Bite Me Bitch

Thinking many thoughts about this little clip and just how rabbot coded it is.

Maybe even, and walk with me here, boyfriends dads rabbot.

Maybe you’re staying with your boyfriend for a little while over summer break. Maybe some of those days said boyfriend still has tennis or perhaps soccer training meaning he's out for the majority of the morning/early afternoon.

And on those days, the only people still home just so happens to be his two hot, older dads.

You get along, always have since you first met the pair, but that doesn't quell the fuzzy feeling in your gut whenever they interact with you.

The pair find it endearing really, the way you'll slip sometimes, calling them Mr Abbot and Mr Robinavitch instead of Jack and Robby (or Micheal if you'd prefer it). You struggle to keep eye contact with them too, even more so when you trip your words up when responding to questions about yourself. Your degree, your hobbies, what you enjoy to eat, hell, they'll even how your relationship is going with their boy- they're just interested thats all!

But the thing that gets both Jack and Robby chubbing up in their pants like perverted old bastards the most?

How you've spent your time bouncing around the Robinavitch-Abbot household in what must be the skimpest of summer clothes. That bikini that barely covers your tits as you soak up the sun in their garden, or the denim shorts that hardly hides the line of your panties as you sit on the couch reading.

Theres guilt, of course there is, the pair of them perving over their sons girlfriend. But not nearly enough to make them stop thinking about you in ways they shouldn't be. Like how wet you get when worked up or how beautiful your body must be truly bare.

Robby always thinks your lips would look stretched around the girth of them, while Jack ponders the perfect whines you'd let free as you cum.

Its after a long day of sunbathing does everything finally come to a head though

Your skin glistens with a mix of sunscreen and sweat, heart thudding in your chest from the heat. You're boyfriends gone again, has been all day, leaving you, Jack and Robby at home soaking in the summer sun in the backyard.

At lunch you learnt Jack knows a thing or two about making cocktails, by almost dinner you're pretty confident he's got a mean pour.

The world floats by as you lounge on a chair, watching Robby stood by the grill cooking steaks with his own sweating beer. The glass on the table next to you half full, your.. Fourth? Maybe third? Fruity Margarita abandoned as you giggle about something that feels funnier than it is.

Thats the last thing you properly remember- the gruff laughter, the sundrunk haze, Jack and Robby drinking, grilling and hosting like regular older men.

When your eyes blink open again (did you shut them on purpose or did they flutter without you knowing?) the scene is vastly different.

Grey curls sit messily between your plush thighs, hazel eyes peering up lustblown and dark. It hits you then, the intense pleasure of a skilled mouth lapping and lavishing your pussy.

Its hot, wet, perfect and utterly wrong all in one, legs desperate to close around the older mans ears to little avail. Jacks big hands hold you open though, palms flat on your inner thighs, panties of your bathing suit crooked to the side and held steady by two thick fingers.

Your back arches from the lounger, a ragged, breathless gasp ripping from your heaving chest. "O-oh my god!"

The tongue flicks playfully against your clit, before plump lips suckle lewdly, a voice you recognize as Robbys chucking as he sits crouched beside you. "Mm, not quite sweetheart. You wanna that try again?"

The moan breaks with your voice, a hand flying down to those mused salt and pepper curls, tangling tight. "J-jack oh f-fuckk"

"Yeahhh, There you go" he grins wolfish, "s' he makin you feel good kid?"

The nod is jerky, the response even more so. Your hips bump up despite Jack's grip, brain unsure if to run or relish in the overwhelming feeling between your legs; at how fuckig wrong it is to let it continue. "M-mphm y-yeah"

Jack offers some reprive just a moment, unlatching his mouth for just a moment to gravel out "Got you squirmin like no ones done this before, s' our boy holdin out on you honey?"

The question only serves as a reminder these men are your boyfriends fathers, men decades older than you and him. Its wrong, sick, absolutely fucking vile to do to the man you love.. But fuck, his dads devouring you like your sloppy, slick pussy is the only thing left on earth to sustain him. Hes licking you with experience that only comes from enjoyment, suckling like every gasp and whine gives him air.

But in this moment, your hot. Hazy. Utterly drunk of bliss. So you mewl out the truth, jerking your hips to hump at Jack's face like the pleasures the only thing that will keep you alive. "M-mhm.. Says he.. He doesnt like it- fucking shit- that s' not enjoyable-"

"Doesn't like eatin this pretty pussy up, Christ, where'd we go wrong mi- mphmn" Jack murmers incredulous again your folds, stubble rubbing a heavenly kind of pain on your most intimate of areas, fumed point cut off by Robby reaching over a hand that pushes his partner back into your pussy so tight its a wonder he's able to breathe.

"Shhh jack, jus' keep goin. Shes gettin close huh honey?" Robby grins, hand sliding beneath the cups of your bikini top. Your nipples pert and tight as his calloused thumb offers a delightful friction. "Sides, we've gotta correct that bullshit ourselves hm, apologize to that sweet little pussy for everything she's been missin"

Your head is thrown back, hair mused against the chair, your body quivering as the bliss only draws tighter in your gut. Your eyes struggle to stay open between the now setting sun and the onslaught of pleasure. Those plush, still glistening thighs tremble against Jack's touch, one of his hands sliping down to press one, then two, thick digits inside.

You can feel the cool edge of his wedding band bump your hole with each slickened drive, every curl managing to rub at your g spot in a way that only pushes you closer to crumbling.

Then, as quick as Jack's mouth had appeared at your pussy, another sensation has your spine arching almost painfully. Robbys somehow pushed the cup of your top to the side, mouth hot on your skin, his own tongue flicking and teasing at your nipple. His peppered beard making you shake as it rubs your skin with every move he makes.

Its that combo that sends you over the edge with a wail of their names so perfect their chubbed up cocks throb and leak inside the confines of shorts now way too tight. It takes your breath away near violently, the orgasm hitting you so hard you're almost convinced you'll never come back down.

They both keep it up until tears slip down your cheeks, until you're pushing them off and your body is overwhelmingly sensitive. Blood thunders in your ears, hazing over the praise the pair murmer to you.

Jack rises with a groan, shuffling himself forward to meet your mouth in a messy, filthy kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, feel the dampness on his stubble, letting yourself drown in the dopamine a moment longer before you know you'll have to address everything that's just happened..

That is, until hot breath fans over your twitching clit the same but different, you're eyes wide as you dart between Robby who you didn't even realise had moved and Jack.

Robby grins wolfish again, shuffled between your shaking thighs, a large hand pressing on your still heaving belly. Your eyes must look like saucers, lips pouty and bitten raw, peering down with the most doe- like expression.

"Nawh whats that look for?" he coos, pitiful and mocking, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of you in a way that makes your insided lurch. "S'it too much t' take sweetheart? Two old men wantin to lick your sweet pussy?"

"mhm.." you mewl, hand reaching blindly for the loungers edge- for Jack and some semblance of safety. "R-robby please..cant.."

The chuckle is mean, a rumble you feel in the deepest parts of you, hips shifting preemptively to little avail. Robbys gaze drops, as does his wiry haired jaw, his sentiment cut between a broken moan and the envelopement of your puffy clit into the cavern of his mouth.

“You think this is funny?”

“You maced yourself,” you choked out. “In front of my door.”

“I’m aware of the sequence of events.”

Another cough overtook him. His eyes were bright red now, his greying curls dishevelled from dragging his hands through them. He looked deeply miserable.

And, unfortunately for your dignity, still ridiculously attractive.

That was the problem.

Jack Abbot was fifty years old, permanently exhausted, sarcastic enough to qualify as medically dangerous, and somehow the hottest man you had ever seen in your life.

You’d noticed him the day he moved into the apartment beside yours.

He’d carried boxes upstairs alone, jaw clenched, old band tee stretched across broad shoulders, forearms lined with veins and faded scars. Tired eyes. Heavy posture. Wedding ring absent. A man who looked like he belonged to another era entirely.

Then you’d learned he worked nights in the emergency department downtown, and suddenly everything about him made sense.

The dark circles.

The strange hours.

The haunted look in his eyes sometimes when he came home just before dawn.

The fact he drank coffee like it personally offended him.

You’d developed a crush quickly.

Horribly.

Embarrassingly.

And Jack, apparently, had decided to make your life impossible by being unexpectedly gentle.

He carried groceries upstairs for you without asking.

Fixed your kitchen sink at four in the morning after hearing you threaten it violently through the wall.

Knocked on your door during a storm because your power had gone out and he “didn’t trust the wiring in this building not to kill you.”

You’d fallen harder every single time.

Unfortunately, Jack seemed entirely unaware of how attractive he was.

Or perhaps he was aware and cursed by fate.

Because every time he tried to flirt with you, disaster followed.

After the pepper spray incident came The Soup Catastrophe.

You got home from work late one evening to find him sitting on the floor outside your apartment with a takeout bag beside him.

“You okay?” you asked cautiously.

Jack looked up with the expression of a man abandoned by God.

“The soup exploded.”

“What?”

“The soup exploded.”

You stared.

He gestured tiredly toward the container beside him. “I brought you dinner because you said you’d had a rough week. I hit a pothole. The lid came off. Tomato bisque all over the passenger seat.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to hurt.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You are absolutely laughing.”

“I’m trying not to.”

He sighed deeply. “I cleaned up as much as I could.”

“You still brought it?”

“You like grilled cheese.”

Your chest did a dangerous little squeeze.

Because there he was — exhausted ER attending after a twelve-hour night shift — sitting cross-legged in the hallway holding slightly traumatised grilled cheese sandwiches like an offering.

You crouched beside him.

“That’s actually very sweet.”

Jack looked startled by that.

Like genuine kindness still caught him off guard.

“Well,” he muttered gruffly. “Didn’t want you eating cereal for dinner again.”

Your smile softened.

“You notice that?”

“You leave the boxes in the recycling.”

Right.

Of course he noticed.

Jack noticed everything about you.

He noticed when your migraines got bad because you closed your blinds too early.

He noticed when you were anxious because you cleaned compulsively.

He noticed when you skipped meals.

He noticed when you cried.

That one had been particularly unfortunate.

You’d had a horrible phone call with your mother and wound up sitting on the fire escape behind the building trying to quietly pull yourself together. You genuinely thought no one had seen you.

Then the fire escape door opened.

Jack stepped outside carrying two mugs.

No questions.

No awkward pity.

Just silent company.

He sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched lightly.

Held out a mug of tea.

And stayed.

That was it.

That was all.

But you’d looked at him under the pale orange glow of the security light — tired face, rough hands curled around cheap ceramic, eyes soft with concern — and realised with absolute horror that you were already half in love with him.

The third romance attempt involved flowers.

Technically.

In practice, it involved blood.

You opened your apartment door one afternoon to find Jack standing there holding a bouquet of sunflowers and a paper towel wrapped around his hand.

“…Are you bleeding?”

“Minor injury.”

“You’re dripping on my welcome mat.”

Jack looked down.

“Ah.”

You immediately grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside before he could protest.

He followed in stunned silence while you marched him into your kitchen.

“Sit.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Jack.”

He sat.

You unwrapped the paper towel carefully.

“…Did you cut yourself on the flowers?”

“In my defence, florist scissors are apparently sharper than surgical equipment.”

You stared at him.

Then laughed so hard you nearly cried.

Jack groaned.

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I’m sorry, it’s just— you’re supposed to be saving lives.”

“I do save lives.”

“You lost a fight with a sunflower arrangement.”

His mouth twitched.

That was another problem.

Jack smiled rarely.

But when he did, it ruined people.

Especially you.

Because suddenly he looked younger. Warmer. Less weighed down by the world.

You cleaned the cut while he watched you quietly.

“You didn’t have to buy me flowers,” you murmured.

Jack shrugged one shoulder.

“Saw them. Thought of you.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“You thought of me?”

“Frequently, actually.”

The words came out absentmindedly.

Like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.

Silence filled the kitchen.

Jack slowly lifted his eyes to yours.

You forgot how breathing worked.

Then his phone went off.

Of course it did.

Jack swore viciously under his breath.

You burst out laughing again.

And somehow that became your thing.

Jack failing spectacularly at romance while you fell more in love with him every single time.

He tried cooking for you once.

That ended with the fire department arriving.

“To be fair,” Jack argued while the alarm screamed overhead, “the recipe said broil.”

“The recipe did not say cremate.”

“I got distracted.”

“You’re an emergency physician.”

“Yes,” he snapped. “Ironically.”

The firefighter walking through the apartment looked deeply amused.

Jack looked like he wanted to die.

You, meanwhile, were leaning against the counter laughing so hard you could barely stand upright.

The worst part?

Jack could cook.

Usually.

You’d eaten meals he’d made before during exhausted post-shift mornings when neither of you wanted to sleep yet. Omelettes. Pasta. Perfect pancakes at six a.m.

But apparently the second he intentionally tried to impress you, the universe intervened violently.

Still.

The evening ended with both of you sitting on his balcony eating takeout noodles from cartons.

City lights glowing below.

Cool wind moving through the dark.

Jack slouched in his chair looking deeply annoyed with himself.

“I used to be smoother than this.”

You snorted.

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I was.”

“Sure.”

“I had hair down to here in med school.”

“Oh my God.”

“Women loved me.”

You looked him over slowly.

Grey threaded through dark curls.

Strong nose.

Rough jaw covered in stubble.

Broad shoulders stretching his Henley.

Large hands scarred from years in emergency medicine.

Tired eyes that somehow still looked gentle when they landed on you.

“They still do,” you said quietly.

Jack stilled.

The air shifted.

You realised what you’d admitted approximately one second too late.

Your face burned immediately.

Jack looked at you with an expression so soft it physically hurt.

Then—

His chair snapped underneath him.

You shrieked laughing as he crashed backwards onto the balcony floor.

Jack stared up at the sky like he was reconsidering every life decision that had brought him here.

“I am being punished,” he informed the universe.

By month four of being disastrously, helplessly in love with your neighbour, you and Jack had developed something dangerously close to domesticity.

You spent mornings together after his shifts.

He drank terrible black coffee while you made fun of him for reading medical journals recreationally.

He fixed things around your apartment without being asked.

You fell asleep on his couch more often than your own.

Sometimes you woke in the middle of the night to soft knocking on your door because Jack had brought leftovers home from work and “there’s no point ordering enough for two if you aren’t eating with me.”

It became easy.

Too easy.

The age difference should have felt strange.

It didn’t.

Not really.

Jack never treated you like you were immature.

Never talked down to you.

Never made you feel lesser.

Sometimes he forgot there was twenty-five years between you entirely.

Other times, though, you caught it in the way he hesitated.

The way he looked at you too long before pulling himself back.

Like he wanted something he’d already decided he shouldn’t have.

You hated that.

Because you knew exactly what he was thinking.

He thought he was too old for you.

Too tired.

Too damaged.

Too much.

Which was ridiculous.

You wanted him so badly it made your stomach ache.

You wanted his tired smiles and rough hands and dry humour and the way he always checked if you’d eaten.

You wanted the man who carried exhausted nurses through panic attacks at work and came home with blood on his shoes and still somehow remembered your favourite tea.

You wanted all of him.

Unfortunately, Jack seemed committed to suffering.

The final romance attempt happened on a Thursday.

You remember because it had been raining all day.

You got home soaked through after work and found your apartment dark.

Before panic could settle in, there was a knock at your door.

You opened it to find Jack standing there holding a flashlight.

“Building lost power,” he said. “Come next door.”

Simple as that.

You followed him into his apartment wrapped in a blanket while rain hammered against the windows.

Candles flickered softly across the kitchen.

Your stomach flipped.

“Jack…”

He immediately looked nervous.

Which, for a man who routinely handled trauma patients without blinking, was almost impressive.

“I know this probably seems stupid,” he muttered. “And statistically my track record here is catastrophic—”

You started smiling already.

“—but I thought maybe dinner. Properly this time.”

The table was set.

Real plates.

Wine.

Pasta that did not appear burnt.

And flowers.

You eyed them suspiciously.

“No blood involved?”

“I bought them pre-cut.”

“Smart.”

Jack huffed a laugh despite himself.

You ate slowly while thunder rolled outside.

And for once, nothing went wrong.

No kitchen fires.

No accidental chemical warfare.

No collapsing furniture.

Just Jack.

Relaxed gradually by candlelight.

Talking about medicine and music and the little vineyard town he grew up in.

Listening to you like every word mattered.

You realised at some point that he kept looking at your mouth.

And every time he noticed himself doing it, he’d glance away immediately.

Your pulse fluttered harder each time.

Eventually the storm worsened.

Rain battered the windows so violently the whole building seemed to shake.

You wandered toward the balcony doors to watch it.

Jack joined you a moment later.

Close.

Very close.

“You scared of storms?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Power in this building’s unreliable.” His gaze slid toward you. “If the lights go out completely, I’m making a move.”

You laughed softly.

“Jack Abbot threatening romance. Terrifying.”

His expression shifted.

Something warmer.

More serious.

“You think I’m joking.”

The air changed again.

Slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand.

Your breath caught immediately.

His palm was warm.

Calloused.

Steady despite the tension you could see in his shoulders.

“You know,” Jack said roughly, “I have treated gunshot wounds with more confidence than I’ve handled trying to date you.”

“You’ve been trying to date me?”

He stared at you.

“You cannot possibly be serious.”

You bit back a grin.

“I don’t know. The pepper spray felt ambiguous.”

Jack groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh my God.”

“The fire department definitely confused me.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I really am.”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And suddenly the humour softened into something achingly vulnerable.

“I didn’t think you could want this,” he admitted quietly. “Me.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Jack.”

“You’re twenty-five.” His voice was low. Careful. “You’re bright and beautiful and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. And I’m—”

“Mine,” you interrupted immediately.

He stopped.

You stepped closer.

“So incredibly mine, actually.”

Jack stared at you like you’d knocked the air from his lungs.

“I don’t care about the age difference.”

“You should.”

“But I don’t.” Your fingers curled tighter around his hand. “I like you. God, I like you so much. Even when you nearly poison yourself with pepper spray.”

His laugh escaped softly then.

Disbelieving.

Fond.

You reached up carefully and touched his face.

The stubble against your palm.

The warmth of his skin.

Jack leaned into it instinctively before catching himself.

“You deserve someone uncomplicated,” he murmured.

“I deserve someone kind.”

His eyes closed briefly.

That one landed.

Because beneath all the sarcasm and exhaustion and self-deprecation, Jack was unbearably kind.

You saw it constantly.

In the way he stayed late for frightened patients.

In the way he remembered tiny details about everyone around him.

In the way he treated your feelings like fragile things worth protecting.

You’d never wanted uncomplicated.

You wanted him.

Thunder cracked overhead.

The lights flickered once.

Twice.

Then died completely.

Darkness swallowed the apartment.

There was one beat of silence.

Then Jack muttered:

“Well. Guess I have to make a move now.”

You laughed right before he kissed you.

And maybe it should have been awkward.

Maybe it should have felt strange after months of near-misses and disasters and tension wound too tight.

Instead it felt inevitable.

Jack kissed like he did everything else — carefully at first, like he was afraid of hurting you.

Then your hand slid into his hair and he made this rough, wrecked sound against your mouth that nearly took your knees out.

Suddenly he was pulling you closer with both hands.

Warmth everywhere.

His heartbeat hard beneath your palm.

The storm raging outside while Jack kissed you like he’d been trying not to for months.

Years, maybe.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing unevenly, he rested his forehead against yours.

“You know,” he murmured, voice rough, “this is probably the first romantic thing I’ve done around you that hasn’t ended in property damage.”

As if summoned by the universe itself, something crashed loudly in his kitchen.

You burst into helpless laughter.

Jack looked toward the sound with exhausted resignation.

“Unbelievable.”

She was checking up on you while you were sleeping, movements unnaturally clumsy for a woman like her all because she saw an online order for a new toy that would have arrived while she was tying up some loose ends from her last op.

It’s bigger than whatever you’ve ordered before and she had been curious what sparked this sudden upsize, finding the chance to check your browsing history around the same time she was wiring you your monthly funds she had fabricated some distantly-related lawsuit beneficiary story for.

Turns out nothing in your late night stress-relief browsing had changed. Maybe you were just curious? Well, she could entertain curiosity too.

It would have been easy to get lost and just sit on the edge of your bed for the entirety of her allotted ‘wife-time’, carding diligent work-worn fingers from your temple to your crown as soft breaths puffed out of your parted lips. You were perhaps the most beautiful person she had ever seen.

It could be argued you were even more beautiful as she fucked you on your shiny new toy—grateful as always for your heavy sleeping habits. She was hunched over you where she sat on your bed, one leg on her lap and the other drawn up and to your side, sleep shorts hooked around the ankle, laying you bare.

Her hawk-like eyes watched your every sound, movement, and spasm, well aware of the looming threshold that might wake you were she to get carried away. It wasn’t like she had gone in raw, her hasty prep pavloving you into a syrupy mess she would have happily savoured any other night—but this thing was new and big, easier to be described as a little battering ram rather than a ‘toy’. She had to be careful.

She could feel her eyes dilate and glaze over as your folds struggled to spread around the intrusion, parting around it pathetically. With the brutal stretch, her attention had been drawn over to your clit where it sat at the apex, begging to be touched.

Her analytical mind gave in a little and with it, the leeway she would allow herself to give some much needed attention to your touch-starved clit. It was risky, the only close call she had to you waking up being the night she found out just how sensitive it was.

Her lust-clouded mind reassured her as her thrusts slowed and deepened, if you woke up, she always had the uncanny ability to recall pressure points—coupled with the honed reaction time of a viper? Surely just a little attention to detail would be fine.

There had been a shamefully short time between making contact with the nerves and you clenching and whining in your sleep. It almost felt like a triumph over the toy and there was a smug lilt to her voice as she popped it out of your stretched pussy.

“That’s my girl.” She cooed cockily, cleaning you up and tucking you back in. “Even your body knows who’s in charge here.”

She busied herself re-sanitizing the toy before taking a walk around your place, floor layout burned into the back of her eyelids while she checked for hazards and safety.

As per routine, she had grabbed a few souvenirs to keep her sane during the next few weeks on her way to put the toy back where it sat before her intrusion.

The entire team dreaded meeting the mercenaries that they'd be working with. They tried to get you to agree to stay behind but you were so excited that they couldn't just leave you behind. Your eyes were so bright and sparkly that none of them could handle saying no to you.

A Jeep drove up to the meeting spot on base and once it stopped, four massive hybrid men got out. There was a hybrid that towered over even Simon. A giant whiplike tail that likely took up almost the entirety of the back of the car slithered back and forth behind him. His exposed skin was all green and blue scales that matched his tail and a black mask with bleached tears covered his face. You recognized his species from that of an older hybrid woman in your old herd. He was a Dreadnoughtus hybrid.

The next hybrid that you focused on wasn’t nearly as large but was still incredibly impressive. His face was covered with a sniper hood but the feature that really drew your attention was the massive spike on the bone that connected his thumb to the rest of his hand. That made you even more excited. You were childhood friends with a few Iguanodon hybrids and you knew that you tended to get along well with them. His tail wasn’t anything extraordinary but you were very happy about the prospect of meeting him.

The next hybrid that you stared at was even more exciting to you. He was more lean and narrowly built than the others but the massive claws on his hands gave him away as a Therizinosaurus hybrid. He tilted his head as he looked down at you, clearly curious as to why such a small herbivorous hybrid was stuck with so many carnivores. His tail was covered in stripes like a tiger and lowered in a display of playfulness towards you. Though his mask and sunglasses covered most of his face, his body language showed that he was interested in greeting you.

The last hybrid would’ve been terrifying if you were a carnivore hybrid. Plates of armor interlocked with massive spines all across his back and neck, leading down to an equally protected tail. The plates of his mask covered his face but you knew what he was the second that you laid eyes on him. A Gargoyleosaurus hybrid. They had made up a large portion of your herd back home and seeing one was such a relief. Your mind was flooded with memories of home, of play fighting and headbutting the backs of older ankylosaur hybrids. The sound of bone meeting bone has always been a comfort to you, especially with the feeling of safety associated with it.

You were thrilled. These were the first herbivores that you had encountered in weeks. You let out a few chirping welcome calls out of pure relief and began excitedly approaching them. The men simply let you, letting out some soft chuffs and calls in response. You eagerly began smelling each of them as you began to get acquainted with the four, happily learning their names and introducing yourself. The effect that you had on them was immediate. The Gargoyleosaurus hybrid positioned himself with his spikey back facing the 141. The Dreadnoughtus hybrid carefully faced you as he began to smell you in return and put his tail in the striking position to defend you from the carnivore hybrids. The Therizinosaurus hybrid stayed at your side and simply stared at the pack behind you, massive claws in position to defend. The Iguanodon hybrid stayed in front of you and gently began fussing over the wrinkles in your uniform and the small scratches on your skin from when Johnny would play too roughly with you.

Did you notice the defensive positions that they were taking? No. You were too busy chattering at the herbivores, excitedly introducing yourself and rubbing up against them. It was obvious that they immediately accepted you into their herd, much to the chagrin of your actual teammates.

John was livid. You hadn’t ever engaged with your team like that at all. You were still fairly shy around them and rarely engaged in any instinctual behaviors. You never even tried to groom their scales! He couldn’t blame you though. It was clearly the fault of the other hybrid team. They were messing with your head somehow and confusing you on who you were meant to be in a herd with. Johnny looked devastated. Despite all of his hard work, you had never tried to initiate any type of scenting with him. He had never heard you talk so much or volunteer so much information about yourself either. He usually had to all but pry it out of you.

Kyle’s normally soft eyes were hard and angry. His usually calm and relaxed body language was aggressive and tense. He looked ready to rip and tear his way over to you if it meant that you would come back to the team. If you had looked behind you, your immediate instinct would be to hide. Simon’s eye began to twitch as he watched you begin to rub yourself on the other team, mixing all of your scents together. He was fairly territorial normally and this only made it worse. He was the first to decide to make a move.

He began stalking towards you, pointedly ignoring the warning signs given by the other team. He pushed past the tail, spines, spikes, and claws guarding you, expertly navigating them in a way that showed his experience in hunting herbivores. Before any of them could truly protest in a way that wouldn’t get them fired, he had grabbed the scruff of your uniform in his jaws and began carrying you back to the humvee that you had ridden to the meeting place with your actual team.

“Hey! Let me go! I’m not doing anything wrong! I want to go back!” You complained.

You weren’t hurt at all, just annoyed. You had been carried around by your teammates a few times before and you couldn’t say that you were a particularly big fan. One time, Johnny had been so aggressive about carrying you away from some other soldiers on base that he had ripped through the scruff of your uniform and dropped you, almost trampling you in the process. The Captain completely ripped him a new one and your uniform was replaced within half an hour but that didn’t mean that you magically became fond of being carried like a hatchling.

“Nope. Not happening. We're waiting in the car.” Ghost said gruffly as he continued to haul you away as if you weighed nothing.

You didn’t like waiting in the car. You especially didn’t like how he licked away the new smells from your face and rubbed his scent all over you, replacing those of your new friends. He smelled like blood and you didn’t like it. He kept a firm grip on your scruff as you squirmed and fruitlessly tried to get back to the team of herbivores. Eventually, you simply sat in the back with him with your arms crossed and a frown on your face, as well as a nasty side eye aimed at Simon. You grumbled occasionally and wiped the saliva off of your face but he simply ignored it, instead electing to supervise you and make sure that you weren’t trying to go anywhere. He didn’t budge when you begged him to let you go outside to eat some of the ferns that were growing by the side of the road. That was what really tipped you off about how pissed off he was, even if it wasn’t really towards you. You watched longingly through the window as the rest of the team did their introductions and Simon continued to try to clean the herd’s scent off of you.

The drive back was more than awkward for you. All of the men on your team were more tense than you had ever seen them. Simon had moved up to the front seat while John drove, leaving you sitting between Johnny and Kyle in the back. Johnny was more clingy than ever as he firmly held you against him and Kyle seemed incredibly concerned with every detail of your expression as he stared at you. You were definitely uncomfortable. You considered the situation for a bit and decided that things couldn’t get much worse so you could ask the captain when the next time that you would see the other team was. Unfortunately, your social calculations were off and things got worse.

“The rest of the day will be spent doing team bonding exercises. I think it’s fairly obvious that we need to build up more trust and loyalty.” John stated firmly as he glared at you through the rearview mirror, ignoring your question entirely.

You didn’t like the bonding exercises. Once you were back on base, you were kept in the nest for the rest of the afternoon and brought thick rope toys to play tug-of-war with. You weren’t exactly super interested in biting and pulling anything around, much to Johnny’s disappointment. He knew that you didn’t have the same instincts as the rest of the team but he figured that since he liked playing with those as a hatchling, you would like it too. Kyle tried to teach you how to make the calls that they used as signals during missions but your vocal chords weren’t the right shape to make them. Simon tried to get you to chew on a bone as a latch ditch effort to give you a treat but you just stared at him with a horrified expression when he dropped it in front of you. John was the only one that was mildly successful. He brought you some actually edible food and had you lay next to him while he worked on polishing your horns with his own personal grooming supplies, mumbling something about hatchlings needing physical contact and proper care. You reeked of the polish that he used so much that you were sure that you would never get it out of your uniform.

It was only the next day that you were allowed outside. You were all but escorted by the team to the lake to get some sun and more ferns. You knew the drill by now: eat, drink, get hovered over by your natural predators. After you were full, you stood up, stretched, and walked over to where the grass started and the sand ended. You made your way to the trunk of an old tree and laid down with your belly against the bark. You were asleep the second that your head began resting on the ground.

When you woke up, it was almost noon, judging based on the position of the sun in the sky. You felt significantly better until you looked around you and realized that you were surrounded by the team. Johnny and Kyle were curled up together on the grass and John was sprawled out beside them. The only one that was awake was Simon and he was sitting next to you. It was obvious that he had been petting your head while you were sleeping. You sat up immediately and Simon chuckled again. It was obvious that he thought that you were absolutely hilarious.

“C'mon. Let's get you fed again.” He muttered affectionately to you as he began nudging you towards the ferns.

You were lazily making your way over to your latest snack when you heard a familiar call. You looked up and sure enough, there was the other team coming down the hill. You snapped out of your sleepiness and quickly hurried to meet them until a pair of jaws clamped down on the scruff of your uniform again. You yelped in surprise as you were lifted again.

The other team didn’t seem to understand that your yelp wasn’t one of pain as the Dreadnoughtus, König, began charging down the hill towards the both of you. Simon’s eyes widened at the massive hybrid thundering towards him and quickly dropped you before stepping in front of you to begin a threat display. He let out a roar as the rest of the team joined him, startled awake by the sudden noise of the confrontation. The rest of the herd began charging after the Dreadnoughtus hybrid to offer reinforcements. You simply stared at them, mostly wondering what all of their collective problems were.

As the clash of titans began with roars and bellows and all sorts of violence, you decided to save your own hide and move away from the area. You wandered along the edge of the lake until you got to a spot that wasn’t as loud and began drinking from the cool, clear water. You had learned long ago to leave bigger hybrids to their own fights. You were too small to make a difference physically and it’s not like you had a dog in the fight. Your instincts weren’t as strong as other hybrids so you never fully understood the need for any territorial battles. You didn’t notice the sounds of the fight dying down or either of the teams calling for you.

You did, however, notice when Kyle scooped you up and interrupted your relaxing time after tracking your scent through the underbrush.

The rest of both teams crashed through the plants after him, each one looking panicked and a little bloody. You scrunched your nose up at the smell. It was far too close to the scent of the dining hall to not gross you out. All eight hybrids checked you over until each one was satisfied that you weren’t injured or dying.

“You didn’t think to tell anyone what was happening or that you were leaving?” John asked, deeply unimpressed.

“I needed a drink. I was thirsty.” You muttered defensively.

“We thought you were in danger.” Kreuger said as he began carefully cleaning your horns like you were a hatchling.

“I was. My throat was really dry. Plus, I could’ve gotten squished.” You said, a little embarrassed at the treatment.

That made the men pause. The topic was quickly dropped in favor of finding you the best grazing patch for you to use under their supervision. You quietly ate, your instincts enjoying being in a herd and therefore less vulnerable to the carnivores surrounding you. The passive aggression was still there with each member of the herd doing their best to give you the best possible ferns while blocking the view of the pack. The pack did their best to behave soothingly towards you, carefully grooming your scales while you ate and telling you how brave you are for tolerating strangers and how resourceful you are for finding somewhere safe to hide. Every time you would open your mouth to respond, a member of the herd would basically shove a whole fern in your mouth to keep you chewing instead of talking to your team.

Eventually, once you couldn't eat a single more frond, you were guided back to your team's nest. You flopped down in one corner and immediately passed out. Like many other herbivorous hybrids, you had always been able to sleep more easily with a full stomach. You didn't notice your team leave the room, already happily unconscious.

When you finally woke up, your team wasn't there for once and you began feeling anxious. Sure, being surrounded by your natural predators wasn't the best way for your instincts to settle but you had grown to trust them and you didn't like sleeping alone. You let out a little bleat in an attempt to call for them but were met with no response. Kyle had been trying to teach you how to track a scent and you did your best to follow your team's. You stopped at the door to a meeting room and furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you recognized the other team's scent mixing with theirs. You decided that you would be forgiven for eavesdropping as you pressed your ear against the door.

“Did you see their face? They must’ve been terrified. Such a little thing must’ve been so scared to see such a fight.” Nikto said, sounding much more worried than he should’ve been.

“I agree. Further conflict should be avoided. A stressed hatchling isn't a happy one.” Ghost responds seriously.

“You see them as a hatchling too?” Horangi asked, seemingly perplexed at the concept of a carnivore hybrid, let alone four, having paternal and familial instincts.

“Obviously. Have you seen those little baby horns? Or that tiny tail? Besides, they're too small to be much else. They need to be taken care of. They won't last otherwise.” Price grumbled while licking a slash on his arm earned in the conflict after biting one of the herd members.