Dragon!reader with human!TF141
cw: horny content, dragon anatomy, male reader, mentions of jerking and fingering I'm thinking about the military taking in more shifters into their ranks because, duh, they need more power. Imagine you getting accepted into TF141 as a dragon shifter because Price thought that their team needed more people who could fight mid-air. You, being a dragon, have a humongous advantage with aerial combat. Your dragon form is big in every sense; your wings can easily envelop a building whole, and your torso stretches across one football field. The boys liked that, almost too much. You can easily demolish enemy buildings by walking on them, let alone those warplanes and fighter jets in the sky. The land and the sky are both your domain. You are what they call an all-rounder. Besides your dragon form, your own human form is not lacking in any way. Standing at 2.5m, Your height alone can intimidate even the tallest soldier they have. You have a nicely build body, pecs stretching every shirt, biceps almost ripping your sleeves at the seams. You didn't wear those tight-fitting clothes for no reason. The humans don't make clothes big enough for a dragon shifter to fit in.
Those tight-fitting clothes made everyone on base stare, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets from staring so hard at your toned body. When you take off your shirt during training or sparring, you better bet that someone (the whole gym) fell over their feet. You became the subject of awe and jealousy. You have received numerous confessions and heard numerous shit talk behind your back, but never once did any of the soldiers dare to lift a finger against you. Sufficient to say that the 141 was pissed, pissed at their comrade being gawked at, pissed at their shifter oggled at, pissed at their dragon being thirst after. You were theirs, a member of the 141. Not for those unworthy soldiers to look at with lecherous eyes.
Each of them laid their claims on you in their own way. Maybe from marks down your throat, a hand is always on a random part of your body, attaching small accessories with their initials on you, customizing all your clothes with the TF141 symbol. No matter what, they will not share.
You didn't mind the possessiveness because you already decided that the 141 is your hoard—only yours to treasure and keep close. No one should ever challenge a dragon, especially regarding their desire to possess and hoard their treasures. Any dragonkin knows how territorial a dragon can get, how murderous they can get when their hoard is at threat.
You made it a point to groom each of them in your own way, maybe licking them when you shift or marking them with your scent by rubbing their necks with yours. You give them your clothes, a sign of possessiveness and ownership. All of them were your treasure, your hoard. None of these nobodies should try to take them away from you; they will die trying.
When breeding seasons come by though, you always isolate yourself. Pushing the boys away and locking your door throughout the whole period. It was hell; you knew it would be hell, but you couldn't risk hurting them if you were to enlist their help. Dragons are aggressive in their ruts; even to other dragons, they always come out of the rut injured and bruised. If you were to ask the boys, none of their bodies can take it, being human and fragile. You couldn't bear losing or hurting them by your own inability to control your urges.
Of course, they will never take this lying down. They know how much it hurts, always hearing your pained grunts and groans from your room. It hurts them as much as it does to you, knowing you are suffering simply from being a dragon is unbearable. Ghost would always check on you from your door, leaving you food and water to make sure you are at least eating and hydrated. Price would give you sick leaves until the end of your rut. Soap and Gaz would try to cheer you up by talking to you from your window or your door, talking about anything under the sun if it could be just a little relief to you.
They want to do more and help you through it, but if you aren't willing, they can't force you to. Even if they get so affected by your groans, worried and aroused by the sounds that echo down the hallway from your room. For now, they can't do anything except help each other relieve themselves, jerking and fingering each other, imagining that its you filling them up and breeding them.
For now that is, until they get fed up with being shut out and tortured with your delicious groans and whimpers.