#hybrid!reader

price: this man is dressing you in the sweetest little gingham shorts to show off your fluffy tail, getting you to hop around his cottage yard to find the eggs he’s hidden for you. he’s too old to play games, so he’s content to watch from the porch as his cigar smoke curls in the spring sunshine

gaz: similar to price, he’ll be spending it with you outside. the bastard loves to show off, so he’ll pick a popular park to have a picnic with you, making sure everyone can see your bunny ears are real and not just a headband. might even enter you in a stupid hop competition just so you can beat them all and be his winner (which he will be sending to soap)

soap: he’s a family man, what can he say? he’ll have you in scotland, playing with all of his nieces and nephews — arts n crafts, egg hunts, and he even lets his niece trace your ears on a paper so she can cut them out and wear them like yours. any chance alone he’s murmuring in those fluffy white ears about how nice it would be to have wee bunny!hybrids bouncing around you all with his ridiculously blue eyes (“think about it, bun, hey?”)

They've worked with you before on the field, gaz personally scouted you after a week-long op. Brilliant in combat, a deadly force. By all means, you should blend with the team.

Except...you don't, not really.

You're social, yes, but you seem to stutter around group meals. Something the team uses as a crutch for low-stakes bonding.

Gaz is the one to notice it first, how you always pick at your plate before eating it, as if trying to convince yourself to do so. You'll eat the meat after a moment, but the rest goes largely ignored.

So you're picky, that's no big deal as long as you're eating. Or, at least it isn't until Kyle and ghost step out for a smoke one night and find you rummaging through the trash.

You pop up with a bit of turkey from two days ago in your mouth, and stare them straight in the eyes before swallowing the rest of it, ruffling your feathers casually. "Evening."

"Sergeant. What the fuck." Gaz grimaces, stomach churning at even the thought of that taste. More than that, worried sick about what the hell drove you to eat that "are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" You very carefully try to remain casual.

"You. You just wait rotting meat. From the trash!" Gaz waves a hand between you and the dumpster "is the food here not adequate? Do you need substitutes? Special vitamins? What's wrong—"

"Better flavor, innit?" Ghost interrupts, lighting up a smoke and eyeing you almost jealously.

Gaz mentally notes to never let you or ghost to your devices on solo missions. Who knows what you freaks would do with a corpse.

"No. Absolutely not." He pinches the bridge of his nose, lip curled in irritation, before looking at you "if you want old meat, toss some in a container and keep it in your room or something, I don't care. Stop eating from the damn trash. can't have you choking on glass."

Ghost scoffs next to him, no doubt already planning to bully gaz for his "natural leadership" later tonight.

You're still a bit shocked it was...that easy.

No excessive groans of disgust. No demands to eat normally. Just, a safer alternative. Huh.

now imagine prices secretary who’s an otter hybrid coming back from maternity leave.

unfortunately, because she doesn’t have a present partner or reliable person in her life to take care of her baby at home, (and also due to plot reasons) she brings her baby back to work with her.

price is happy to have you back and is even more so when he sees your little one is healthy and will be hanging around.

you eventually show the rest of the team of course, all of them congratulating you on the baby and letting you know that you can always come to them if you need a favor.

it starts off as simply greeting them when you first come in, your pup either in your arms or their carrier. they all take turns saying their hellos and good mornings, sometimes even acting as if they’re having a conversation with the pup before you make your way back to your office.

then you slowly begin to show off your pups outfit of the day, they all coo and awe at whatever your lil pup is wearing, sometimes even suggesting what their next outfit should be. (price suggested something green, gaz suggested maybe something camouflage while soap joked it would be hard to find them. ghost simply bought them little skeleton gloves.)

then at some point, you would simply find them just to show off the lil pup.

whether it was because lil pup was wearing a new outfit, sounding like they were gonna say their first word or even when they were only sleeping.

you would find them during their lunch, march right to their table and show off your chunky pup, no words said at all as you held out the sleepy pup while they all chuckled and cooed.

You’re just not used to it being with them since they took you from your real— no you’re bad owner.

He wasn’t bad to you. Atleast, that’s what you thought. That’s what your heart told you.

Him being gone didn’t mean to just start acting out of character, it was hard to adjust. To live somewhere new, and to sleep alone, and not being told what to do when you needed some help. You knew the list to control yourself ingrained in the back for your brain.

Deep breath, hide your ears & tail, another deep breath and there wouldn’t be a reason to be so hyper all the time, another breath, and he’d do all the thinking for you. Don’t worry that pretty little head, he said.

And it wasn’t so easy on the 141 either. You’d go on missions, listen so well and when all is said and done you’d dart to your bedroom. Didn’t want to hang out or just talk outside of work. The one place that’d become your safe haven. The one place that had your previous owners shirt that started to smell less and less like him.

You couldn’t help but feel more and more alone even when you were surrounded by people.

But you started noticing things from being so alone.

You’d realized something as Gaz was patching up in the helicopter— they all have big hands. Large Calloused hands with thick fingers. John’s were hairy, so rough from working in the field for so long, you’d felt his hand on the back of your neck while he guided you somewhere, he runs warm.

Gaz’s hands are so well taken care of, manicured, long like he could be a hand model but still rough, like he’d been to hell before despite his softer exterior, and always has the least bit of grime unlike Soap’s.

His are a little shorter, but thicker, he a few tattoos on the back of his hands, a couple rings always stay on his fingers with chipped nail polish.

And then there’s Simon, who has the largest hands, most rough despite him wearing gloves, there are a lot of scars, maybe even a burn or two, said himself, “Almost lost my thumb with this one.”

And it makes you almost yearn to hear the story behind it, feel his— or any of their hand on you and rub your back or pay your head while you sleep.

It was an act of you being desperate for something. Anything. Dead of night during a mission, you managed to sneak passed Simon and John, light as a feather. You stood over the makeshift cot Gaz was sleeping in with bags under your eyes, exhausted. You bend down on your knees, laying your head on his stomach and placed his hand to cup your face, letting his thumb drag itself across your cheek. So soft, so warm— had your ears and tail popped out from holding it in for so long. Tail swishing from excitement. You were out like a light before you could try to regain yourself.

It took everything in Gaz to not react when he’d found you there, sleeping so soundly on him. Pretending to be asleep once you finally woke up so cutely.

And then Soap who has patted your knee after a tiring mission, you couldn’t even control your body when he shyed away, firmly placing his hand back to where it belonged on your thigh before resting your head on his shoulder to take a quick nap.

Simon who unconsciously tickles the bottom of your chin just like Soap and Gaz when they listen well, you can’t help your tail quickly swishing behind you, nuzzling your face in his hand.

And then John, who takes his big hand in yours whenever he has to take you anywhere. Worse, he’ll let his hand find your back, soothingly rubbing circles on your waist—

Okay, maybe you were starting to see the benefits of the 141.

Dog Hybrid! Reader who tucks away into corners, never cowering but quiet, cautious, wary gaze tracking anyone who moves just a bit too quick or laughs a bit too loud, but they don't think much of it- Ghost's the same way after all. You still have their backs in the field, you still swap banter over comms, you still join them for meals in the mess hall

They don't see it coming, honestly, but Simon doesn't blame you one bit for it.

On your way back from training, trailing after your Lieutenant, you're still wound up, recent recruits too loud and too rowdy where they walk along with the two of you. Ghost can see the way your jaw shifts, tongue no doubt nervously tracing your teeth, ears ramrod straight and tail stiff where it bobbed with each step. He could see the fur bristled slightly, just enough to stick up, and he thought he saw it coming when a recruit got a bit too close while roughhousing, knocked into you, made you bark sharply and snap your teeth, wanting the rookie out Out Out of your space, Now

Ghost, without thinking twice, reached out and clamped his hand around the back of your neck, attempting to scruff you

You whipped around faster than he could blink, white hot pain racing up his arm as your teeth sank into his wrist, blood dripping out between your fangs and down to the linoleum floors

He grunted in reflex to the deep ache, your gaze cleared- you released his arm in a flash, his blood smeared around your mouth

The hall had gone dead silent, the recruits stunned into shock, and Simon stared at the bite wound on his arm before turning his gaze to you, who shrank away. "Kid, wh-" He tried to question, but a full-body flinch stopped him in his tracks, and he could only stand and watch as you muttered an apology and bolted away, fur standing on end and ears pressed against your head.

Later, in medical, the bite thoroughly cleaned and bandaged, he vehemently denies any insinuation that you could've meant to hurt him

He'd seen your eyes, just before they'd cleared and you realised the taste of iron in your mouth wasn't imagination- blank, unseeing, animalistic, terrified

And none of them like it.

Too creepy, too weird and the movement freaks people out, the way the tiniest of phalanges curls and twists. You train yourself to wind the fronds tight together, make a single or double limb, but inevitably you lose control and it all explodes out again.

You learn to stay in the back of the room, to hide when possible, and even the skills that brought you to the 141- the way you can type a code, write a message, and field strip a weapon all simultaneously- are better off in the shadows, where your new team can't get too...upset. Can't snap and sneer, wiping off their arms and hands if they accidentally touch you, shoving you away if your fronds start to reach for them or anything they're holding.

"The fuck're you doin' back here?"

You look up at your lieutenant. Ghost is glaring down at you, dark eyes scowling out of his balaclava. "Um...eating?" Your hand-frond curls around another French fry. Salt, oil, potato, a preservative in the potato. Greasy fingers that prepped it all onto the tray.

"Yeah, and why alone? Team eats together, that's the rule," he says, and jerks his thumb over to the table he and the sergeants are at. He grabs your tray, and you don't have a choice but to follow.

The other men welcome you warmly, and to your astonishment, they don't skitter away as your phalanges spread over the table, touching their trays, an instinct you can't fully reign in. Soap's drink slides across the table towards you, and you wince, fronds peeling away from it. Aluminum, paint, fresh water in the condensation, and your microscopic hooks leave little marks in the logo.

"Sorry! Sorry, I can...get you a new one..." You trail off, because he's shrugging and taking his drink back, touching it easily.

"Eh, if I was that worried about it, I'd get it myself. You're fine, love," he adds, and your throat is tight. Is this really all it takes? One tiny kindness?

Gaz grins. "Look, I know you're worried, but we really do not give a shit about all- this," he gestures to your wide, branching baskets of arms, "outside of what it means for our missions. Do you know how many weird bugs that one has brought home?"

He nods to your left, and you look over to Ghost, where he's examining the delicate phalanges that have spread over his arm with the care and focus of a master watchmaker. He strips off a glove, and your breath catches in your chest as he touches the very tip of a frond with his finger- a tiny burst of taste, salt-skin-oil-cotton, the base building blocks of the man called Ghost- and shakes it solemnly, like he's meeting you for the first time.

Soap pats your shoulder, and doesn't twitch when your arm splits in surprise. "Not that you're a bug! But, y'know, when you get two hours in a transport home being told all about the way this beetle works and lives, you start to see the beauty in the strange. And nothing's stranger than our LT!"

Tw: jerking off, ruts, choso in heat, calling him goodboy, aphrodisiac sex activity going on, overstimulated choso, switch choso, riding, hand/blow job, crying choso, WHIMPERING choso, humping, lots of cum, knots, minor nipple play, desperate choso, kinda dom reader, sub choso,creampie, no protection.

He shouldn’t have done it.

Dogs aren’t meant to have chocolate; it’s poison to them (includes hybrids, but it’s more like food poisoning than certain death).

Let alone from a mysterious, unlabeled bag stuffed in a drawer deep in your closet.

However, he was craving it so badly. The sweet smell of the milk cocoa was too overpowering for his strong senses to resist.

He’d been digging around in your closet, rearranging your things to make room for his own since he moved in with his lovely girlfriend, you. The bag had been sitting there, a temptation he fell to easily.

The packaging and the leftover wrappers are still scattered nearby. He’d eaten at least five before he started to feel weird. He doesn’t know they are also aphrodisiacs, ones you kept hidden in the depths of your closet for a reason. 

So now here he is, your cum stained panties he loves stealing pressed to his nose as he ruts his hard, pale, aching cock against your pillow without mercy on your bed.

He doesn’t know that they’re the reason he’s still hard after cumming dozens of times all over the sheets. He’s so overstimulated, whimpering your name over and over as he humps the fabric, yet he can’t bring himself to stop. The ache is too strong and painful to ignore.

Unfortunately, it isn’t the same as your warm cunt.

He knows you’re going to be furious when you get home, too, for getting into the stash and eating something he knows he’s not allowed to. He doubts you’ll give him what he needs unless he begs for your touch.

Ah, but seeing you angry turns him on just as much. The way your brows furrow in frustration, how your voice rises in tone, and your lips pout. As much as he likes being your good boy, he also enjoys being mischievous.

Speaking of lips, he wishes he had them on him right now. His tail picks up its wagging speed from imagining your tongue sliding up and down his length, slobbering and sucking him dry like you always do. 

The soft case of the pillow rubs his rigid, bulging veins. His eyes close, concentrating on the feeling, the way his cock pulsates your name in Morse code. His tail wags incessantly behind him; he’s imagining he’s rubbing his length up and down your clit and folds languidly, spreading every single one of your juices all over your pussy before tapping the head of it against your bud a few times to get a sweet yelp from you.

He’d oh so gently sheath himself in your wet, welcoming cavern, pushing in inch by inch, groaning at how tight you are. Your walls would resist at first, clamping hard around him as you try to take him as best as you can.

He mewls softly, hips picking up pace as he finds his peak once again.

His cock twitches tiredly against your pillow, spurting out little beads cum of. He’s surprised he’s not shooting blanks by now. The sheets, pillows, and the countless panties of yours he has strewn on the bed are stained and sticky with his hot seed. 

He frowns; it’s all going to waste; that could’ve been used to give you a good knot and breed you full of his offspring.

“Fuck.” He whines softly, dark brown ears flat on his loose hair, stringy from the sweat and humidity of the room. 

“Damn it,” he lies down on the bed, thrusting into his palm, visualizing you riding him into the mattress. 

Your hips swiveling in teasing grinds, seated right on his lap. You’ll be cooing at him, praising him for each little whine and whimper he chokes on.

“You’re such a good boy.”

“You’re taking it so well.”

“Who’s a good boy? You are, Cho! You are!”

He’d be exploring your body, running his clammy hands up your waist and down your thighs to cope with the overwhelming pleasure.

His tail thumps against the mattress restlessly. If he thought he couldn’t get any harder, he did. Curse his imagination.

His hand barely brushes against his head, and he lurches his hips upwards into the air. 

He’s so sensitive, every little thing sets him on fire. What makes things worse, he can’t make it go down at all.

The pillow isn’t cutting it, nor your panties, and definitely not his hand. He got up and back on the bed tiredly, dick still standing tall, sobbing his clear essence. 

He’s left with no choice. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and presses on your contact.

Brrr…brrrr…

“Cho? What’s up, baby?”

He gulps, cock spasming from the sound of your voice.

“Ah…well yes…I need you to come home right now.” He growls, eyes darkening as he hears your voice.

“I’m almost off my shift.” You reassure him. “Are you okay? You sound breathless as hell.”

He sputters, the hairs on his ears standing up. He didn’t think you’d notice.

“I’m… I mean, yeah, just get home quickly? Please?” He practically keens. He’s in a rut he can’t satisfy. He can’t stand another moment without his mate.

You’re quiet on the other side; he can’t even hear you breathing anymore.

“Babe?” He calls out.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll be home soon.”

You hang up.

You grab your stuff and clock out. You recognize that tone in his voice; he’s in a rut. But why? It isn’t that time of the season when he’s constantly horny. 

Back at home, Choso has resumed his hopeless tirade of soothing his raging boner. His hand strokes roughly up and down his flushed shaft. He’s crying now, sniffling and mewling from the pain of not having you here to help him.

He’s so pathetic, all because of some chocolates.

He can’t even keep going without his body flinching away from his hand. Just when he’s about to start ugly crying, his ears perk up.

There’s a jingle of keys followed by a door shutting downstairs.

As soon as you step into the house, you can smell his familiar musk all the way from the first floor. You climb up the stairs, slowly making your way to the bedroom. You open the door fully to see Choso on the bed, tears streaking his cheeks and new ones threatening to spill.

His once neatly done pigtails are gone, his hair is a mess, and his bangs are sticking to his forehead. He looks pale and pink at the same time, and the air of his pheromones creates a suffocating atmosphere. His weepy cock is wrapped by his hands. 

The bed looks like a canvas dirtied by what you can only imagine as his cum and your panties.

Your precious, expensive Victoria's Secret panties are all damaged beyond salvation.

He’s just a mess. This place IS a mess.

“Choso…” Your voice trails off when your eyes catch the bag near the closet door. You lean over and snatch it from the ground, then you look at the number of wrappers on the floor.

“Choso, how many did you eat?”

He whimpers at how calm you sound. He sits up, ears tense, straining for any sudden reaction.

“Only five…I couldn’t help myself. Are they the reason why I’m like this?!” He sniffles.

“Yeah, Choso, they’re aphrodisiacs! Sex, drugs basically… oh god, Cho, why did you shove unlabeled food in your mouth! Don’t you have any survival instincts? You’re a dog for Christ’s sake!” You scold, taking off your jacket and walking over to him.

“I’m so sorry, I didn- it’s just- just please, please help me. It won’t go down no matter what.” He pleads, eyes watery.

You trusted him by himself, trusted him to not get into anything he’s not supposed to, let alone eat mysterious chocolate.

You lock gazes with him again, lips wobbly and tail tucked between his legs. Ah, but you couldn’t help but feel bad for your sweet boy. 

You could imagine him unpacking happily when he got hungry, and he wanted a little snack at the risk of a stomachache. 

It wasn’t his fault either; he didn’t know what the chocolates really were or why he felt that way. He wanted to alleviate himself in any way he could and knew how to. He needs you to get better.

You sigh deeply. 

“Okay, okay…tell me what you need, baby.” You say, getting on the bed and over him.

His tail picks up its rhythm again, his damp hands gluing themselves to your waist as you settle over his lap.

“Just do anything to make the ache stop, please.” He asks, oh so sweetly. 

Denying him would be cruel.

But his crying is so hot.

“Does it feel better if I do this?” Your small hands graze around the base of his shaft, smirking at how easily he moans from a slight touch. You stroke him more deliberately now, starting a slow and torturous motion.

Your pussy clenches at his sob. His breathing is uneven, and he’s biting his lip to contain any other noises that’ll embarrass him.

So cute…

Your fingers swipe over his dark red mushroom tip, spreading the runny pre cum all around before cupping it and massaging just the top in slowly.

His breathing hitches, hands squeezing your waist so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises later.

“Feels good, hm?” You croon, leaning forward and peppering kisses all over his face. A stray tear escapes, your tongue darts to catch it, and licks up his cheek. 

“Ah…baby. This isn’t enough…” he mewls, brown fluffy ears trembling.

“Not enough? Oh, Cho, you know I’m the one in charge now.” Your hands slide up and down now, your thumb pressing right on the vein underneath.

He moans, a long, drawn-out sound straight out of a porno. High-pitched, as expected from someone overly overstimulated.

“You want to be a good boy, right? Good boys listen and stay still.”

You adjust yourself, face-to-face with his cock. You give him kitty lips, then you engulf him in your mouth, moaning softly at the salty and sweet flavors flowing through your taste buds.

His hips buck upwards involuntarily, another sweet moan ripping from him.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum…I’m close…” he warns, a large hand on the back of your head as you hollow your cheeks and suck.

“Please…I need to be inside you. I want to cum, give you my knot. Please, I need it… I need it so bad,” he weeps, hazy eyes staring right at you.

You pull away, smiling subtly.

“Okay, okay. I’ll cave in.”

In a blur, your clothes were on the ground, mixed with his.

You’re lowering yourself onto him, thighs beginning to burn as you try to adjust. God, he’s just so big it’s hard sometimes to take him.

He’s whimpering quietly, watching you struggle. He’s getting impatient, so to distract him, you begin to scratch behind his ear.

He’s making all sorts of noise now, his arms pressing your body against his as he fights the urge to just thrust up into you and fuck you stupid.

“Mgnnngh. Babe…” he gasps.

You moan softly, finally taking him to the hilt. 

Your walls are tight and warm. Fluttering crazily around his huge cock, stretching you out, and molding your pussy to his shape.

It’s like his brain rewired, his whole body tensed, then relaxed, as if his body was finally given the antidote for his problem.

“Please…move…I can't hold on any longer.”

You lean on his shoulders, lifting yourself up and down, steadily picking up.

“Don’t move, babe. Be a good boy and stay still.” You pant in his furry ears.

His lips connect with yours, tongues tangling in a messy, sloppy kiss. You swallow every little whine, your arms wrap around his neck as your hips work him into bliss.

“Don’t stop.” He breathes against your mouth, eyes threatening to roll back.

His hands on your waist trail up to massage your breasts, fingerpads pinching and rolling the hardened peaks.

He pulls away, and a string of connecting saliva breaks. He skims your neck with his nose, inhaling your smell deeply. He’s drowning in you, bucking up slightly to meet your movements.

“Babe,” he groans alarmingly, squeezing your hips. “I’m cumming, can I..? Please?”

Your thighs are burning, about to give out, and you nod shakily, knowing what he wants.

“Okay.”

In an instant, he flips you over, trapping you in a mean mating press.

His cock is hitting deep inside you, so deep in fact, there was a slight bulge with each violent hit on your spot.

His moans are unrestrained, loud, and whiny. He’s so close to giving you his knot. To breed you with his children.

“Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me,”

His hand reaches between where you are connected, fingers flicking your puffy clit rapidly. Your sighs grow higher with your nails digging into his broad shoulders as your legs fly up, stiffening as you reach your own peak.

“Cumming, cumming gonna fill you with my knot.. You better take it all…let me fill you to the brim,” he growls, pressing your legs harder to the mattress. Your knees are brushing your ears, but it’s not like you notice anyway.

Your vision is blurry, your ears are ringing, and his touch feels hot.

He pounds into you harshly, then he stutters, grunting as he bottoms out, and his cum fills your womb. His knot begins to form, you gasp at the warm feeling in your tummy, squirming under him from the slight stinging of the growing knot. There’s a visible bulge in your tummy now.

He kisses you slowly, moving your hair from your face.

“You okay?” He asks quietly, eyes half-lidded.

You nod slowly. “Mhm. Are you feeling better now? Those chocolates were strong.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “You don’t say?” He shifts as best as he can without hurting you.

“But yeah, I’m okay. I think.”

You close your eyes, soaking up the intimate moment as his knot goes down when your hand brushes against one of your ruined thongs.

Your eyes snap open, and you glare lightly at him.

“About my underwear?”

He gulps, looking like a guilty puppy, which he is.

“I’ll replace them all, I swear. It’s just that the heat of the moment and all that-“

You shush him with a kiss, shaking your head in amusement.

“It’s fine, it’s just cotton.” You sigh. “I should’ve told you about the bag, but anyway, what were you doing eating chocolate in the first place? Isn’t that like... bad for you?”

“Uhmm, actually, I knew they were aphrodisiacs. I was curious and wanted to try them out. I thought the first one wasn’t working, so I ate more. Didn’t turn out so good now, did it?” He confesses, avoiding your gaze. His ears are once again flat on his scalp.

Now you’re really mad at him.

“Choso, are you serious? Bad boy!”

He flinches, a downcast look washing over him. 

Then you feel a twitch inside you.

Wait...is he getting hard again?