#cod hybrid

Well, it wasn’t a secret why you didn’t notice. You were tipsy, on top of already being naturally ditzy, and just swaying to the thumping beat in the club.

The club being the new Hybrid Friendly! club in town. “Club de Primal” written in neon cursive lettering on the front of the building, fancy neon decorations and a ridiculously stocked bar. Any alcohol, you name it. And you probably did, by the way you were drunkenly swaying to the beat.

Captain ‘Bear’ Price sat in the booth, nursing a whiskey and eyeing any suspicious patrons, like the true father he is. Sergeant ‘Wolf’ MacTavish dancing it up on the floor, accidentally whacking innocent bystanders with his wiry tail. Sergeant ‘Crow’ Garrick dancing sensually with some cat hybrid (not historically a great mix, but alright), and Lieutenant ‘Jaguar’ Riley — eyeing you down. A sweet little rabbit thing with shining eyes and an unstoppable little tail.

Eventually, Simon was sick of it. He got up, against his better judgement, and stalked over to you. You were swaying on your feet, singing along to the EDM (somehow? how do you sing to that?). You looked up at Simon when you felt his chest pressed against your entire side, eyes wide. Like a little doe in headlights.

Your ears drooped behind your head, twitching at the new wall against your side.

“C’mon,” Simon grumbles out, holding out a hand for yours. You take a moment to observe him first; his yellow eyes, the soft jaguar pattern adorning his skin and those teeth. You think of kissing him and you nearly piss yourself, because how do you kiss someone with those teeth without losing your tongue?!

But, you grab his hand anyway and he leads you to an open spot on the dance floor. The song changes to something a bit slower and his hands find your front, sprawled over your stomach and the front of your thigh. He feels your happily thumping tail against his thigh and he swears he’s died and gone to Heaven.

“Sweet little thing,” he whispers in your ear, and your breath picks up. He sounds like he wants to eat you whole, and why is it kind of hot? One hand finds your jaw, and one finds the hem of your dress. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips, and you turn around.

All your senses are him. It’s no longer flashing lights, it’s his silhouette. No longer thumping music, but the thumping of his heartbeat. No longer the condensation of your cocktail, but his fitting t-shirt gripped into your palms. No longer a fruity rum, but his tongue pressing down on yours — the taste of whiskey and a past cigarette cutting through your tastebuds. No longer the smell of spilt alcohol and sweaty bodies, but a cologne with hits of bourbon and sandalwood. Fuck, he’s hot.

Somehow, he crowds you into a janitor’s closet by the bathrooms, dressed hiked up to your waist. He’s pawing at your thighs and devouring your mouth with his, his breaths rough and heavy.

He pulls away, and he nearly melts at the sight of you. Flushed face, drool peaking from the corner of your mouth and your blown pupils. You’re so sweet looking.

But he must calm down.

“Mm, come home with me,” he begs, trying to fix your dress and get you back on your feet. Your womanhood tells you to be cautious, to take a second and sober up. But the way he empties his pockets, his wallet and even shows you his keys lessen your anxieties. He’s truly just begging to sleep with you.

“Hm, why not?” You play it off, still gripping at his shirt. He chuckles roughly because he knows a sweet thing like you is only playing that game temporarily. You’ll come apart on his tongue, and gaze up at him with fucked-out eyes before you drift off into sleep.

Wren had gotten used to the expansive campus. There always seemed to be a building for everything. Broken tooth? Don’t worry, there’s a dental wing in the med-bay. Broken heart? On-sight psychiatrist down the hall from the water fountains. This place was ready for anything — but it was a government building, so who was surprised?

It was a campus in the middle of London, though, so it seemed as dreary as the damn rest of London. Foggy mornings and humid afternoons. Wren was glad she’d always dressed light, the mix of humidity and sunshine sticking to her skin like honey.

And that guy from the rec-room? She saw him everywhere. With friends he seemed to open a bit more, studying with them in the library and teasing them with paper balls — and daring them to try weird food combos in the mess hall, but even with all the schedule overlaps he had with Wren, he just wouldn’t… talk to her. It was just terse nods and sidelong glances.

But what Wren had no clue about was that Simon was trying his hardest to avoid her. Sitting on opposites sides of the mess hall, trying to switch his plans around, etcetera. But he saw her, no, he smelt her everywhere. All traces of her fucking lingered.

And Simon tried to act uninterested. From that first moment they met on the couch. Tried to act like he was sleeping and not casting glances her way, observing supple skin and dotted freckles. But he smelt her even then, too.

Vanilla and lavender some days, and flowers other days. No matter what perfume, body wash, shampoo — Hell, even toothpaste — she used, he would always smell her. And he tried his damndest to not linger around where he knew she’d been. He felt strange, like he was breaching some kind of trust — trust that had not even been set yet.

But that all came to a halt the second month into their training.

Wren had been doing great, adapting quickly and discovering new abilities she didn’t even know she had.

Her eyes began adjusting to nighttime better, and her senses heightened. Her wings were larger, she supposed, stronger somehow. All shit that she never knew before. And Simon saw it.

He noticed her, breaking from her shell and growing. She wasn’t that timid teenager who sat on the opposite side of the couch from him anymore, she was growing and learning. And he envied those who got to be by her side everyday. Those who played card games with her and got to feel her feathers when they wrapped an arm around her for a photo.

So, he approached her. In the worst way possible, perhaps. Despite Simon’s natural (quite literally killer) instincts on the field and onslaught of abilities… he was socially daft.

Wren was in the rec room that evening, dressed in comfy clothes and cozied up with some romance book that probably was not regulation. Her wings lazily spread out comfortably behind her. Simon loomed over her, just blinking down at her at first.

She was relaxed, he knew that. That was good. People were beat perceptive when relaxed. She looked up at him through dorky lenses — still furious that she needed glasses for reading. Heightened senses and yet, she couldn’t read text? Wow.

“Can I help you?” She asked, and Simon would’ve taken this as an insult if it were anyone else. Would’ve made it seem like he was being talked down to, but this was Wren. Wren was always kind and charming. She set her book aside, giving Simon her undivided attention. He felt nervous now.

“I want to eat you.” He said, leaving out some crucial details. Wren’s face contorted, furrowed brows and her lips turned inwards. She didn’t look mad. Just confused. Wait, what did he say?

“Straightforward. I like it.” Wren laughed softly, surprising herself just a bit. What the Hell happened to her? Two months ago she could barely approach anyone without her wings flapping wildly with anxiety. Now, she’s just been threatened (maybe?) and she’s pretty unfazed.

“No. Eat out.” He corrected, making everything worse. Wren made a strangled sort of noise — laughing? — oh! She thought he was funny. Wait, no, was she laughing at him?

“What are you asking me for?” Wren said after a moment of amused confusion. Simon stared down at her.

“Dinner.”

“Yes, what kind?”

“We can get takeaway.”

“So you don’t want to eat me out?” She clarified.

“No.” Simon said slowly, unsure. After a moment of deliberation, he decided it was a firm no. As far as his sexual expertise went, well… there was none. He was too bulky, too grabby, too toothy to have ever been intimate before. He was sure Wren could tell.

Actually, he was sure now that Wren knew everything about him. That’s why she was smiling at him like that. She felt bad, he was sure. She knew about his dad, his mom, and his brother. She knew. He couldn’t hide. She saw it all, using soft talons to peel away layers of skin and read trauma straight from bone. Oh, shit, is he still standing here?

“Do you want to sit with me?” She offered, lifting her blanket like an olive branch. Simon stilled. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and sat. He caught her wing under his hip as he sat and she yelped. Simon nearly dropped to his to beg for forgiveness before —

“Sorry, I should’ve moved my wing.” She rolled her eyes at herself. Simon shook his head and helped her adjust her wing to a comfortable position. He slung his arm over the back of the couch, leaning over to take a peek at her book. She slapped it shut, shaking her head. “No! You can’t read this.”

Simon raised a curious eyebrow, more comfortable as minutes passed. “‘N why not?”

“It’s a little… risqué. This part, anyway.” She explained, and Simon snorted. He took the book anyway, and Wren watched raptly as he read the lines.

“Jesus, what is this?” That guy touched her what? He stuck his fingers where?! Is he even allowed to be reading this? He felt like his mom would pop over his shoulder any moment and scold him. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. So he scoffed softly and shook his head, a lazily grin helping his eyes squint — because maybe she couldn’t see the pain behind them if he was squinting.

“I told you!” She said, snatching the book back. Simon laughed lowly, a rumbling noise reminiscent of a jaguar’s growl.

“Nasty, nasty girl,” Simon said absentmindedly, looking at his phone — not noticing the side eye from the Wren at his words. He was too busy focusing on the ‘no new notifications’ screen to keep himself from sniffing her fucking neck. Her scent straight from the source. She smelt like the little bird she was. She smelt like prey. No. Simon wouldn’t let himself go there.

The two sat in the quiet room for the rest of the evening, basking in each other’s presence and just chatting randomly. Wren grew a liking to this boy, learning his name as Simon.

But of course Simon knew her. He knew her name, her smell, her smile. And all of it from a distance, like a fucking weirdo. From catching glances of her — feeling like he’s intruding on her own little private world. It was about 2200 before either of them moved from their little bubble.

“Will you be in the mess hall for breakfast tomorrow?” Wren asked Simon as she gathered her things, her fluffy blanket slung in the crook of her arm and her book snugged under her armpit. Simon nodded, standing and looming over her again.

He thanked any listening God for his height because the way Wren’s face looked as she looked up at him, eyes peaking through her eyelashes. Fuck. She had an iron grip on him and she wasn’t even reaching out yet. Yet. Yet is a good thought.

“I eat.” He nodded, like a soldier following an order. Wren giggled softly and nodded back.

“Good to know. See you tomorrow, Simon.”