‘Fur-tility Clinc’ : LADS Hybrid AU
Synopsis: Deepspace Labs is a clinic dedicated to keeping Hybrid DNA pure and clinical. Enter at your own risk. Because these Hybrids are far from tame.
Warnings: Smut, Omegaverse, Hybrid AU, Breeding, Knotting, Feline anatomy lesson, mounting, biting, rough smex, mating for life, animalistic description of mating, restraints, multiple rounds, monster fudging.
A/n: Last Kinktober post! I changed the prompt because I like this idea a smidge better. They are made for each individual LI but maybe in the future I will do a ‘Free for All’. Enjoy!
Your ears press flat against your head, trembling as the nurse leads you deeper into the sterile white halls of Deepspace Laboratories. The contract you signed flashes in your mind—“Test Mate for Hybrid Compatibility." At the time, it had seemed like a way out. Free housing, tuition covered. All they asked in return was to let some pure-bred hybrid claim you as their temporary mate for a Rut.
As the door at the end of the hall looms closer, frosted glass etched with “Subject 11-7" in bold lettering makes your tail twitch restlessly.
The nurse punches a code into the keypad before offering what’s meant to be a reassuring smile.
“Don't worry. He's been very...eager for this."
The door slides open with an ominous hiss.
The air inside the containment room is thick with the musky, fevered scent of rut. Cloying and heavy, clinging to your lungs the moment you step in. And there, slumped against the far wall with his back turned, is Xavier.
You hadn’t read too much on his profile. He came from a good family, wealthy too. Evidently his father found it hard to find a proper mate for his son. His father just shoved Xavier and a handsome donation forward and let nature run its course.
His normally pristine white ears are flushed pink at the tips, twitching erratically as he grips his own thighs hard enough for claws to draw faint crescents through his thin gown. When he finally turns his head towards the door, his pupils are blown wide into dark voids barely rimmed by silvery blue.
“Who…?”His voice is hoarse his as nostrils flare taking in your scent. Bunny, like him. A shudder wracks through him before he whimpers.
His eyes snap to the nurse, begging her to leave already. “You may go." He snarls, claws digging into metal when she doesn't move immediately. “I said. Go."
With a sharp bow she turns to leave, the door sliding shut with a final whoosh behind her. That's all the warning you get before Xavier is pouncing.
Rabbit Hybrids were notorious for two things:
Xavier had barely given your pretty cunt a sniff before he determined the slick dripping onto the medical cot was enough for him. His muscled frame, where more Hybrids of your kind were soft and plump, was hunched over you.
You’d lost count after the third time he filled you up. “Haaa…c-c’mon you can take it. It is not even-hngggg!-s’not even dripping yet.” He pants into your fluffy ear.
You whine face first into the pillows. His hips snap at a rate that makes you believe he’s part Cheetah instead of prey. Sticky strings of mixed cum connect your body. The smell of sex and desperation has long since seeped into the walls.
Your own long, floppy ears were caked in his saliva and sweat. Your fertile little womb would no doubt be perfect for all of his kits.
“Ah, please! Pleasepleaseplease-“ He’s pleading into your sweat soaked nape. “Gotta take it, my sweet Bunny. Gonna stuff y’so full.” His powerful haunches are balanced on both feet. The hands on your hips give you leverage and he’s drilling your cum soaked walls.
His feet thump against the creaky bed, desperate noises also signal another fast approach.
You squeal like you’ve been wounded, and a strong hand cups the back of your neck. “Doin’ so good. Pretty Bunny. Mmmm, feel s’hot. Here it comes, here it f-“ He cuts himself off as another load is pumped into your eager walls.
You don’t get a single second between rounds. Just a praise and a chaste kiss to the cheek before his fingers clamp around your cotton tail and drags you back onto his twitching cock.
Your heart pounds as the nurse leads you deeper into the halls of Deepspace Laboratory, her heels clicking against the linoleum. Your feathers are slicked tight to your body in nervous submission, wings tucked close as your tail flattens against your back. Every instinct screaming that you’re walking into something far bigger than just a simple volunteer study.
The nurse stops abruptly at a door labeled TESTING CHAMBER - MATING COMPATIBILITY, her voice is unnervingly cheerful.
“You'll be paired with Subject Z-28 today! He’s quite…picky with his evaluations, but don’t worry. He’s been cleared for interaction." She doesn’t meet your eyes as she swipes her keycard. “Just remember, this is the comparability for interbreeding.”
Ah yes. The infamous, Mute Swan Hybrids, who are far more quiet than their counterparts Black Swans who honk and demand.
The door slides open with a quiet hiss, revealing a dimly lit chamber that smells faintly of saltwater and ink. And there, perched elegantly on the edge of an artificial pond, is Subject Z-28.
His obsidian feathers gleam under the sterile lab lights, contrasting starkly against his pale skin and those unnerving, piercing sunset eyes. His long legs are folded gracefully beneath him, almost lazily.
“Oh?" His voice is a melodic hum laced with amusement as he tilts his head. His black feathers rustling with the movement as if laughing at you silently.
“They sent me a little white swan?”* His slender fingers tap idly against knee before adding in faux sympathy, that does nothing hide sheer delight dancing behind his pretty iris.
A bird of beauty, elegance, and loyalty who mates for life.
As his cock slides through a mess of slick and neatly trimmed hair, Rafayel might as well be all three as he moves over you.
His wings spread out like a sheltering cocoon of ink around your body, tail feathers fanning in a curtain to shield you both from the sterile, cold world outside.
He presses closer, lips grazing your collarbone as feathers rustle to brush against your cheek. “You spread so beautifully around me.”
He looks between your shaking thighs. His pretty perfect cock slides into awaiting wet folds. Your body accommodates immediately, desperately trying to milk him already. Your knees are pressed to your chest and spread out. Pretty white wings and feathers create an outline of your body. Like a fallen angel.
The grace in Rafeal’s movements is unparalleled. A dance that borders on hypnotizing as he moves. Each feather that grazes your skin is just the slightest touch of fire-hot silk, teasing and promising and never enough.
The way he rolls his hips is sinful. A sin you know you'll gladly sink down into willingly.
He doesn't move like a man; he moves like a God.
Your hips rise to meet each eager thrust. Where your moans of pleasure are quiet, his grunts and growls overpower them. It was absolutely true that Black Swans were so much louder than their counterparts.
But when it came to desperation, you were gushing over his length in mere minutes. His neck leans down, encircling your own as he feels how desperately you clench around his length.
Rafayel loves praise. It fuels that ego of his like little else.
He growls against your skin, his lips brushing your pulse point, tasting the tension in that vein before dragging his tongue up your neck. "Cum for me, pretty girl."
And when your orgasm hits, so does the praise.
"So beautiful. So perfect. You are all the stars in my sky, the sun in my sky, and the very breath of my lungs." He's still fucking you through your peak, slow and steady, riding you through it. "And now I'm never letting you go. My muse.”
Because even a God can be selfish.
And Rafayel is nothing if not greedy when it comes to what's His.
There is absolutely so many feathers around the examination room that it looks like a poor pillow has been torn to shreds afterwards.
Your footsteps echo down the stark white hall as the nurse in front of you leads you to the hybrid labs. The sterile, antiseptic smell that fills the air leaves a slight burn in your nostrils. An ever present reminder where you are.
Your ears lower and your tail sways nervously behind you. You can't help but wonder what the people conducting the tests will think of you. What does this test even involve? You were barely given any information about the details as you signed the waiver, your eyes barely skimming the fine print.
Your species was known for being fast and powerful. But right now you felt reduced to a tamed house cat being led inside by treats.
The nurse stops in front of a nondescript door on the left, swiping their keycard. The door hisses open and she gestures you forward.
Anxiety buzzes under your skin. You take a steadying breath, trying to calm yourself, and step inside.
The room beyond is brightly lit, every corner filled with a dizzying assortment of medical equipment. A single examination table is in the center of the room.
"Remove your clothing and hop on the table."
You did so happen to at least catch the part where your Doctor, would be your fellow test subject. A Hybrid desperately looking for someone to soothe his insufferable Ruts.
The moment the door slides open again, your nose flares, overwhelmed by a scent so potent it makes your vision swim.
Spiced cedarwood. Frost-kissed musk. And beneath it all, something primal, something that burns straight through whatever suppressants he’s clearly drenched himself in.
The doctor’s gloved fingers flex at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to claw something apart, maybe himself.
When those sharp hazel eyes finally land on you, his pupils overtake every inch of his eyes.
Your species was known for its speed, but Zayne moves too fast for even you. It wasn’t a total surprise when your drooling face was shoved into the paper cover of the examination bed.
The stretch from his cock took little more than a few seconds before your body accepted him. His glasses fog when he presses balls-deep in your slick hole. You want to be snarky, to say something about introductions but the slow drag out of his cock has you wailing.
The first drag inside you is a white-hot shock, barbs catching on your walls in a way that makes your whole body jerk beneath him. It's not pain, not exactly—just an overwhelming stretch-and-catch sensation that has your claws scrabbling against the examination table for purchase as Zayne’s hips snap forward with predatory precision.
Every backward pull of his cock tugs, every thrust back in sends those ridged barbs scraping deliciously over tender inner walls. He’s stimulating nerves you didn't even know existed until now. Your thighs tremble violently, breaths coming in shallow pants as he fucks into you with single-minded intensity.
When one rough snap of his hips grinds those barbs deep against your cervix, you roar. Your vision is spotting at the edges from overstimulation while Zayne’s grip on your hips turns near-bone crushing.
“Ovulate." His voice is guttural, jagged around the edges like speaking takes all his effort amidst the all-consuming need driving him forward.
Judging by the way your slick drips thicker down your thighs, it’s easy to tell you were in fact fertile.
This isn't how he intended it, he meant for this to be a careful, scientific test between Hybrids. He never expected his animalistic side to take over like this, leaving nothing behind except raw, primal need.
But there's no denying the way the animal inside him growls in satisfaction as he sees a mate in this vulnerable, submitting state underneath him.
His fangs glisten in the blue light before sinking into the junction between your neck and shoulder. You seize up, baring your own fangs but his body shadows yours. Lithe muscle and strong arms pinning you to the bed as his cock throbs inside.
He brings a hand up into your hair, wraps it around his fist and shoves your face first into the bed. The pure domination has your walls fluttering around his cock, gummy walls welcoming his seed.
You obviously knew where you were staying for the next 3 to 5 days.
You follow the nurse down the hall of the Linkon Medical Center, your tail tucked so tight to your body you're nearly stepping on it.
You need the money the Lab is offering for this test mate program. The bills are piling up at home and college tuition is killing you. But just being in the building is enough to make your stomach twist painfully. The place smells sterile and medical and cold, nothing like the fresh air and wide open countryside you grew up in.
Sheltie Hybrids, or any Hybrid that was meant to be out in farm land, hated cooped up places like this. At least you knew your potential Mate was canine. And a high ranking officer at that.
Your Sire would be proud.
That thought alone makes your ears perk up just slightly. A high-ranking canine, maybe even one from a good bloodline, the kind your sire would brag about at the weekly livestock auctions.
The nurse pauses outside a heavy steel door, inputting a code with brisk efficiency before turning to you with an expression that’s not unkind but far from reassuring.
“Subject X-9 is waiting inside," she says, voice clinical as she gestures for you to enter. “He’s been prepped and briefed on the procedure."
Procedure. Like this is some experiment instead of what it really is, a desperate gamble for survival disguised as "mating compatibility testing."
The moment the doors slide open, you’re met with the sharp, commanding presence of Caleb.
He’s not just a colonel in uniform. He’s all predator.
Belgian Shepherd Hybrid genetics have sharpened his already lethal frame into something even more dangerous, tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a warhound bred for combat. His fur is a deep sable-black along his arms and back, fading into rich amber at his chest where it blends seamlessly with skin.
Twin ears prick forward atop his head as he turns to face you fully and those purple eyes are no longer just piercing, they glow faintly in the dim light like wildfire behind glass.
He circles closer, sniffing once at your scent before rumbling. “Sheltie." He stares it like it’s not common knowledge to you. "Small. Nervous."
You try to harden your voice and clench your fist. “I-I ain’t afraid of you…” that cute southern twang makes Caleb bark out a laugh.
“That accent’s gonna get you in trouble here, little sheepdog," he chided, smirking when your ears flick back at the nickname. “Sounds too sweet for a place like this."
His thumb brushes over the line of your jaw.
“But keep lying about not being scared and I might just believe you.”
The moment his weight pins you down, your bravado crumbles.
Caleb looms over you, all thick muscle and dark fur, those glowing purple eyes locked onto yours as he growls, “Gonna take it all, Sheltie. Every inch."
You whimper, squirming under him as the blunt head of his cock pushes against your entrance. Too big, too much. Your tail flattens beneath you in submission.
"T-Tight—!" Your voice cracks when he notches himself deeper with a single ruthless roll of his hips. “C-Caleb—please—!"
Caleb IS a gentleman under all that military precision and ego.
"Shhh, easy..." He nuzzles against the side of your neck. "Breathe with me." He exaggerates his own breaths, chest rising and falling slowly until you begin to match him without thinking.
His free hand slips between your bodies, fingers circling where you’re stretched tight around him, flicking your clit, coaxing with deliberate strokes until the tension bleeds from your thighs bit by bit.
The moment his instincts fully take over, everything changes.
One second, Caleb is murmuring praise into your ear. And the next his claws dig into your hips. His teeth graze the back of your neck in warning when you squirm too much.
"F-Fuck—!" His voice breaks mid-thrust when his knot starts to swell at the base of his cock, stretching you even wider on the next push inside. For all his dominance just seconds ago, now he’s pleading. "N-Not yet—! Gotta… gotta knot ya properly first…!"
But biology doesn’t care about pride or rank or control, his hips jerk forward involuntarily as that thick bulge catches against your rim again and again until finally.
And just like that? The proud Belgian Shepherd Hybrid collapses over your back with a shuddering groan, knot locked deep as hot cum floods into every last inch of your heat.
Deepspace Labs - Breeding Wing, Sector 7
A heavy, metal collar rests against your throat. Sleek black and etched with glowing runes meant to suppress, not protect. Your claws twitch at your sides; the scent of antiseptic burns your nose.
They call this place sanctuary. A last-ditch effort to save a dying species through controlled reproduction.
“Subject D-7." The lead researcher’s voice crackles over the intercom as steel doors hiss open before you. “Proceed to Chamber Alpha for mate introduction."
Your tail lashes, a reflex of agitation, before you step forward into dim lighting that does little to hide the silhouette waiting across from you on raised platform.
He's massive, wider than any hybrid they’ve shown before, with horns curled back in sharp crescents and wings folded tight against his spine
His voice rumbles through chamber walls straight into your bones. “So, you’re my little salvation?"
The hybrid before you is Sylus, a name whispered in scientific reports like a myth, now flesh and scale in front of you.
It’s his eyes that scorch the most: crimson-bright and slit-pupiled, locked onto you with unnerving focus. The horns arching back from his forehead are obsidian-sharp; one wrong move and they could gut a man clean through.
“You smell nervous." His tongue clicks against roof of his mouth. "Don't be. I don't bite...unless you ask nicely.”
The scientists move quickly to prepare you both for breeding.
“Standard precautions," the lead researcher mutters as they fasten reinforced cuffs around Sylus' wrist. They strap a muzzle over his jaws just in case.
A collar hums to life around his throat, pulsing with containment runes meant to suppress fire-breath just like yours.
For you, they clip blunt caps over your claws and inject a muscle relaxant "to prevent aggressive reflexes."
Your eyes catch the gleaming lights of the cameras around you. Watching and studying.
The restraints shatter the second they lock the chamber doors. Black scales ripple over straining muscle as Sylus rises from the platform.
The muzzle dangles uselessly from one claw before being flicked aside like an afterthought; containment runes on his collar fizzle out beneath a fresh wave of smoke curling past his lips.
"Poor thing," he purrs. "All restrained for me, as if I’d ever let them keep you like this." A claw traces along the caps on your claws before he picks off each one.
His wings flare wide, blocking the cameras viewing ports.
The moment his cock presses against your entrance, you feel the burn. Scalding heat and ridges that shouldn’t exist. It’s thick, intentionally stretching you with every inch he feeds into your body. The tapered tip flaring slightly at the base in a way that makes your walls spasm instinctively around him.
Sylus hisses through his fangs, smoke puffing from his nostrils as he bottoms out finally "Tight," he rasps, "Perfect little mate."
His cock pulses inside you like it has its own heartbeat. The drag of textured scales along oversensitive nerves makes your thighs shake—
"—Again." He snaps his hips forward without mercy, burying himself to the hilt with a groan that rumbles. “Scream louder. Let them hear what they tried to cage."
From the first snap of his hips, your body betrays you, reacting on some primal, draconic level that no amount of lab-engineered suppressants could stifle. Your claws shred through the restraints like paper, talons scrabbling against the steel table.
The scientists panic, shouting muffled orders behind soundproof glass as the monitors blare alarms.
“She's supposed to be docile! The serum was—"
But they were fools. They'd assumed female dragons were safer, softer, more manageable.
Yet here you are: wings ripping free from their straps in a violent snap of membrane and scale, pupils thinning to predatory slits as you arch into Sylus’ thrusts with a snarl that rattles the observation glass.
Your tail lashes wildly before coiling around his thigh in an instinctive claim. The feverish need to clench, to take, to lock him deep until he spills everything into your womb overrides every lab-bred inhibition they tried stitching into your DNA.
The scientists thought wrong. You were never tamed. Now they realize too late what monsters they’ve really caged together.
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