Everyone knows that heat takes a toll on a hybrids body, smaller and more fragile breeds especially. So when Price’s little bunny hybrid is panting on the bed, exhausted after a straight three rounds of his caring love?
He knows he should stop.
But she really is begging.
She’s so pretty like this, silky ears and little pink bows, hair all messy and sticking to her skin. So pretty, little lashes fluttering in overstimulation, and that puffy little pussy just oozing out his cum.
It makes Price swell with pride.
Seeing her take it so well. Watching the way her sweet little eyes glaze over, his little bunny getting all cock drunk and woozy as he slaps his fat tip back against her pussy lips.
She squeaks, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard.
Price grins as she whimpers, hips both trying to get away and pull his cock back in, all at the same time. He maneuvers his tip up, red and angry and definitely sore, just from the grip this little cunt has on him.
“Calm down pretty mama… gotta make sure it sticks, yeah? That’s what heat is for…”
He makes it another couple of inches before she squeaks again, panting and straining. He knows he’s big, but with the way her pussy flutters she makes it seem like he’s forcing a lot more in. He chuckles darkly, smoothing down her hair.
Another soft thrust of his hips, forcing in another inch or two.
“That’s it… you need a big cock, yeah? A big cock? For such a small bunny?”
Her frantic nodding is what motivates him to shove the rest in with a groan. Hips to pelvis, balls up against her as his body begs to fill her up again. Breed her. Make her carry his kits.
Hybrids only have heat for one reason, anyway.
“That’s it… let me help you sweetheart… let me help you out…”
And sure enough, all it takes is a few weeks time. She’s out of heat and back roaming around base, being all perfect and cuddly to soldiers that need emotional support.
It disgust Price when the other men try and touch her, talk to her, wave to her. But he knows that swelling in her belly is his.
Alarms blared, and lights flared angry red as the Watchtower rocked harshly. As an orbiting vessel, with its own artificial gravity, that shouldn't be strictly possible.
"What in the hell is happening?" Hal moved quickly to the control panel, looking for diagnostics.
Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. No errors on screen, no flags in any of the internal systems. The only thing that stood out were the loss of orbit and complete blindness of radar. Bats designed this thing, it should be able to tell him what the hell was wrong, but it seemed as blind as they were.
"All the programs in the world can't prepare you to get Jonah'd, I guess." He lowered his head to the desk and thunked it once.
Every external camera feed was black, no stars, nothing. Every feed from Earth or any of the other satellites were nothing but snow.
"This is insane! Hal, get this, MM can't phase through the Watchtower right now. That's never happened before, at least not without extenuating circumstances, and I suppose this probably does count as extenuating circumstances. Density shifting should always work, shouldn't it? Unless- hey, does that say 'Hello'?"
"Holy shit, does that say 'Hello'?"
Green pixels stood out from the snow now, in all the camera feeds. They didn't perfectly line up with letters, but they were pretty close to recognizable English. Which was weird. On every level.
The pixels held their shape for a few moments before scattering like a bunch of insects. Which was, one again, really, really weird. A low background buzzing, just on the edge of perception preceeded more green fuzzy words appearing in the snow. One screen after the other, each holding one word for a few seconds before they dissipated.
Trying...this...frequency...if I...remember...correct...frequency...LCD...screens...anyway...I COME IN PEACE...haven't...humans...a while...freaking lazer beams...shoot...you...satellite...cool as hell...a kid...stargazing...getting off track...saving your...LAZER BEAMS...don't worry...I GOT THIS
"So... our space beast knows English, and am I the only one who caught an Austin Powers reference?" Wally pursed his lips as he peeked out of the corner of his eye at Hal. "Should I gather everyone so we can share? I'll just go do that, see you in a sec!"
Hehrhe you guys LOVED the Francis and Canada one so i propose a sequel, that is to say, England and America- AHHH MY BABIES I'M SO MATERNAL TOWARDS THEM- MOVE OVER ARTHUR IT'S MY TURN
They're simply so sweet- England in a skirt my beloved- he's so punk hehe.
You never made it to the bedroom — but eventually, the couch wasn’t enough.
He carried you, half-dressed and kiss-drunk, through the apartment, one hand under your thigh, the other fisted in your hair as you kissed like you’d never stop. Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and suddenly the room was quiet. Too quiet.
Because Jeongin was just standing there.
Naked. Staring at you like you were something holy.
"Lie back," he said, voice like gravel, rough and wrecked. "Let me look at you."
You obeyed — flushed, bare, legs parted. You watched as his gaze swept over you like he was trying to memorize every inch. His hand moved to his cock, slow and deliberate, stroking himself as he stared at the mess he’d already made of you.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice low and tight. “You’re dripping.”
You were. Your thighs were slick, your skin flushed, your whole body wound tight like a wire ready to snap.
He crawled over you, but didn’t kiss you yet. Just hovered. Breath brushing your lips. Eyes locked on yours.
“Tell me what you want.”
Your voice broke. “You. Everything.”
His lips quirked up. But not smug — something darker. Possessive.
“You’ll get it.”
And then his mouth was everywhere.
He kissed your throat, your chest, took one nipple between his lips and sucked slow and mean while his fingers teased the other — and when you arched, moaning, begging, he laughed softly against your skin.
“You waited so long for this, baby. Let me make it worth it.”
He kissed down your stomach, dragging his tongue along every sensitive spot, until he was between your thighs — and then he looked up at you. Smirk gone. Eyes dark.
"You’re not allowed to hold back. Got it?"
You nodded, breath catching.
He licked a stripe up your center — slow, flat-tongued, filthy — and you cried out. Your hips jerked, but he pinned you down with one arm across your waist and buried his mouth in you.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t patient.
It was devastation.
He ate you like he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. Sucked your clit with lips and tongue that worked in rhythm, fingers sliding inside you with the kind of precision that had your back arching and your hands flying to his hair, tugging hard.
“That’s it,” he growled against you. “Give it to me. Let go.”
And you did.
You came with a cry, thighs clenching around his head, hips grinding into his mouth like your body was chasing the high on its own.
But he didn’t stop.
He just moaned, low and desperate, like he liked the way you fell apart on his tongue. Like he needed to feel it.
When he finally came up for air, chin slick, eyes wild, you were still gasping, barely able to think — but he didn’t give you a second.
He flipped you onto your stomach.
“On your knees,” he ordered, already lining himself up behind you. “I’m not done ruining you.”
You braced yourself on trembling arms, body still twitching from the orgasm he just pulled out of you — and then he pushed in from behind, slow at first, then all the way to the hilt in one hard thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs.
"Shit," he gritted out. “You’re so tight.”
You whined, trying to push back, but his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you up against his chest.
“You like this, don’t you?” he whispered against your ear. “Being fucked like you’re mine.”
You couldn’t speak. Only moaned, nodding, as his hips snapped into you, deep and punishing. His other hand slid down your body and found your clit again, fingers working you in perfect rhythm.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say it’s mine.”
“It’s—fuck—it’s yours, it’s yours,” you gasped, trembling.
“Damn right it is.”
You came again like that — back arched, head thrown back against his shoulder, screaming his name.
And when he finally followed, groaning into your neck, holding you so tight it was like he was afraid you’d vanish — you didn’t think anything had ever felt that good.
Not the kiss.
Not the anticipation.
Not even Day 90.
This?
This was everything after.
-next day at work
The office was quiet.
Too quiet.
Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as you leaned over your desk, pretending to finish up reports. But your hands were shaking slightly — because you weren’t alone.
Jeongin had been watching you from across the room for twenty minutes.
He hadn’t said a word.
Just sat at his chair, elbows on the desk, jaw resting on his hand like he was studying a piece of art.
You felt the heat of his gaze every time you shifted. Crossed your legs. Tucked your hair behind your ear.
Finally, you glanced up. "Something on your mind?"
He stood slowly. Deliberate. The sound of his footsteps across the carpet made your breath catch.
When he reached your desk, he didn’t stop on the other side. He walked around. Came up behind your chair. His hands slid down your arms, mouth brushing your ear.
“You wore this skirt on purpose.”
You smirked. “Maybe.”
Jeongin leaned down until his lips touched your neck, voice low, dangerous.
"You know how long I’ve wanted to bend you over this desk?"
You swallowed hard.
"Say the word," he murmured, "and I’ll have your legs shaking in less than five minutes."
You didn’t say anything.
You just stood.
Slowly.
And placed both palms flat on your desk — hips jutting back, skirt riding high.
"Door’s locked," you whispered. "So what are you waiting for?"
That was all he needed.
His hands gripped your hips, fingers sliding under your skirt and dragging it up to your waist. He groaned low when he saw what you were wearing.
“Fuck. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
He didn’t waste time — yanked your panties down, baring you completely, and dropped to his knees behind you like a man starved.
You gasped when you felt his tongue — hot, slow, filthy. Licking up your folds like he wanted to memorize the taste of you bent over an office desk.
“You’re already wet,” he breathed. “Just from me looking at you?”
You moaned something that wasn’t quite words, gripping the edge of the desk like a lifeline as he sucked your clit into his mouth, licked it slow and mean while two fingers slid inside you.
“You’re making a mess on company property,” he whispered against you, breath warm. “You should be ashamed.”
“Fuck you,” you gasped, voice breaking.
He laughed. “Gladly.”
He stood again, undoing his belt with one hand, keeping the other on your hip. You heard the soft clink of metal, then the low groan as he slid into you — slow, stretching you inch by inch until he bottomed out.
You both froze.
You were so full.
So completely his.
His hand tangled in your hair, pulling gently so he could kiss the back of your neck.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Bent over your little desk, taking me so well.”
He started to move — deep, rough thrusts that made your knees tremble and your eyes roll back. Your cheek pressed against a spreadsheet you were definitely never going to finish.
Jeongin gripped your throat from behind, not tight — just enough to make you shiver.
"You’re dripping all over the floor, baby. You wanted someone to catch us, didn’t you?"
“No—fuck—Jeongin—”
He snapped his hips faster, angling deeper, hitting that spot that made you cry out his name like it was a prayer.
“Can’t be quiet, huh?” he whispered. “Guess I’ll have to fuck you harder then.”
And he did.
The desk creaked under the rhythm of his thrusts, your moans echoing softly in the empty office. Somewhere in the distance, a copier beeped.
You laughed, breathless, delirious. “I hate this place.”
He grinned into your neck. “Shut up and come for me.”
His fingers found your clit again, rubbing tight circles as he pounded into you from behind, panting, eyes fixed on the way your body took him over and over.
You shattered around him, thighs shaking, hands clawing at the desk, choking on his name. Jeongin came seconds after — groaning into your shoulder, hips stuttering, spilling inside you with a grip on your waist so tight it bordered on desperate.
The only sound afterward was heavy breathing and the faint hum of the printer across the room.
He stayed there, chest pressed to your back, lips on your shoulder blade.
Then he pulled out slowly, hands smoothing down your sides like he didn’t want to let go.
"Hope HR’s not working overtime," he murmured, pulling your skirt back down.
You turned to him, cheeks flushed, heart still racing.
"Guess we should file this under ‘team-building.’"
He is not afraid to advocate for himself or the boys. “He said he didn’t want pickles” as vessel hides behind him.
Puts up with ZERO bs. iii swaps out his body paint for glitter paint? ii makes him sit in a timeout.
He cooks for the boys and is the only one who knows how/allowed to cook. (Ivy and iii were trusted ONCE alone in the kitchen and they managed to light iii’s hair on fire, burn water, and somehow fuck up a grilled cheese).
He is also the designated driver. Vessel is blind at the wheel, iii has dinged ii’s car way too many times, and ivy does not have his license.
Will wear adidas trackies no matter where he is. A wedding. A funeral.
Uses his computer like an old man(confirmed)
Vessel makes him drink water. If it wasn’t for ves ii would only drink Redbulls and coke.
He is NOT shy. Literally knows he is the shit and is insanely confident. (Have you seen his little walk)
When he is bored he drums the summoning solo on his desk, with pens.
He is The Short king
Bro does not fw sleep, will call them a wanker right to their face.
His eyes will steal souls.
He has literally the biggest blue orbs to ever exist .
