes, when they came back from a mission, and Kyle was particularly tense and quiet, he rumbled a small praise into his ear when he passed by. Just for him to hear. It was not appropriate, but it could not hurt if nobody knew, right?
And now, with Kyle slowly calming down, it only took two strong arms wrapped around him and an endless stream of low, coaxing praises to take him under, to make him all sweet and settled. They had sat together, adjusting after the storm, listening to each other's breaths, Price realizing that this was the first Sub in years that was in Subspace under his care, when Kyle spoke up, voice soft but distinct.
“Will you punish me, Sir?”
“What?” Price asked carefully, readjusting Kyle in his lap to take a look at his face.
“Will you punish me, Sir?” It was a pleading request; there was desperation shimmering in Kyle’s unsure eyes.
Price was not surprised by the request itself. Internalized guilt, the feeling of being wrong, was a typical prevalent trigger of a subdrop. However, it was a very complex emotional turmoil that was nearly impossible to clear up when the Sub was still deep under in Subspace.
Back in Price’ day, it had been fairly common to enforce a mild punishment. It acted like a bandage, resolving the feeling of internalized guilt in the short term, unraveling the emotional pain of the Sub for the moment to ease them in subspace.
There was always still plenty of time to sort out the real issue later.
However, Price had not expected Kyle to resort– hell, know of– these old guard methods. And, while the Captain himself had witnessed this method to be useful, they had not negotiated anything, not even a safe word, nothing.
“Kyle– no. You do not need to be punished. You did nothing wrong.”
Kyle shifted with unease. “I— I feel like I need to be punished, Sir,” And by his embarrassed, anxious look, Price knew from experience that the guilt was stuck to Kyle, weighing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
“I’m not a fan of punishing you, kid. I do not do punishments when we never had a scene together– I need to know you first, need to learn your boundaries and your body language.” He gently caressed his forehead.
“But you do, Sir,” There was that wavering in Kyle's voice again, “There’s no one who– who knows me better than you, Sir.”
Price's heart skipped a beat. He knew the young man was right. This was Kyle, his Kyle, his best soldier, his ever-trusting Kyle that regularly put his own life in his Captain’s hands. Of course, Price knew him; he knew Kyle like his own pocket, his body language, the way he reacted to pain, to stress, to everything.
Fuck, he trusted Price so fucking much.
And Price realized how fucking much he himself truly trusted Kyle.
He struggled with himself, a deep sigh. “You have a safe word?”
“N-no?”
“Kyle–!” Price blurted, and he sounded like a father reprimanding the reckless behavior of his son. He felt like it too, seeing the million ways in which Kyle could have gotten hurt in a scene without a safeword infront of his eyes.
What kind of Doms had Kyle been with who did not care about a safe word?
Kyle tensed up and hung his head, heat crawling in his cheeks. “‘M Sorry, Sir”
“That’s not– You don’t–,” Price took a deep breath and stroked his beard to calm himself down. “You’re okay. You’re not in trouble, son.”
And there it was again, the magic word that always seemed have a grip on Kyle. A shiver traveled up his spine, and Price almost thought he felt it too.
“You familiar with the traffic lights system, are you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Kyle nodded earnestly.
“Good. Very good. Now, think you can stand? Come on– we’re going to my room”
***
Price had decided that his office was no place for punishment and adequate aftercare. Call him old-fashioned, but he knew what wonders a warm shower and fresh clothes could do after a failed mission.
With a steady hand, he led Kyle towards his room, his sergeant following him fluidly, wide, blown pupils and glassy eyes on the ground. He was still deep under, and Price knew that with every command, every moment he decided for him, every time he gently pushed Kyle in his place, he was making sure he stayed there, in this vulnerable, precious state.
What an honor it was, Price thought, when he had Kyle naked in his room, ordering him to stand steady, hands on the wall. His ass was gorgeous, round like it had been carved out, and Price knew he was definitely adding some extra exercises to his training.
He gently caressed his soft skin on his cheek and murmured in Kyle’s ear: “Didn’t know that glute exercises were part of military combat training nowadays, Sergeant.”
And when embarrassment colored Kyle’s cheeks red and he sucked in a breath, the sadist in Price could not stop himself from pinching meanly the pillowy flesh on Kyle’s ass. Kyle tensed up and let out this loud squeal, which was so adorable that Price was sure it had to be illegal, and Price kicked his feet apart, making him stumble.
He held his Sergeant by the neck until he stood steady again, and he felt the fire in him rising. He was in his element, his natural habitat, teasing and caressing his Sub, giving him a harsh and a soft side, pushing him around, and catching him again.
And a look at Kyle’s dick proved how much he was enjoying this.
Kyle was well-endowed with a long and almost elegant cock, and all Price could think about was how useless this big, stupid thing would bounce around once he had Kyle on his cock, fucking into this perfect round ass.
He pushed the thought away, massaged Kyle’s neck until he went slack again. Price had taken a big wooden ruler from his office (yes, he had a ruler in his office. Yes, he was old) and he let Kyle touch it, let him get accustomed to it.
“Color, son?” He asked, and for the first time, he did not feel bad for letting that word slip, because Kyle visibly relaxed.
“Green, Sir,” He said, and Price swore he was being pavloved into getting hard every time Kyle said “Sir”.
“You know why I’m punishing you today, Kyle? Because you’ve convinced yourself that mission was your fault.,” he made a firm pause, “It was not. Not even close.”
“I’m gonna spank you fifteen times. I’ll count ‘em for you,” Price said, because in the end, he was a soft man who loved adding a little sugar to his punishments. He came close to Kyle and studied his face.
“I need you to promise me to use your safe word. I need to trust you on that, kid,” Price spoke with the same authoritative tone he used as Captain.
“Yes, Sir. I promise,” Kyle answered sincerely.
“Good lad,” Price rumbled and watched with a smile as Kyle swallowed thickly at the praise.
The slap came without a warning, because Price could not help himself, he fucking enjoyed the surprised high-pitched squeal Kyle let out, and he drank up the way his muscles danced under his skin.
As Price had expected, Kyle was able to bear through it, even though he was deep under, breathing through it, not showing a single sign of pain– he was a special forces soldier after all.
After the third stroke, Price paused and stood close behind Kyle, barely touching, letting him sense his body heat. He touched the small of his hip, big hand wrapping around heated skin.
“Kyle,” he rumbled, calling the younger man closer to the surface, closer to consciousness, “I know what you’re doing. Let it go. You’re safe here, son. You can let it go.”
Kyle let out a breath, shaky and whiny. “Yes– Sir”
“Good boy. Go on. Let it all out for me,” Price returned to his stance behind Kyle, gave him a moment to breathe, before he whipped the piece of wood against Kyle again. This time, he earned a choked cry, Kyle’s entire body jerking under his force.
“Yes, there you go,” Price grinned. Three more strikes and Kyle was slipping, tears streaking down his face, and by the looks of it, he was floating now, losing touch with reality. So Price stepped into his space again, carefully wrapping his hand around Kyle’s neck and jaw, guiding his face away from the wall, towards him.
Fuck, what a sight. Not even his horniest dreams could have prepared Price for this.
Kyle naked, beautiful dark red streaks forming on his thick ass, arms obediently on the wall, knees shaky, and his eyes– god, these big puppy eyes– round and teary, almost cross-eyed, turning back into his skull, looking up at him. No thought behind them, just pure trust and goodness.
“Color, baby?” Price’ voice was deep and soothing.
“Green, Dad,” Kyle slurred. Price lost it, his brain stopped functioning, he choked on his breath, his heart skipped a beat– he was sure, he blacked out for a second.
He could not stop himself from turning his boy’s head to the side and biting down on the sensitive skin on his neck. He had told himself that this was a one-time thing, but here he was, burying his teeth into Kyle, leaving a mark for everyone to see.
Kyle’s yelp turned into a high moan. Kyle fucking moaned at that. And he pushed his ass back into Price's crotch, onto his cock, straining his pants, and Price just knew that the fabric brushing over his bruised skin must burn.
But his Sergeant did not seem to care. Price did not know how he did not come in his pants right then and there.
Price broke away from Kyle, stepping back into place to finish the punishment, spank after spank after spank, drinking up Kyle’s noises, the way his body moved, until Kyle went quieter, a bubbling mess, barely able to hold himself up.
And Price put the wooden ruler away and pulled Kyle in, into the warmth, into the safety, into his chest, wrapping an arm around his neck and his hip, holding him close, keeping him.
“Atta lad, good fucking boy. Took that so well, so perfect,” he drawled endless praises into his ear, “I got you, son. It’s okay, Dad’s got you.”
Finally he felt Kyle nodding subtly, shivering and body resting against him, finally believing Price words. Price swore Kyle felt lighter, but maybe it was because Kyle’s mind was floating.
“Are you goin’ sweet on me, son?” he whispered into Kyle’s ear with a small grin, holding him tightly.
It took a while until Price got his Sub into the shower, washing the dirt and sweat off him, and the warm water thawed Kyle, making him easy and submissive.
There was one moment when they stepped out of the shower, and cold air hit Kyle’s wet skin, when Kyle got disoriented, furrowing his brows, frantically resurfacing from the depths of his mind, like a diver who surfaced too quickly.
Price pulled him close again, tucking his head into his wide, hairy chest, squeezing his neck protectively, gently leading him back down, into the core of subspace, making sure he felt safe, knew that it was okay, it was good.
He wanted to have Kyle in his bed, wearing soft clothes, wrapped in warm blankets, cuddled up against him. He wanted to give him what a Sub like Kyle deserved and more.
Kyle went with him, letting his Captain dress him, drinking the bottle of water as instructed, putting on a brave face when Price massaged ointment into these deliciously red streaks, letting him take the lead, obediently following every order and every command.
And Price realized how familiar this was, how easy and comfortable they were. Kyle trusted him so much, so fucking much.
As they lay in bed, Kyle in his arms, kept and deep under, softly snoring, safe and sound, body relaxed and pliant and warm against his, a hand curled in the tender nape of his Captain– Price allowed himself just once to entertain this idea of Kyle as his Sub, under his care, his protection.
It was one of the first things Ghost had noticed when he met his Sergeant years ago. The way the Scot pronounced words sounded almost forced and unnatural, even though he tried really hard to mold the words with his mouth to sound English, to adhere to the strict military policies of what a good soldier should speak like, but it was not the natural way for his tongue.
Ghost was not a fan of it. It slowed Soap down, making him hesitant before talking.
And this half of a second before Soap opened his mouth could cost a life on the battlefield.
He did not know how to address it, though, as he never was one to know his way around words, so it became this stinging thought pondering in his mind. It was not until their first outing, though, that Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap hit the pub after a successful mission that he heard the way Soap truly spoke.
They were well into their third or fourth beer, warming up to each other, Gaz and Soap obnoxiously loud, when Soap’s accent bled through. Rolling his “r’s”, elongating the vowels, his voice rising at the end of sentences like a question.
Ghost, quietly in his corner, could not take his eyes off him.
He had never seen Soap like this, so comfortable, so natural, so easily drifting in conversation, so himself. It dawned on him that he had never truly known Soap until he heard him speak in that bloody obnoxious accent.
After that, he noticed it more and more, as Soap let the curtain of his bad English accent fall more and more as the team grew more familiar. Never around Ghost, though, but he caught glimpses of it when they were off duty, Soap hanging with Gaz or talking to Price, always shifting back into English when he noticed Ghost was around.
It bothered Ghost more than it should’ve. He dwelled on it until it grew to become this ugly, angry thing, and then he took it out on Soap in the form of little sharp remarks, correcting the smallest things, pointing out the slightest mishaps. It only challenged Soap, ambitious and eager to perfect his work, to meet all of Ghost’s high demands, listening to every command and every word of his Lieutenant.
And before Ghost knew it, he was carving out the ideal little Sergeant, molding him to fit exactly by his side, the two of them working together seamlessly, matchless, flawless. And still, Soap was stuck in this endless fight with the words in his mouth, like an impatient, short-tempered horseman desperately trying to tame his horse. It made him insecure and unsure of his words on missions, and it fueled Ghost with stress and adrenaline.
One day, he knew, the mission would come that would make him pay the price.
The day came earlier than expected, but things ultimately turned out much differently than he had feared.
They had just entered the target building when Soap suddenly turned around, barking out a warning in a broad Scottish accent and shoving Ghost back out of the door. Not a second too late.
How Soap had noticed the grenade right upon entering, how he had immediately smelled the faint smoke in the air and heard the crackle of the fire instantly, how sharp and sensitive his senses must have been to pick up something as small as this, was a mystery to Ghost.
But as they lay on the ground, sheltering behind a car from the explosion, Soap on top of him, Ghost’s face accidentally shoved between the vest and uniform into his Sergeant's neck, there was a new suspicion rising in him.
Later, when they said side by side, quietly waiting for their helicopter back to base, Soap nervously bouncing his leg, Ghost let slip what had been simmering in his chest for too long.
“Did a solid job back there, Sergeant,” he grunted. Soap’s eyes, round and big, were glued to him immediately.
“Thank you, LT,” he stumbled over his words, “Was just doin’ my job.”
Ghost grunted. A moment of silence.
“You don’t have to put that voice on with me.”
“What d’ you mean?”
“That accent. You’re not fluent. Half a second of you hesitating because of pronunciation can cost a life out there.” That came out harsher than planned. Soap looked small, his face colored in a bright red, chewing the inside of his cheeks.
“I– my superiors were really adamant about proper English”, Soap said meekly. There was more to this, and Ghost knew how brutal superiors could be to rookies.
“‘Proper,’ my arse,” he grunted, “That mouth o’ yours just saved my life.”
He felt Soap’s eyes on him again, but he did not look down to look at him. When the helicopter finally landed, Ghost knew two things:
First, if you offered Soap to talk with his natural accent, he would never shut up again, and second, Soap smelled awfully sweet for an Alpha.
older!DomPrice | younger!SubGaz | mutual pinning, light hurt/comfort (subdrop), dad kink (they'll get to it)
Kyle shook his head, making himself smaller on the couch, visibly worsening. Shit, that was his first drop, wasn't it? Exasperation grew in Price. “Kyle, please, you need your Dom–”
Kyle’s voice was nothing but a mere whisper, so quiet and small that Price almost missed it. “Don’t have one”
Part 1 | Part 3
“Okay, kid, that’s okay,” John tried to calm his Sergeant, who was only getting worse, “that’s good, you’re okay.”
That’s good!? The fuck was wrong with him? He needed to get himself together if he wanted to make this right, and that meant locking his own selfish desires far away.
It was inappropriate; there was a clear hierarchical dynamic between them, and as his Captain, he did not want to abuse the power he had over his Sergeant, especially because he knew how responsive and keen Kyle was when it came to authority figures.
And then there was the topic of their ages, of course. With an age gap of over twenty years, it was a clear no-go. Price had tattoos older than Kyle, and as the older one, he was responsible for ensuring that set boundaries were adhered to, no matter how dependent and eager to please Kyle was.
Price could only guess where the younger ones' emotions were now.
There was still a lot of stigma around Subs without a Dom, and this persistent prejudice that it was a Sub's own fault for dropping if they did not have a Dom, that it was somehow self-inflicted, and they were deserving of the pain they went through. John knew from various Subs how damaging this prejudice was, how quick these toxic beliefs found their way into one’s mind when in a vulnerable state like a sub drop. Like poison leaking through, shame and the fear of not getting out of a drop, not getting better.
And John could read all of that in Kyle, the fear and the shame mixing with the sadness, the helplessness, the loneliness, the gut-deep feeling of being bad, wrong, worthless, deadweight. He saw it in the way Kyle made himself small, in his shaking hands and cramped shoulders, the way he hid his torn face, the tears spilling out of his wide-open, anxious eyes.
Fuck, he needed to stop this; he needed to show him how good he was, how brave and skilled and smart he was.
“You’re okay, don’t worry. It’s okay if you can’t talk right now, kid. But I need you to nod yes or shake your head no for me. Got it?” A nod. Bloody hell, how obedient Kyle was, how dutiful and pliant, how good he was at carrying out Price's orders, even now.
“We can do things two ways now. Either I'm gonna go to medical and get you some relaxers so you can sleep it off. Or, if you have someone you trust here, I’m gonna get them for you, and they will help you. Understood?”
John already felt his instincts fixating on Kyle, mind sharpening, concentrating precisely on his body language, and he tried to keep it low, because he had no right to dom him. But in the back of his head, he knew it was a little too late for these concerns as the way he spoke to Kyle, clear and direct, voice low and soft, was dripping with care and authority.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Kyle sobbed, and he looked like a little boy now who had done something unforgivable, like this was his worst nightmare. And it probably felt like it, too. John reached over to grab some tissues and peeled Kyle’s hands off his face. With one hand on the back of his neck, he forced the smaller man’s head back and wiped the tears and snot off his face before covering his nose with a tissue.
“Blow”, he ordered gently, and Kyle timidly complied, big eyes seeking him, searching with an insecurity that almost hurt. John looked away. “More, c’mon, gimme more”
John was already crossing a line. Hand on his neck, fingers soothingly squeezing the skin where his jaw kissed his neck, steadily keeping him in place. Maybe just this far, until Kyle was ready to tell him who he needed. But his Captain wiping his nose made Kyle’s cheeks burn so deliciously red from embarrassment, and the way he squinted his eyes and puffed his cheeks was so adorable that John almost lost it. Almost.
“There you go,” John murmured once his favorite Sergeant could breathe through his nose again, and he wished he could have that forever. But he pulled himself together, face professional as always, and brought some distance between them. Then he made a selfish decision.
“I’m gonna get you some medicine now. I’ll be back in 5, alright? It won’t be long, I promise.” He knew it was not right, but he could not bring himself to ask if there was anyone Kyle trusted, anyone else but him, who could take care of Kyle in this vulnerable state, because he was egoistic like that. However, Kyle looked like he stabbed him.
“Please, Sir, please, don’t leave me,” Kyle blurted fast, stumbling over his words, panic cracking open his small voice, and it broke John’s heart. There was a new fear now reflecting in Kyle’s face, a fear of his Captain abandoning him, and he gasped for air, short and ragged, a new wave of tears flooding his eyes. He slid back, trembling hands grasping at his collar as if he could not breathe, and he curled himself smaller, trying to hide.
John’s realization that he had fucked up sank in cold and heavy. He had pushed Kyle deeper into the dark void of subdrop. His instincts flared up, and he could barely push them down, immediately coming closer to Kyle, one arm on each side of his small, shaking body, crowding him, placing himself between him and the world like a protective shield.
“Who should I get, Kyle?” he asked despite the stab in his heart, because in the end, he would do anything, anything for his Sergeant. But Kyle would not answer, sobbing into his hands, and John realized how sharp his voice had sounded and how he had probably scared him. So, he tried again, softer this time.
“C’mon, son, tell me. Who do you trust?” John coaxed, voice deep like gravel. And Kyle peeked out between his fingers with eyes round and lamblike, anxiety almost swallowing his voice as he whispered his most secret confession: “You”
John froze. If it were not for the look that Kyle gave him, he would not have believed his ears. A jolt rattled through his body, and he almost jumped at Kyle, but he clenched his hands into the couch behind him, knuckles whitening and sweat forming on his forehead. There was so much wrong with this; he was far too old for the young man, and he was his superior, for God's sake.
“Kyle. You need to be fucking honest with me right now. Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Kyle sounded so wretched, like he was clinging to his last straw.
“There are plenty of Doms your age here–“ Suddenly, Kyle crumbled between his arms, collapsing, and it was the worst sight John had ever witnessed in his life. Kyle hit rock bottom. And it was his fault.
Price moved like he was on a mission, like it was a matter of life and death. He shot up, scooping Kyle’s body into his arms, dropping himself on the couch, and pulling Kyle into his lap. He curled himself around him, arms pressing the Sub close to his chest, tugging his little head into his neck, holding him tightly as if Kyle would fall apart otherwise.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry, Kyle. I’m here now, I got you, sweetheart.”
a/b/o ghoap where soap, who is suppressing his identity as omega & struggles with self-hatred, gets lost after a failed mission, his first heat in a decade is approaching (panic), and he almost freezes to death. Somehow, Ghost rescues him, but this does not help Soaps believe that his lieutenant hates him now after seeing him in this pathetic state.
[ angst | omegaverse | ghoap ]
And still, in his pathetic state, something in him instinctively reached out his trembling fingers to Ghost, buried his frozen, stiff fingers into his black uniform. Soap was mortified by his own behavior, but he couldn’t help the fear of losing Ghost. A sob, broken and small, escaped his lips. Too quiet for anyone to hear.
But Ghost heard. His head snapped down, eyes behind the skull mask immediately finding the man at his feet. Suddenly, Soap was being lifted into the air again, but not before Ghost barked a departure command.
Inside the helicopter, Ghost wrapped an emergency blanket around him before pouring him some hot drink from a thermal bottle. Knowing the Brit, it probably was tea. But Soap's hands were still too frozen and too shaky to hold the mug. He did not ask for help.
Instead, he shook his head as if he was not thirsty.
pt 2 of a/b/o ghoap where soap, who is suppressing his identity as omega & struggles with self-hatred, almost freezes to death after a failed mission and his first heat in a decade is approaching (panic). Somehow, Ghost rescues him, but this does not help Soaps believe that his lieutenant hates him now after seeing him in this pathetic state, and he has a panic attack.
[ hurt / comfort | omegaverse | ghoap ]
“Fuck, Soap, you’re dropping”, Ghost's voice was a clear cut through his spiraling thoughts. If an Omega was under stress, mentally or physically unstable during their heat, the hormone cocktail could result in a so-called drop, an intense emotional and physical state of exhaustion or depression.
But that meant that he was actually in heat now. His first heat in a decade. As if his damned body was answering, a hot wave rolled over him and he almost choked.
Yes, that was the feeling he had feared and dreaded, the loss of control, the vulnerability, being at the mercy of his own feelings. Soap was dropping fast. His hands curled in his hair, fingers digging harshly into his skin. He knew Ghost was talking to him, but he couldn't make out any words. Loud white noise filled his ears, and he gasped for air again.
Suddenly, he felt Ghost touching him. Big hands wrapped around his wrists, forcefully loosening Soap's grip and bending his arms down.
“Johnny, can you hear me?” Ghost's deep voice wavered from sorrow.
“Okay, okay, listen. Listen to me. I know you do that well because you're my best sergeant.”
“Ah... dinnae ken–” Soap's voice failed him, because how could Ghost say that? How could he say that when Soap failed the mission? How could he say that, when he knew Soap was an Omega? Soaps' entire body cramped, and he would have almost fallen forward if Ghost hadn’t caught him.
The Alphas' voice was very close now. He heard Ghost curse under his breath before he tried again.
“Concentrate on my voice, alright? Do you hear my voice, Johnny?”Ghost forced his voice to sound steadier, and even though Soap sensed his tension, it worked: Ghost's voice sounded loud and clear over the mess in his head.
Soap could only nod as an answer.
“There you go. Now, listen to me. You’re gonna breathe with me, alright, Johnny?” That name again. Ghost’s voice melted him like butter on warm toast.
“Okay, good. Breathe in with me.” Ghost was patient with Soap, who only choked and gasped for air the first few tries. But eventually, Soap's breaths became deeper and longer, and in the end, Soap sat on the bench hunched over like a little heap of misery, shaking from exhaustion and sobbing quietly.
“Just like that. Good–“, Ghost cleared his throat, “job.” He kneeled in front of him, left hand holding Soap’s hands and wrists, his right hand steadying his shoulder. His eyes, the only visible part of his face, studied him.
“We’re going to get you inside the base now, okay? Everything will be fine.”
pt 3 of a/b/o ghoap where soap, who is suppressing his identity as omega & struggles with self-hatred, is rescued by Ghost after almost freezing to death during a failed mission. Soap's heat is approaching, and he is still convinced that Ghost absolutely hates him.
[ smut | omegaverse | ghoap ]
“Soap- Fuck.” Soap watched as Ghost furrowed his eyebrows behind his masks, desperately trying to regain control. There was a glitter in his eyes, lust and hunger that the man could not hide anymore. Soap felt his own heartbeat bursting out of his ribcage, his face was on fire, and he knew that he was red from ear to ear.
"You’re not… You don’t… Soap. Behave." Ghost said without moving. Not even a piece of paper could have fit between their bodies.
He pressed his body against Ghosts. “Please, Simon”
Ghost’s eyes changed, his body tensed, and his hands gripped Soap’s face tightly.
Soap's body moved on its own, succumbing to its own instincts. His hips twitched uncontrolled, and he ground up against Ghost's waist. The Alphas gear, the belts and straps, and hooks grazed through his sweatpants, but pathetically, he did not care. No, quite the opposite, a hot gush pooled in his abdomen, and his mouth fell open.
And he felt Ghost needing him, too. His cock, swollen and big, pushed through the fabric of his pants up against Soap. He smelled him, too. The pheromones Ghost was pumping into the air now were sweet and intense and prepossessing.
Under him, Ghost aggressively worked his jaw, and his dark gaze pierced through Soap unforgivingly.
With his last shred of sanity, Soap forced his shaking hips to lift. His vision went blurry. Like pulling two magnets apart, he pushed himself away from Ghost, a whispered apology on his lips.
“Ah’m sorry. Ah’m so sorry”, his voice was barely audible. For once in his life, he had opened the very part of him he hated, he was ashamed of. But it was not supposed to be.
In the span of a second, Ghost's hands snapped on his ass, manhandling his hips back into place. Then he pushed Soap down, directly onto his dick. The smaller man gasped for air. Ghost’s cock pressed long and hard against himself. A stitch flame flared up between his legs and overtook his entire body, until Soap was only a shaking, moaning puddle.
