18+ | bunny hybrid!reader spending easter with 141:
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?”)
ghost: sorry, it’s not gonna be cute it all. he relishes in the fact that a bunny’s tail isn’t actually a fluffy ball. he unfurls it before holding it up to thrust into your sloppy hole, squishing your ears together with his other hand like fuckin’ reins. “so tiny f’me, god—look at you—“ your back is practically bent it half towards him with his two holds on you, completely merciless to his filthy slams inside you
Imagine flamingo!reader joining the 141 with bright, brilliant pink wings, right?
And the team absolutely loves them, even though they have to stay covered during ops. The tiny, barely noticeable flashes of them across the field let your team know your alive. It becomes soothing, in a way.
Which is why they all notice when your pink color begins to fade.
None of them are hybrids, they have no clue what's wrong with you but it's obvious you're sick. That dashing hot pink turned dull and white.
The worst part is that you're acting completely fine! Insisting on training like normal and taking your usual workload. You act confused when price only gives you a handful of small files or when ghost tells you to take the bench for sparring.
If anything, it only makes you more eager to trains and work even as the last bits of pink fade from your wings.
It's not until price attempts to bench you from a mission that you come to his office seething, wings flaring and huffing "what the hell, sir? Why am I benched?"
Price, who doesn't take well to such disrespect, reminds himself that you're sick and clearly not thinking straight. He raises a brow, glances at your wings "I don't know much 'bout avians but I'm not stupid, I know what sickness looks like."
"...sick?? Sir, I'm not sick–"
"Your wings are completely white, sergeant. Piss off. Fuckin' not sick my ass." Price stands now, too. He really wishes you would sit down, standing can't be good for you.
"...sir." you stare at price, face carefully neutral "this is because my...my wings are white?"
"Yes, sergeant." He watches as you cycle through emotions on your face, before you finally settle on mildly amused.
"Sir. My wings aren't naturally white. It comes from my diet." You let the comment sink in, then add "the diet i changed so I could blend in better on the field."
....of course none of them thought to simply ask if you weren't alright.
After a gruff apology from price, you're ordered to return back to your previous diet, something about team morale.
Hybrid!Reader who has become so touch starved since joining the 141– you get desperate.
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.
a/n: part 1. This was kinda sloppy but I have vision I think.
Thinking about the 141 with a Dog Hybrid! Reader who's unruly, who's quick to growl and puff up over things they don't like, who plays their part beautifully on the field but the moment they're out of combat, its like they're back to being strangers
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
Simon didn't know what your life before the 141 was like, but he felt like it was time they put their heads together and put effort into actually Knowing you
Basket seastar!hybrid reader who is used to being a little...left out. Too many branching limbs, the standard human-like trunk and shoulders extending at the elbow in not a single arm but multiple splits, a vast fern-like explosion of arm/hand/finger things, constantly shifting and exploring. A nightmare to manage with clothes so you often modify your uniform to be sleeveless, which means everyone gets a direct view of your limbs.
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!"
He's grinning, easy and relaxed even as your arms start to steal his spoon. Stainless steel, oils from his skin, cheap plastic handle. Gaz loses a couple of his own French fries, and takes a few of yours in return, and you sit there with your arms wide open, a basket getting bigger with every surprised, delighted thump of your heart.
Hare!ghost x rabbit!reader will not leave me (noncon cw)
Keep thinking about the way he'd haul your hips up by your tail, tugging at the fluffy thing with a painful grip all so he can grind his hard cock against your ass and groan about how you're just soft everywhere, arent you? Threatening to stretch your ears out so they look proper like his while you whimper and whine. Caught between instincts teeth telling you that the other soldiers were right, you should be fucking like bunnies, and the startlingly human fear of having a big man on top of you. Deep throaty chuckle when you try and kick back at him, unable to find an angle that allows contact with his knees spreading your own. A vicious thrill boiling between your thighs at the long drag of his cock inspiring an attempt to claw away. Desperate to explain to him that it won't work, that you're two different families of critter, that there's no point in him doing this, but he won't listen to you, just shoves his hand into your fatigues and let's you know that your cunt sure is singing a different song.
When Simon was told you also came with cat instincts, he was hoping for you to just take an extra liking to fish or something. Unfortunately, that was far from the case.
The opposing soldiers were finally beginning to fall back, signaling yet another successful mission. Except he couldn't find you yet.
The troops began to round up, gathering to head towards exfil, the sergeants talking over the comms discussing their status. All except you. He can still see your tracker blinking on his map, and when he asks Laswell to try to get a position on you, she just says “You’ll see them coming.”
It’s twenty minutes until you finally return, lugging a body behind you. Simon’s eyes immediately widened, moving forward to meet you in case it was a fellow injured soldier. Though all you do is drop the body at his feet, wipe the blood on your hands onto your gear and then look up at him expectantly.
“You brought back.. a body.” He speaks the words like they’re foreign to his tongue, but you just nod, looking down at the body then back up at him again.
“Clean kill, went straight for his neck. You say with pride, blood glinting on your teeth when you smile devilishly, your tongue wiping over to wash it away.
“That’s good.. why is it here?” He nudges at the man with his foot, as if half expecting him to spring back to life at this point. What could he possibly do with a dead man? Maybe a live one they could interrogate, but there really wasn't a need to bring one with his jugular vein falling out.
It’s your turn to be confused now, ears flattening against your head in a way that makes him regret even questioning this in the slightest. Price had told him to be on his best behaviour with you, but what was he meant to do when there was a body bleeding out on his boots? It’s not exactly the most pleasant sight.
“It’s like an offering… a gift..” You mumble out, tail hanging low behind you as you slowly realise he found the whole ordeal rather strange. Damnit, you’d been so excited this whole time, sure that if you got him something real nice, he’ll adore you. Only for it to be painfully obvious that he seemed disgusted rather than anything.
“S-sorry, i should’ve brought their commander's body instead, this is just the second lieutenant.” How could you be so stupid? Someone of his standing wouldn't want a mere rank like that, the higher the better!
Your disappointment is caught off as he suddenly crouches down, looking at the body and poking it with the end of his gun until it rolls onto its back. “Bringing his body all the way here is certainly a feat, and your strike was definitely perfect.” He hums, acknowledging that your prowess turned out to be exactly what the higher ups had described. Now how to break the news that they definitely would not be taking this back with them.
“Listen..” He begins and you start to frown, wondering if you really would get a scolding for this. “We cant take him back.. Okay? I mean, the blood would uh.. Get everywhere, and..”
He stops when you suddenly snort, tail perked up high again and you cock your head at him, grinning. “Are you crazy? Why the hell would we take it back to base? I do not want to be sitting with a dead body for hours.” You grimace, even going as far to stick out your tongue and shake your head, tail flicking about as you do.
No words leave his mouth even as he tries to form a sentence, not sure if it was more embarrassing that he assumed you’d want him to keep it like actual cats do, or to just accept his fate right now. “Just.. a joke.” He grumbles, trying not to feel actually embarrassed and you just snort again, nodding along.
“Oh, good, i was going to say. It’s almost like you think i’m a real cat.” He lets out a sigh at your cheeky smirk, letting his larger palm land on your head, fingers practically covering your eyes. You let out a meow in protest, and it’s his turn to chuckle as he steers you away from the body and towards the evac truck.
“You’re going to be the death of me, kitty. But no more of that, gonna tire yourself out dragging all these bodies.” He scolds, making you frown until his fingers move to scratch behind your ears, hitting all the right spots. Well, you might’ve not gotten the reaction you had originally expected, but it worked out in the end. Especially when he lets you snuggle up to him that evening whilst he tells the team all the good things you did today– Price was sure to get you more salmon treats by next week.
————/——————-
general cod taglist @heyitsniki18 @insanityall @twoandahalfdimes @ririerm @alexinarcadia @sgt-artemis-owl-riley
simon riley list: @mxxnechos
hello it is 5am i was gonna do this as gaz but i didnt have time to change it
