BEGS AND PLEADS FOR MORE LGD HYBRID READER MAKE IT ANGSTY OR SOMETHING PLEASE I BEEEEEGGGG
guess what I've been up to this morning anon :) SO I had no idea how to do these parts but uhhhhh yuh. this one got a little long. based on this whack-ass post that started as something and spiraled. and now there's so much going on and I have been writing non-stop for it (it has hooked me gooood) and so here we go lovelies <3
CW: implied abuse. reader is kinda an unreliable narrator? idk if there's anything else in this part. this is an intro part i promise we're gonna get drammmmaaaaa.
Your COβs grip on your arm is iron, fingers bruising. You donβt resist, of course, you never do.
Loyalty has been beaten into you. It's bone-deep and marrow-tight.
He doesnβt have to say the word. He doesnβt have to lift the heavy leather and steel muzzle in his other hand for you to understand what he wants. Behave.
The office smells like coffee.
Your new captain sits behind the desk, steady gaze cutting up from the papers he was reading. Thereβs no mistaking him for anything but what he is: wolf hybrid, pack-leader through and through. Strong behind all that calm. The kind who could rip the throat out of any man foolish enough to test him. Your instincts stir, but you can't exactly place why.
Three others hover nearby. You catalogue them instinctively.
The bull hybrid first, massive, carved from stone, horns catching the lamplight. A black mask pulled tight over his face. You can smell him even through the thick air, sweat and earth, the quiet thunder of him. His gaze is wary, tracking you like a guardian watches a threat.
Behind him, a slouching cat hybrid, tail flicking, ears twitching. Narrow eyes, suspicious and sharp. He squints at you as though he can already see every hidden twitch of weakness. He's got his instincts locked up tight.
And then thereβs the dragon. Beautiful and unapologetically so. His scales glimmer faintly under the rolled sleeves of his fatigues, horns arcing elegant and dangerous. His weight leans casual against the wall, but his presence is undeniable. Your gut twists: if anyone here could take you down without breaking a sweat, itβs him.
Your CO clears his throat, voice sharp as broken glass. βDogβs yours now,β he says, shoving you forward, the muzzle swinging in his hand. βTrained and loyal. Mean as hell when pointed right. Just donβtββ
The Captain rises, slow and mean. You can smell the anger and tension swirling off him. His eyes cut to the muzzle, and a low growl rumbles from his chest. βNo.β
Your CO stiffens. βYouβll want it. Trust me. Beastβs well-behaved, but not like you. Needsββ
βI said no.β Priceβs snarl sharpens, and for a wild second, you donβt know where to put your hands. Youβve never seen anyone snarl for you. Never heard a voice raised on your behalf. Youβre dizzy with it.
"Get the fuck out of my office."
The muzzle lowers, your COβs face twisting like heβs swallowed something bitter. He mutters something under his breath, releases your arm, and marches out.
And suddenly, the office is too quiet. And four pairs of eyes land on you.
You brace some order, for the weight of someone elseβs leash snapping shut around your throat, but it doesnβt come.
The bull hybrid folds his arms, still watchful. The cat hybrid mutters something to him, tail flicking like he doesnβt buy a single second of your silence. And the dragon pushes off the wall and steps closer, scales glinting dark. He's close enough that you could swing if you wanted, and you can smell it, he's not afraid.
βWell,β Price says finally, voice calm again, steady as the earth. βLet's try this properly. Gotta have you apart of the team, aye?β
Price is patient the way wolves are patient, leaning back against his desk, giving you a minute to orientate yourself to the room. Then he extends his wrist toward you, not aggressively, but in a quiet show of formality.
You just tilt your head. Not quite defiant. Not quite confused. Just⦠not what he expects.
One brow rises beneath the brim of his cap. His mouth quirks like heβs caught between a sigh and a smile.
βChrist. They said youβd been beaten feral, butβah, forgive me. Letβs start again.β He withdraws his hand, folding it easily behind his back.
βIβm Captain Price. Wolf hybrid.β His voice rolls steady. He gestures with a sweep of his hand. βBig man here is Lieutenant Riley, Ghost. Bull hybrid. Hiding behind him is Sergeant Soap MacTavish. Donβt mind him, heβll come around in a day or two, just wary of new teammates. And this hereββ his eyes flick toward the dragon at your side, ββis Sergeant Garrick. Iβve asked him to stick with you, help you around base as needed. Be a friend until you settle.β
The dragonβs arms uncross, scales catching the light as he inclines his head. His horns curve elegantly and his grin is warm enough to soften the edges. βPlease, call me Gaz. Donβt mind me, just gonna give you a tour and such. Ask for anything you need, yeah?β
You stare. Words hang useless on your tongue. You know how to obey, how to bite, how to fight. You do not know how to answer that.
Ghost finally moves with a low huff, a glance at Price, and then the bull hybrid turns on his heel. Soap shadows him, tail flicking, ears pinned back in suspicion. Neither of them looks at you again.
It shouldnβt hurt. You know it shouldnβt. Theyβre just teammates. Just as new as your old unit was on first introductions.
Except this is the first hybrid team youβve ever been on. And some stubborn, half-buried part of you had been hoping, and maybe even expecting, that youβd beβ¦ accepted.
βTheyβll be alright,β Gaz says, voice easy. He tilts his chin toward the door. βCome on, yeah? Letβs get you to your room. Got a bed, proper blankets. Showers down the hall. Iβll make sure you know your way around.β
He offers nothing binding. No leash. No muzzle. Just the promise of space, of a door that closes behind you.
Your tail twitches behind you, heavy plume of fur shifting. You donβt know if you believe him. But you follow.
The walk down the corridor is quieter than you expected. Gazβs steady footfalls. When he spots your ears pressed flat, he only smiles softly.
He stops before a door, turns the handle, and steps aside with a little flourish of his hand. βHere we are. Yours.β
You step inside slowly. The room is small, but not bare. There's a real bed with thick blankets, a desk tucked against the wall, a set of drawers, and a closet. Thereβs light here. Air. Space enough for you to turn around without bumping a wall.
βLocks from the inside,β Gaz says, tapping the doorframe. βIβm right next door if you need something. Soapβs down the hall a ways.β He hesitates, then smiles, softer this time. βWe took the liberty of putting just bits of our things in here for ya. Scent familiarity and all that. Helps.β
You blink at him. The kindness of it hits harder than any command ever has. Close the door, lock it, keep it shut if you want. The option to choose.
Gaz lingers only a second longer, as though making sure youβll stay standing, then dips his head, brushing a bashful hand over his horn, and eases the door shut behind him.
Silence folds over you. The bed creaks as you sit.
For a long moment you just stare at whatβs been left: a hoodie draped over the chair, faintly worn, thick with Priceβs scent, that steady smoke and pine. A black mask folded neatly on the desk, Ghostβs presence caught in it, salt and steel. A blanket, unmistakably Gazβs, carrying the warm fresh and cinnamon scent. And there, tucked by the pillow, a pair of gloves. Soapβs. Leather and gun oil, but threaded through with something sharp and tangy, like a cat restless and alive.
You draw a tentative breath and let the scents wrap around you.
fun fact: when LGDs (livestock guardian dogs) are puppies they introduced and made to sleep with their respective livestock super early to get them used to the smell. making the smell "comforting" as in "hey little pup protect this. k?"
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