#hackles raised growling

[purposefully-lost]

Gabe being from a different bloodline/turned by someone other than Vic? I'm saying,,, Charlie should get some weird attributes 🤔

👀👀👀

[gelertrook]

gotta figure out how to give off less 'emotional support golden retriever' and more 'neglect-case rescue wolfdog that shouldn't be approached except for by his handler'

[wellthatschaotic]

there was fuckign,, cops at chipotle

[theood]

Divorce him jokes are funny until it's about MY fiancé

[on-a-lucky-tide]

cw: hair pulling, 141 sexcapade discussion.

"You know, I've never understood it," Gaz said, folding another hand as the cards Nik turned over on the table ruined his chance of a Full House. They'd had a few, so Gaz's brain was wading slowly towards its point when Soap folded too.

"Ye dinnae ken much, Garrick. Ye gonnae have tae narrow it doon."

Ghost raked in his winnings and then stood with a grunted, "need a slash."

Gaz scowled and flipped over one of the cards they'd been playing with before Nik could tidy it away. The set was raunchy, with depictions of busty girls in various states of undress and intimacy. The Ace of Spades had a brunette facing out of the card, her lover behind her with one hand in her hair. "Why do girls ask for this?"

"Why ask for doggy?" Soap asked, smirking around the top of his beer bottle.

"Nah, mate. The hair pulling. I've had at least two birds ask me for it. It can't be fuckin' good, can it?"

"Aye, well, I dunnae tend tae pull the freaky ones, so..."

"Alright, alright. Shut it. Nik, help me out here." Gaz looked over at their dealer, who was busy expertly shuffling the cards for the next round.

"There is a right way and a wrong way to pull hair, sergeant," Nik said.

Gaz raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Da, observe." Nik placed the deck down carefully and turned towards Soap. "The wrong way is to grab a random tuft," he lifted a large palm and snagged a handful of Soap's mohawk, shaking him from side to side, "and just start pulling them about. It is wrong. Hurts, no?"

"Ah, Jesus fuck, Nik," Soap squawked, batting at Nik's forearm. "Aye. Feels like ye scalpin' me."

Ghost returned, chuckling low in his throat at Soap's bleats of protest. He rolled his bally up over his nose and took a swig of bourbon, observing the little scene he'd stumbled back in on with interest. "Li'le scrote finally run his mouth too much, Nikolai?"

"Naw, Nik's showin' Garrick how t' pull a lady's hair in bed." Soap growled, head still tilted at an odd angle where Nik had scruffed the strip of ferret fur he called a hairstyle.

"Oh yeah?" Ghost's eyes slid over to Nik, lingering on the hand that released Soap's mohawk. "G'won then, show us the proper way."

"Regrettably, the sergeants both favour the short back and sides, but yours is longer." Nik rose to his feet, matching Ghost in height and bulk. Ghost's hackles should go up, but with Nik, they hadn't in years. It had something to do with how Price was around him, Ghost reckoned. When your damn leader relaxed, you were relaxed. Like a good dog. Nik spread his hands. "May I, lieutenant? Your mask will remain on."

"C'mon, L.T. Lessee."

"I'll buy you a drink at the pub when we get home, sir."

Ghost swallowed, levelling Nik with a heavy stare. "Ya pull my hairline as far as yours and we'll 'ave a problem," he murmured, emptying his glass before placing it down on the table. When Nik stepped into space, he got a hit of expensive cologne and engine oil that sat pleasantly on the back of his tongue. Damn handsome bastard too, all things considered. Ghost tried not to scrutinise what having him so close did to his heart.

Nik's hand settled on Ghost's shoulder first and then slid around the back of his neck, careful to keep his thumb tucked to avoid Ghost's throat.

"You slide your hand up their neck through the roots at the back," he said softly, his hand moving as he spoke, fingertips sliding beneath Simon's bally to the softness of his blond hair. "And you pull upwards, keeping your fingers close to their scalp."

What was left of Ghost's soul left his body momentarily as Nik pulled. His belly did a little flip, his knees suddenly weak, shoulders rising as he sucked in a shocked gasp. The sensation that bristled over his scalp settled behind his eyes, and they rolled closed as it continued down his spine. The world screeched to a halt as Ghost zeroed in on the man before him, his instincts firing off like sparkplugs in an engine struggling to turn over. Frozen.

Nik was watching him closely, his head tilted to the side. "It should not cause pain, but it is a... mammalian response, like a cat scruffing its kitten. It should inspire a feeling of pleasure in submission."

Ghost couldn't breathe. His eyes flickered open and he zoned in on Nik's dark eyes, the fullness of his lips and the unshaven scruff of stubble around his jawline. In that breathless moment, Ghost's entire body tingled with heat and want. He could feel Nik's warmth, so close and yet not touching him at all but for the hand in his hair; a sturdy bulwark waiting to catch him. What Ghost would give to press his face into the open collar of his shirt and rub through the dark hair he could see there, while--

"'Ear that, L.T.? Ye like a big fuckin' kitten."

Soap's jibe broke the spell and Nik released Ghost's hair, stepping out of his space to return to his seat. His gaze lingered on Ghost's eyes before he turned, and for a tense second Ghost was fockin' worried he'd be outed for whatever the hell that was. But Nik sat down with a nonchalant shrug.

"Shut it, Johnny," Ghost grunted. "Don' see what all the fuss is about."

"Aye, ye tell 'em, sir. Missionary with the lights off fully clothed is the only way, eh?"

Ghost flipped Soap his middle finger and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. "Gonna hit the sack, long day tomorrow. Don' fuck around too late." He left the room at what he hoped was a reasonable pace, but his mind was already elsewhere, namely on the aching boner stretching down his right trouser leg. He was grateful no one could read minds; if he was thinking of Nik as he had a sad, furious and slightly drunk wank, then that was between him and god.

Nik watched Ghost's retreating back over the rim of his vodka glass, his head tilted to the side in thoughtful consideration. The embers he had watched flare to life in those somber brown eyes were unmistakable. He had seen similar in two twin baby blues only two mornings ago.

Khoroshego vam nastroyeniya i do vstrechi, Simon.

[muckpit]

will graham little doggy man

[sreppub]

I wish you would write a fic where Jason thinks he's an intimidating werewolf and everyone else has to convince him he's just a big pupper, and that's okay!!! (You're right; we do sometimes just need a Big Pupper AU!)

Dick refuses to be cowed by some 'roided up runt.

The second armchair from the right is his favourite seat in the family room, and it is unfortunately Jason's favourite as well. He would have thought that, with tonight being the full moon and all, a werewolf would want to be somewhere out on the vast, wooded manor grounds eating baby rabbits or chasing his tail or something, but apparently their resident lycanthrope feels like having a night in. And while Jason had to take precious time to rinse off his dirty paws in the mudroom (lest he soil Alfred's floors), Dick had kicked his shoes into the coat closet with perfect aim and snagged The Seat for himself in preparation for a post-backyard-soccer-game movie night.

Dick is trying to enjoy the cute little dragon movie Damian put on, wrapped up in one of the old throws they keep in the hall closet just outside the den, except his stupid brother has planted himself between Dick and the screen, staring him down like if an evil horse were a fucked up dog. Dick doesn't need to speak wolf to understand what Jason wants from him; he just doesn't care.

"I got here first, Jase," Dick scoffs. "Will you move, please?"

The large, brown wolf does not move, in fact. His gaze is focused and heated like he's trying to spontaneously develop laser vision and kill Dick dead. He's slowly leaning into Dick, razor-sharp teeth inching closer, hackles raising, a low growl rumbling from his massive furry throat. Those finger-sized claws can (and have) tear bigger men than Dick clean into two. His eyes glow in the dim light, rage crackling behind the hard glare.

It's too bad Dick isn't scared at all. A regular person might feel a chill as an unnaturally huge wolf starts snarling and spittling into his face, but Dick has seen this moron with those goofy prepubescent puppy feet and pathetic little "awoo" howls. Jason looks scary and grimlike now, but all Dick can see is the big puppy who likes romance novels and belly rubs. Ignoring the growls that get louder as his hand gets closer, Dick flicks Jason's angry, scrunched up snout without fear. The wolf's eyes seem to burn with indignant rage, and he snaps his huge, killer maw at Dick's outstretched hand a few times.

"Jason," Duke snaps with exasperation from beside them on the corner couch seat. "Shut up."

The wolf turns his pointed gaze at the teen and Dick flicks him again. Suddenly, a nearly three hundred pound wolf pounces straight at him. The chair nearly tips over, even with the reinforced base that Bruce installed in most of the furniture when he got a kid who liked to do flips off of them.

The chair is just not big enough for two large men—much less one large man and a large wolf draped across his lap—but Dick remembers a time when he and a juvenile wolf fit pretty comfortably with fondness, so he'll accept the loss of feeling in his legs for now. Whatever shuts Jason up for the rest of the movie.

(for the record, wolves get up to like, 180 lbs. jason is a big motherfucker.)

[moonlightkitties]

CW: Hybrids, Animal Attack.

You can reader part one here!

Working as a border collie hybrid on retired, farmer Price's farm is not for the weak.

The farm rests in the middle of nowhere, a secluded stretch of land where rolling hills and thick patches of wildflowers stretch as far as the eye can see.

The only thing you've had to worry about until this moment was the stubborn sheep that Price managed to spoil.

The other thing were the wolves.

So.

Many.

Wolves.

You can't count how many hours you've had to stay awake to make sure that wolves wouldn't attack your sheep.

A night like tonight was when you had to stay in your dog form and stay with the herd while they grazed. Your small form wasn't that big to take on a herd of wolves but Price reassured you time and time again that the wolves don't bother the sheep.

Oh how wrong he was.

Your ears pricked at something rustling in the nearby woods, you got up from the middle of the grazing area, your eyes scanning the trees. The wind shifted, carrying the strong scent of wolf. You let out a warning growl, noticing how the sheep were getting a bit nervous. The scent did not move away and your ears pricked and eyes widen at the sound of a howl. You could see eyes glaring at you between the trees and you bent down, getting ready to attack if you could.

Two to three wolves broke through the tree line, their snarls vibrating in your chest.

Your paws stumbled over themselves, you weren't trained to attack full grown wolves.

A wolf lunged. You dodged clumsily, barely avoiding its snapping jaws, but another wolf was already behind you. It caught your back leg in its teeth and yanked.

Pain blurred your vision as another wolf crashed into your ribs, sending you sprawling. You tried to roll to your feet, but your bad leg gave out instantly, a jolt of agony ripping through you.

"Hey!" you heard a loud yell and the sharp crack of something hitting wood. The wolves froze mid-movement, ears swiveling toward the sound. A tall figure burst through the tree line, lit by the low moonlight, Price.

As a last resort trying to save yourself, your body shifted back into your human form, which confused the wolves into backing off.

You groaned, your leg was definitely broken, and your eyes were growing heavy.

The wolves, startled by the sudden transformation, faltered. Their hackles raised, but they hesitated. One gave a low, uncertain growl before they all turned tail, slinking back into the shadows of the tree line.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Price ran towards you and you could see the panic on his face before you blacked out.

-------

You gasped as your eyes shot open, you were sore, your whole body ached and yet you were warm.

You looked around, the bedroom you were in was brighter than the one Price gave you and you were cocooned in blankets.

You sat up, hissing as you did, you could hear muffled voices. You ignored your body screaming for you to go back to bed but you quietly slipped out of the bed, yelping as your right foot collided with the floor. You limped to the door and opened it, your parents were in the living room, your father growling as your mother tried to calm him down.

All three of them looked at the bedroom door as you limped out, Price immediately coming to your aid.

"Easy there," he said, making you steady, helping you walk towards the couch.

"I'm fine," you told your mom, embarrassed as she immediately started sniffing you all over.

"You're not," your mother said, her eyes glistening with fear.

"I am, it was just a few wolves," you said, shrugging.

"I'm sorry," Price told you, "I should have listened, the wolves never got to close before," he finished.

"You need a livestock guardian dog," you father told him, "a strong one, kangel shepherd maybe."

"Where can I find one?" Price asked.

"There's a breeder a few miles from here, it'll be a day trip though," your father answered.

--------

Price left early tomorrow morning after your father gave him the address to the breeder. You weren't ready to have another hybrid take control of your schedule with the flock. Price said that he wouldn't interfere with your herding and only protect them if another wolf came even close but you weren't convinced.

But you’d seen it before. Once someone new came in, the humans started relying on them more. You’d worked too hard, proven yourself too many times to just be pushed aside.

Your leg still ached, wrapped tightly and bound with a stubborn reminder of your own limits. The sheep barely listened to you yesterday. They could smell the difference. They knew.

You huffed through your nose and looked back toward the field.

This is still your farm. Your flock.

You weren’t giving up that easily.

It was a few hours before you heard Price's truck pull into the driveway, you shot up from off the couch, wincing as your leg burned but you limped towards the window.

A huge kangel shepherd was sitting in the back of his truck, he looked like he didn't stand for anyone to defy him. His dirty blonde fur was rough looking and he had enough scars on him to prove his worth. Even from this distance, you could tell he was older than you, more seasoned.

His black ears flicked, alert and cautious, he didn't look at you. You followed his gaze, his eyes looked out toward the fields, toward your flock, as if he already knew where he was needed.

You scowled and let out a growl.

Of course he had the look of someone who wouldn’t take orders. He looked like someone who gave them.

You could care less about how many wolves he fought and herds he protected, you were not about to let him walk all over you.

Price got out of the truck and made his way around. He spoke calmy to the hybrid, in his quiet, commanding tone. The Kangal’s head turned slightly, and then, suddenly, his eyes were on you.

His eyes were sharp, intense, and blue.

How wrong that color was on a dog so dark and intense.

No emotion passed his face, like he could care less that you were there.

A yawn passed his face, dismissive.

Like you were no threat at all.

“Oh, hell no," you muttered under your breath. You weren't supposed to shift into your animal form until your leg was stronger, but you didn't care. You ignored the pain and limped out of the doggy door that Price installed. You walked down the porch stairs. Price, surprised to see you shifted, patted your head, a smile forming his mouth.

"This is Simon Riley," Price told you but you could care less, "call him Ghost, he prefers that," he said.

Well the nickname definitely fit him.

"Be nice, pup," Price said, noticing the way your fur bristled over your shoulders, "he's not here to take your job."

You scoffed and turned around, stalking back into the house, you didn't trust him enough to stay in your human form so you pushed your bedroom door open with your muzzle and jumped on your bed.

Ghost. What kind of name was that?

You closed your eyes.

Just a guard dog, you told yourself. Just a backup. Not a threat.

But those damn blue eyes wouldn’t leave your mind.

[ashthesalamipiece]

Hiiii

I was wondering if you could do a fic were reader is pregnant and her and bakugo have a dog. And throughout the pregnancy the dog gets more and more protective over reader, and won’t let bakugo even touch her

Thank youuu!!☺️

Guard Dog Instincts

Katsuki always said having a dog was practice for having a kid.

At the time, you both laughed, cradling a wriggling black-and-brown shepherd mix that looked way too serious for a puppy. Her name was Koda, short for “Kodama,” because she was quiet as a forest spirit—until she wasn’t.

But you weren’t laughing now. Not when your own dog was growling at your husband for touching your stomach.

“Koda,” Katsuki hissed, a deep frown settling into his brow as he backed up with both palms raised. “It’s my kid.”

Koda didn’t care. Her low growl reverberated through the living room, hackles up and eyes narrowed. She parked herself firmly between the two of you, sitting right in front of the couch like a furry little bouncer.

“She’s been like this since I started showing,” you said, brushing your fingers through Koda’s fur soothingly. “It’s gotten worse the past few weeks. I can barely get up to pee without her following me into the bathroom.”

“Y’know I wouldn’t hurt you,” Katsuki grumbled, kneeling down at a distance to meet the dog’s eyes. “Dumb mutt. That’s my family, too.”

The dog didn’t budge.

“I think she knows that,” you offered gently, “but she also knows something’s… different. She’s just trying to protect me. Or maybe the baby.”

Katsuki let out a long, slow breath. “How long’s this gonna last?”

“Could be until the baby’s born,” you shrugged. “Maybe after. She’s part shepherd. They get clingy.”

“Tch.” Katsuki slumped onto the floor with a thud and stared at Koda. “You win this round.”

She didn’t growl this time, but her gaze didn’t leave him either. You had to bite back a laugh.

Katsuki stayed there for a bit before finally saying, “She did pick up on the gas leak that one time.”

“Exactly. She’s smarter than she looks.”

“She better be,” he muttered. “She’s guarding my kid.”

Koda finally gave a short huff and relaxed a little—just enough for Bakugo to scoot closer. Her eyes stayed on him as his hand hovered over your belly. With her approval finally granted, he placed it gently down.

When the baby kicked, his eyes lit up, and Koda—silent and watchful—stayed firmly at her post.

[charliemwrites]

As promised some time ago: Gaz!

The new house is… well, you don’t dislike it. It’s beautiful, already renovated while you were busy selling the old house. Just new, unfamiliar. You’re unaccustomed to the noises it makes, the shadows it casts, the echoes off the walls.

You’re not too proud to admit (to yourself and your dogs) that you’re a bit of a chicken the first couple weeks. Too many nights watching spooky media about people living in walls or stalking new tenants — despite Skipper’s best efforts. So you keep one or more of the dogs with you at all times, fingers in their fur and lights on as you go. Ghost has been especially tolerant, leaning against your leg when the sun goes down and the house feels too strange.

You’ve always been grateful for the peace of mind that four huge wolf-dogs brings, but never more than now. With several sets of teeth surrounding your bed and guarding your locked doors, they’ve made the transition so much easier on your nerves.

The new forest behind the house is also some cause for concern. The first day you brought them home, you went out by yourself for quick inspection of the yard and immediate area. Sharp-eyed looking for glass, metal, or anything else dubious.

You came back to four extremely grumpy pups and were basically bullied out of leaving them alone again. Skipper was especially huffy that night.

But things feel like they’re beginning to settle. You’ve gotten a bigger couch, bigger floor cushions. There’s a second story to this new house — or more of a half-floor really. A loft? It consists of the master bedroom, master bathroom, and a sort of open-spaced landing that you’re using as a satellite collection zone for toys.

Sometimes, when you’re on the couch, you’ll catch a bit of movement and get spooked by one of the boys staring from the railing that overlooks the den. Have fussed at wagging Johnny twice now for it.

Still, the transition to your new home has been as smooth as you could ask for with four giant, protective dogs. You miss the old place a bit; have the irrational fear that you’re going to miss another displaced dog in need of a home, but you try not to think about it.

Maybe you should have thought about it a little more.

One evening, you let the boys out for their pre-bed potty. There’s a cup of chamomile tea in your hand, a blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. Winter will be setting in soon. It’s already cold enough to set your teeth on edge. Never mind that it’s been raining all day, only just letting up to light patter at sunset.

Commotion at the edge of the (much larger) yard catches your attention. All of your boys seem to be gathered around something. They’re not barking or growling, and from the dim porch light, you don’t see hackles raised but still. Anything that catches their attention is worth investigating.

Cursing under your breath, you set your mug aside, slip into some shoes, and snatch up your phone for the flashlight. It’s only when you’re halfway there that you remember to pray that it’s not something dead. Or dying. Or creepy.

“Please don’t let this be a spooky doll or something,” you whisper to yourself.

Skipper must hear you, because his head pops up. He doesn’t… look concerned. But he’s a dog, how would he know that something in the yard is of human concern?

He trots away from their little congregation to meet you, almost like he’s escorting you to whatever they’re gathered around. You realize why when the flashlight illuminates a ball of soaked fur.

“Oh,” you breathe, “oh no…”

You gently nudge Konig aside to kneel down, a dry sob bubbling up in the back of your throat when you hear a quiet, miserable mew. A pair of brilliant green eyes squint and shy from the light, wide and sad.

“Oh, baby,” you coo. “Please come here. C’mon.”

You slowly, carefully extend a hand. Palm up, just a couple fingers. You’re not as familiar with cats anymore, but you remember enough to know that there‘ll be no scooping it up, even if it needs help. It’ll have to come to you of its own accord.

Relief floods you when you get the briefest cursory sniffle, and then the kitty is bumping its head against your hand for a scritch. You take a moment to pet what you can, heart breaking a bit with each shiver in the cold.

You keep coaxing it closer, gentle words and patient petting, getting bolder with your touch. When it’s finally close enough, the faintest purr rattling in its chest, you decide to try.

Apart from a nervous glance, the cat remarkably tolerant about letting you wrap your now-wet blanket around it, then scooping it up.

“Oof, you’re a big kid, huh?” You mutter, pausing to get a better hold. The darkness and hunkering down to preserve body heat was deceptive. This cat feels huge. “That’s alright, I’m used to it.”

You breathe a huge sigh when you enter the house again. It’s toasty inside — or at least it feels that way after sitting in the cold rain for fifteen minutes.

The boys files in after you, politely shaking off at the door before stepping into the mudroom. (Another upgrade you’ve been extremely grateful for.

You pause, try to get your bearings. You’ve got four soaked dogs, one possibly hypothermic cat, and you.

Christ, sometimes you wish you had an extra pair of hands.

“Okay. Let’s get the heater first.”

It’s already going, so you just turn it up a bit more, warm enough to start drying everyone. Then you go to the cupboard, sparing an arm from your oversized bundle to extract a towel.

You cross back to the heater and sit down, gently nestling your cat-burrito into the well of your legs.

The same big green eyes blink up at you, another mewl comes from it.

“Hi,” you croon, “isn’t that better already? Much warmer in here.”

You present the towel for inspection, let it sniff and decide it’s non-threatening before gently wiping it along the clumped fur. The dogs, to your surprise, don’t crowd to investigate. Skipper stops by to give the cat a sniff, before ultimately flopping down against your hip. But the other three arrange themselves around you, watching, but giving you and the kitty some space.

Remarkably thoughtful of them, and you tell them as much, praising their good behavior. The kitty, in the meantime, just… stares. It’s been a long time since you interacted with one, but you don’t remember your grandma’s tabby being so…

“Can I help you, little one?” You ask, grinning when it blinks at you slowly. You brush a finger under its chin, grinning when its eyes go half-lidded and nearly cross. “You’re worse than my Johnny boy with the staring.”

You receive a huff for that and laugh softly, making kissy noises at him until his tail thumps against the absorbent floor mat.

The cat is back to staring, though, ears up. You hum and keep up the half-scratching, half-drying technique until its fur starts to fluff up and you can take proper stock of the animal you’ve just rescued.

You weren’t kidding about it being big. Biggest cat you’ve ever seen — you’d almost think it was wild if not for the sweet face. You’re sure you might have seen the breed somewhere before…

Maine coon, maybe? Or… Siberian something or other? It’s fluffy, that’s for sure. But even without all the fluff that’s beginning to poof out like a dirty cotton ball, it’s a big cat. Big enough to be an average dog.

You huff in amusement that more it dries out.

“You look like a little storm cloud,” you giggle. “Well, little being relative.”

You receive a more normal-sounding meow for that. It thrills you that it’s already sounding better. Less sad, for sure.

The purring even start up again, developing into a deep hum like a running motor. It’s instantly soothing, the same way listening to the dogs’ breathing is. It lulls you until you’re nearly dozing sitting up. Only the wet nose of Skipper against your cheek rousing you.

“Jesus, right,” you say, jolting. Take a drowsy look around. All the boys seem dry or mostly dry. The only damp spot left on your new feline friend seems to be the feet, which won’t take much longer. “Let’s get inside proper.”

You lock up the mudroom and turn the heater low again, then urge everyone into the den. The cat doesn’t even hesitate, threading cleverly between your moving legs as you shuffle to the kitchen.

You prep an extra bowl of food and leave it up for the cat where the dogs can’t get it. Give it one last stroke from head to tail before trudging for the bathroom.

Normally, you’d be more concerned about leaving a cat in a house full of dogs. But the boys proved already that they have no interest in hurting the cat, despite the earlier crowding. Figure there are plenty of places to hide if they do make the kitty uncomfortable regardless.

The hot shower only serves to thicken the drowsiness blanketing you, leaving you heavy-lidded and sluggish. You pull the curtain aside to the usual audience of huge eyes, a new pair among them — the cat perched on the bathroom sink.

When you lean to grab your towel, they stick their face close for a sniff and you pause, always patient for curious creatures. When the little nose gets too close to your mouth, you twist and drop a quick peck to its snout before leaning back. The flabbergasted look makes you laugh as you begin toweling off.

“What a funny little thing you are,” you coo. “Would you like to be mind.”

“Mrrrow!”

“Yeah, I made a good first showing, huh?”

You have absolutely zero supplies for a cat, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, you just want to climb into bed and conk out. Home-making and animal-saving takes a lot out of you.

As always, the furry procession to your room leaves you warm and happy. Johnny always the first to hop into bed, licking your shoulder when you climb in beside him. Konig takes your other side, much more willing to snuggle now that you have the California King mattress to accommodate your pack. Ghost licks at Skipper’s chin in the doorway, then jumps up to lie by your hip, cuddling Johnny.

Skipper comes up last, padding over to receive one last kiss from you before lying by your feet, on the side closest to the door. You’re less concerned about kicking him now with the extra room, and enjoy the heat for your toes.

You almost startle at the soft thump next to your head. Turn and blink to see big green eyes blinking down at you, a purr nearly rattling your brain.

“Oh, hi,” you murmur, “make yourself at home.”

The cat does just that, curling himself onto a pillow and pressing his forehead into your neck. You nearly melt as you flick off the light. It’s warm and quiet and dark, just the breathing of warm bodies and soft tap of rain.

“I love you all so much,” you whisper, fingers threading into Konig’s coat. “My loves.”

The house’s new echoes are still unfamiliar, so it’s just a product of being half-asleep that makes you think you hear voices in the middle of the night.

Main Story | Price pt. 2

Masterlist

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

hey! i just had a request (if you like it!) - cazador taking astarion’s partner (reader/tav) when all the siblings try to kidnap astarion, and turning them, intending for them to take astarion’s place - ofc astarion and crew arrive in time and scene progresses as normal, but now reader/tav is a vampire spawn. just fluff and hurt/comfort

Oh wow this became far darker than intended, I hope you don't mind. I do feel a little bad for reader in this one, honestly. Part 2 can be found here!

Spoilers for act 3!! If anyone still needs this.

Astarion’s shout stirs you from your peaceful slumber and you sit up with a start, eyes wide. Your hand automatically shoots to your weapon, fingers curling around it when you see two figures slowly approaching your lover who back away, hackles raised.

“Peace, brother. We’re here to take you home.” One says and you frown, ready to step in if needed. The other one urges Astarion to return with them, to ‘be reborn’ and you quickly make your way to Astarion’s side, ready to fight if need be. You didn’t care that those two were vampire spawn, you would defend Astarion with everything you had. You weren’t going to lose him now, not after coming all this way.

Astarion’s hand gently brushes against yours, a silent thank you for your show of support as you size your potential opponents up. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Astarion moves to step slightly in front of you and begins to tell his siblings of his plan to take Cazador’s place in the ritual, to ascend and his siblings are none the wiser about the lies he’s weaving.

You know how desperately he wants the ritual, how he yearns for the power it will give him and yet you’re torn between convincing him otherwise and letting him take it. You don’t want to see him drown in the pursuit of this power but you know how much it means to him, the idea of being able to walk in the sun again, the idea of no longer being under someone else’s control, so you keep silent, your mind in turmoil.

Either way, the encounter ends with Cazador taking control of the spawns and it delves into a fight as Astarion does all he can to protect himself and you do all you can to ensure neither spawn manage to lay a hand on him. By the end of it, you’re panting from exhaustion, scratches lacing your skin but the two spawns have been backed into a corner and you have emerged victorious alongside Astarion.

Or so you think.

Suddenly, a chill runs down your spine and mist turns into a humanoid figure with glowing red eyes. Astarion’s eyes widen and he takes an instinctive step back. The two spawn cower as a sneer forms on the humanoid’s face, a clawed hand reaching out towards you.

“Y/N I presume? I have heard much about you, it is an honour to finally meet you.”

Cazador.

You swallow hard, refusing to show the vampire lord a hint of fear and meet his burning gaze that stares into your very soul.

“Cazador,” you say, tone measured. “If only I could say the same.”

Why was he here? Was he going to forcefully take Astarion away? If he was, you were pretty much powerless to stop him by yourself and he would be able to start the ritual. You keep your eyes fixed on the vampire lord who is smiling unnervingly, standing your ground as he takes a step towards you.

“Thank you for taking care of my precious lost son,” he places a hand on your shoulder which you brush off, glowering at him. He remains unfazed despite your rude gesture, the smile still fixed on his face.

“You’re very welcome,” you say stiffly, still uncertain about what Cazador was here for. He hadn’t spared a glance at Astarion at all, which was odd and the other two spawn hadn’t made a single move to kidnap Astarion, even though now was the best time to do so.

“In return, I would like him back so that he may return home.”

“No.” You immediately growl without a second thought. “I will not let you lay a hand on Astarion again.”

“How courageous of you,” the vampire lord chuckles. “To think that my son has found someone like you…to guide him back. I really am extremely grateful to you.”

Astarion makes a noise, ignoring the shaking in his hands and moves to stand next to you. He can’t leave you to face Cazador alone, not after he’s promised to always be by your side and so despite the nauseating fear that is rising in his throat, he forces himself to face his tormentor.

“Now then, my boy” Cazador continues, gaze finally turning towards him. “I will give you a choice. You, or your precious Y/N.”

“What?” Astarion narrows his eyes.

“Choose. You, or Y/N.” Cazador repeats.

“What do you intend to do?” Astarion snarls. Cazador doesn’t answer his question and simply raises three fingers, slowly counting down. Confused, Astarion opens and closes his mouth, unsure of the consequence each choice will spell and a wide grin forms on the vampire lord’s face once the last finger is down.

“Time’s up, my boy. I suppose, I will have to make the choice for you since you cannot make up your mind.” Cazador places a hand on your shoulder. “Say goodbye to your precious Y/N.”

Astarion takes a step towards you, your name on the tip of his tongue but he is too late, slowed by the tadpole and Cazador whisks you away along with the other two spawns, back to his palace.

“No, no, no!” Astarion roars, hand grasping thin air. “Cazador!”

The others come running over at the commotion, confused when they see Astarion on his knees, sobbing and cursing.

“What happened?” Halsin asks, kneeling next to the wailing vampire.

“Cazador!” Astarion snarls through the tears. “He took Y/N!”

“He took Y/N? Aren’t you the one he’s after? Why did he take them?” Wyll asks.

“Didn’t you say you’d protect them? Why didn’t you?” Lae’zel snaps. Astarion whirls around, ready to tear Lae’zel apart but Halsin holds him back, the vampire thrashing in his grip.

“Calm down, Astarion. We won’t get anywhere fighting amongst ourselves. Do you have an idea of where Cazador might have taken Y/N?” Halsin’s low voice gently rumbles.

“His damned palace, probably,” Astarion mutters, guilt tearing away at him. He should have given Cazador an answer, he should have been stronger and pressed Cazador for answers, he should have pulled you away from Cazador the moment the vampire lord had placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Then we will head there immediately,” Jaheria smoothly takes command and the other nod in agreement. The longer you were with Cazador, the dimmer your prospects, for who knew what Cazador wanted with you? Time was of the essence.

“We will get Y/N back,” Gale said firmly. “We will rescue them.”

At Cazador’s palace, you were held in place by blood red glyphs as Cazador circled you, ruby eyes glowing in the darkness.

“You are a fascinating creature, Y/N. Time and time again, I’ve taught my imperfect son not to form a relationship, that such bonds are a weakness he cannot afford, and yet he still chooses to form a bond with you. He knew of the consequences that would follow, and still decided to proceed. I wonder what about you makes him decide to risk it all.”

You remain silent, glaring as hard as you can at him. He leans in closer, a cold finger traces along your jawline and stop at your chin.

“Is it because of how much you make him think you care for him?”

“I genuinely care for him, unlike you!” You spit, jerking away from his touch.

“Or maybe your looks.” He pretends to contemplate before tightly grabbing you by the chin and pulling you towards him.

“No…that can’t be it.” He smirks. “Oh, I know. It’s the delectable taste of your blood, isn’t it? I can see the bite marks, he clearly loves drinking from you.”

“Piss off!” You snarl despite the fear creeping into your chest. “Whatever goes on between Astarion and I is none of your concern!”

“Oh, but it is. He is, after all, my son.” Cazador leans even closer, pressing his lips against the bite marks on your neck. “And you too, will become my child.”

His fangs sink into the soft supple flesh of your neck, painful and harsh unlike Astarion’s bite and you hiss, struggling to get away but the glyphs hold you tight. Your heart thunders, blood rushing in your ears as you snarl, spit and thrash as hard as you can but his fangs remain firmly lodged in your neck, your precious lifeblood gushing down his throat. Spots start to form in your vision and you feel yourself weakening, life fading away.

“Oh, don’t worry.,” you barely hear him as the world starts to turn black. “I don’t kill my own children.”

When you wake, everything is dark, but something feels different. Your sense of smell is sharper, you can see the lines of wood in the dark and…

“Welcome back, my child.” The sound of wood scraping rakes your ears and you quickly cover them, hissing.

“How are you feeling?” Cazador smiles, setting something down before turning to you, holding out a hand.

“Get lost!” You slap his hand away, trying to take in your surroundings. You’re in some sort of underground area, judging from the leaking ceiling and the musty smell in the air. The tiny squeaks of rats fill your ears and you notice chains hanging from the wall in front of you, covered in dried blood.

“How rude. It seems the first thing I must teach you is manners,” Cazador tuts. “Repeat after me, ‘I am fine, thank you for asking, master.’”

“Go —” A presence dominates your mind, sending your tadpole squirming as it tries to take back your mind. You scream, the tadpole’s fight tearing your mind apart and you hear Cazador snarl in frustration.

“That blasted thing!”

He looks back up at you, a smile slowly reforming itself upon his face. “Still, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to have complete control over you for my plan to work. All I need is you.”

“What do you intend to do?” You pant, head throbbing.

“Why, have you take that boy’s place in the ritual of course. He chose to sacrifice you instead of himself. Now come along, I would rather not have to drag you out in front of your new siblings.”

You quietly follow him, mind still struggling to wrap around recent events. One moment you were trying to find Gortash and Orin to prevent The Absolute from taking over Baldur’s Gate, and then next you were Cazador’s latest vampire spawn, a sacrifice for his ascension. Cazador didn’t seem to mind your silence, tightly holding onto your hand to ensure you couldn’t just run away, not that he would have much of a problem catching you anyways.

He leads you to a grand hall where a pentagram has already been drawn with blood in the center of the floor and seven pedestals surround it. His other vampire spawn each stand on one, waiting for further instructions and you glance around nervously. Would the others be able to find this place before it was too late?

Cazador unsheathes a dagger, snapping his fingers and glyphs appear around your wrists and ankles once more, forcing you to kneel on the ground in front of him. He slices your clothes open, tossing them away until you’re half naked and bends down next to you.

“I believe you know what comes next.”

Bile rises in your throat, your clawed fingertips digging into your palm as you prepare yourself.

“Go rot in the hells.”

He laughs, knowing that all you can do is spit words at him and raises the dagger with a sadistic grin.

Then plunges it straight into your back.

The pain tears you apart from the inside, gnawing at every fibre of your being as you keenly feel each and every sinew being split open by the dagger, warm blood coating your back. You can hear screaming, was it coming from you? You couldn’t tell, your mind was far too hazy to make anything out.

Everything hurts, everything hurts, everything hurts.

You scream until your voice turns hoarse, but Cazador doesn’t stop. He continues with his work of art, twisting the dagger whilst its blade is embedded in your flesh whenever you collapse, shocking you back into reality. Over and over again he marks your flesh with Infernal script and you wonder how Astarion pulled through this.

Suddenly, the dagger stops. Cazador shouts something but your ringing ears can’t make out anything. Something red slams into the vampire lord and sends him crashing into the floor with a war cry, followed by an axe.

The glyphs holding you up disappear and you feel yourself falling, but not an inch of your body obeys your command to break your fall. Before the floor can meet you, a pair of warm arms wraps around you, holding you steady.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

You stare blankly at the floor beneath, wishing it had ended your suffering but then you remember that you’re a vampire spawn now and simply smacking into the floor wouldn’t kill you.

“Y/N? Talk to me,” the voice speaks again. Your swimming vision barely manages to scrape together an image and through the haze your mind recalls a name. Wyll.

A small noise escapes your lips and the Blade of Frontiers lets out a sigh of relief.

“You’re alive, that’s good.”

“No,” you whisper. “Not. Alive.”

“Not in that sense,” someone else speaks. Halsin.

Something new warms your back, blue light shimmering around you, “don’t you dare fall asleep.” Shadowheart.

“As…”

An angry cry pierces through the air. More shouting. Then. Silence. A figure rushes to your side, silvery curls stained with blood.

“Y/N!” There’s panic in the voice. “Darling?”

“As…ta…rion.”

“You’re safe now,” he pulls you into a hug. “You’re safe now.”

“Hurt…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Astarion chokes. “I’m sorry I let that monster take you, I’m sorry I let you get hurt, I’m sorry I was late.”

His apologies are met with silence, your body limp in his arms as you struggle to stay awake. You want to reassure him, you want to say something but your body refuses to cooperate.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s my fault that you were taken, I promised to protect you and yet, and yet I —”

“It…s…ok.”

“It’s not!” He snaps. “It’s not ok! Nothing is! I let Cazador take you! I let him turn you! Now…now you can’t walk in the sun anymore! Not once that damned tadpole is removed! You’ll constantly feel the hunger! Others will call you a monster!”

Astarion stops when he sees the fresh tear streaks on your face, biting his lip hard. You come first, you need him right now. He pushes his self-hatred away and focuses on you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly, ignoring the blood that seeps between his fingers. He presses his lips against the top of your head as your shoulders shake.

“I’m right here, my love. I’m right here. I promise, you’re never alone. You will never be alone. I will be right here, by your side to help you shoulder your burdens as you’ve helped me. I promise.”

[arcadia-smith]

My sweet life Ep3

Moodboard/Masterlist

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Navigating everyday life with Simon Riley. Sitcom-style fanfiction.

Word count: 495

Tags: @candlelight-reading

Previous episode // Next episode

“How’s it going?” Price asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Fine,” Simon muttered. “Except for the part where Riley tried to rip the missus apart.” His eyes flicked toward the K9, now curled up peacefully.

It had been about a week since Simon brought Riley home. For the most part, things were fine—so long as Simon was around. Riley behaved, staying in his designated space in the laundry room and at night Simon made sure to lock the door, keeping the dog from wandering.

But then, one night, you had gotten up for a glass of water. As you stood by the counter, a strange weight settled over you—the distinct feeling of being watched.

You turned.

Riley sat at the kitchen entrance, ears perked, eyes locked onto you.

You weren’t afraid of him, not exactly. But you were wary. It was clear Riley had decided you ranked low in his pack order.

“You’d be cuter if you didn’t stare at me like that,” you murmured, setting your glass down.

The moment you took a step toward the door, Riley moved, ears pricked forward as a low growl rumbled deep in his chest, lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth.

Your arms shot up instinctively as you stumbled back. “Easy, Riley,” you whispered, voice shaking.

But Riley wasn’t backing down. His hackles bristled, tail raised in a rigid line of dominance. He stayed low, muscles tensed, weight shifting like he was ready to pounce.

Panic surged through you.

A scream tore from your chest "Simon!"

And for once yiu were glad your fiancè was a light sleeper.

It took him five seconds to bolt from bed to the kitchen.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Riley, locked in a silent, predatory stare. And you—trembling, wide-eyed, frozen in place. Simon had never seen you this scared. Not even when you chased down the guy who had stolen your purse the day you both met.

“Riley.” Simon’s voice was sharp and commanding “Stand down.”

The transformation was instant. Riley’s posture relaxed as he turned to Simon, trotting over and sitting obediently at his feet like nothing had happened.

Like he’d already forgotten you.

Simon exhaled slowly "Go back to bed," he said, his voice calm as he addressed you.

He watched as you swallowed hard and edged around the kitchen, keeping as much distance from Riley as possible before disappearing down the hall. Only when he heard the bedroom door click shut, he shifted his focus to the dog sitting at his feet.

"The fuck was that about?" He crouched down. Simon ran a hand over his head, exhaling sharply. He'd trained dogs before, he knew how they thought, how they operated within a pack structure. And Riley had just made one thing very clear—he didn't see you as part of it.

"You don't get to pull that shit in my house," Simon warned before dragging Riley back to the laundry room.

[artsy-hobbitses]

One of the images that would not leave my head is that of Prowl coming face to face with the man he once was, which happens during TTB's Functionist! AU arc and becomes a narrative testament to the growth he's gone through as a person inside, as opposed to the shiny, chrome outer growth of P7031 who sees him as a glitch that has to be eradicated. So they go Highlander on each other because THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE As an additional treat, a short fic under the cut!

Preston Wan Peirong - Prowl

Jace Zayden - Functionist!AU Jazz

Benjamin ‘Ben’ Bane - Functionist AU Bumblebee

Hanley Riordan - HotRod

Hale Donovan - Hound

Stefan Scavarro - Starscream

Spencer Rao Shouren - Springer 

Breaking into Sentinel Prime’s base was a deathwish back in his own universe, and it was no different here, Preston Wan mused to himself as he slipped out of the shadows during the five minute window — just as he’d predicted — where the guards at the outpost were scheduled to change shifts before beckoning the rest of the ground crew to follow in his stead. 

The first line of defense cleared, they silently made their way towards the heart of the self-proclaimed dictator’s operations, breaths hitching in unison every time a guard passed a hair’s breadth away from them.

The base schematics Jace Zayden had managed to hack into and download through one of the contractors’ stolen biometrics data revealed a network of utility corridors which saw little use from the guardsmen — minute cracks in the citadel’s defenses they could capitalize on. 

“How close are we to the laboratories?” Jace inquired under his breath as behind him, Benjamin Bane surreptitiously peeked at the hologram of a map emitted from a prosthetic hand. 

“There’s a turn 500m ahead—we gotta take a right from there,” the youngest member of the team murmured, frowning slightly before adding: “You really think that’s where we’ll find them?”

“If what we know about the Matrix is true and Stefan’s communications with us are found out — and I’m sure they have been — then yes,” Preston said with a nod as they moved deeper into enemy territory. “The Quintessons ate those of us they couldn’t use—with greed rivaling theirs, I don’t believe Sentinel would waste a warm body on a grave over a weapon. Ours included.”

Jace winced. 

“A ‘We got this team, let’s not get caught’ would have sufficed.” 

“Pep talks are your specialty,” Preston reminded the rebellion leader with a raised eyebrow. “Facts are mine.” 

“Like you keep proving with every sentence, my man,” Jace responded with a resigned sigh as they were halfway to the turn, when he suddenly came to a dead halt. 

The raised hackles, the snarl, Preston knew what it meant even before he caught the faintest sound of gravel crunching underneath metallic soles approaching them. 

“It’s him,” came the low growl from the shambling mass of fur and muscle that was Hale Donovan, who suddenly loomed over them protectively. 

“Hey, it’s five on one tin man this time, and between the lot o’ us, I like those odds,” Hanley Riordan pointed out, taking on a defensive stance, and immediately Preston could feel a migraine coming along at the risk of the plan derailing entirely. 

“Listen to me. Any changes to the plan at this stage, and we risk losing both Starscream and the Matrix,” he said sternly as he held out an arm to bar the rest of the group from engaging with their pursuer.  “Keep the pace. I’ll stall him.” 

Ben and Hanley both opened their mouths to protest, though Jace’s voice cut through the tension first. 

“We’re not leaving you to get smoked out here!” 

“Don’t be dramatic, I have no intention of disobeying a direct order by dying out here,” came Preston’s brisk assurance with a wry, fleeting grin as the pistols hooked to his belt hummed to life. 

“An order from whom?!” Jace snapped, his grip on the Autobot chief strategist 's shoulder tightening as the heavy footfalls echoed closer to them. 

There was a pause as Preston clutched the grips of his firearms, stoic features softening with tender solemnity. Home. He’d been ordered to complete the mission and come home. Home to Spencer, who needed him more than ever now. Home to—

“You.” 

Jace blinked and took a second to compute an order that seemingly never passed his lips; the thought was about as absurd as the idea of two Prestons inhabiting the same universe; One a hated nemesis, the other a fledgling friend. 

“... Aight. Holding you to my order, Prowler,” said the rebellion leader firmly as he thumped the ex-cop’s chestplate twice with the side of his fist in a brotherly manner, gaze dripping with loathing for the figure that strode purposefully out of the shadows. “Go full Highlander on his ass.” 

With a sharp flick of the hand, Jace led the rest of the crew and made a dash for the laboratory block, while Preston positioned himself to block any access to their path. 

The figure, all sleek steel and titanium save for a face that he imagined was as devoid of warmth as his was from years ago, stopped nine feet away from him.

“I’m under directives from the Prime to take all of you in for questioning,” P7031 said emotionlessly, cocking his fist to activate a firing gauntlet. 

“Affirmative. I’m under my own to see to it that you don’t, and my captain’s to ensure I survive this encounter,” Preston responded in kind as he whipped out his pistols. 

P7031’s blank slate of a face suddenly rippled with something that looked like it could have been pompous scorn. 

“Strong words for a glitch. And what exactly do you imagine you can do against a better version of youself in every conceivable way?”

There was a second’s pause as Preston thought back to the man he once was a lifetime ago, a perfect cog in the machinery he was told kept the peace for the good of the many. He’d been taught to view deviation from his purpose and the system as something that had to be fixed—a glitch, as P7031 had so eloquently put it. But if it was one thing his time with the Autobots, with Jace had taught him, it was that he was more than his purpose, more than his past, and more than the copy of The Art Of War which those who shared the barcode on his neck were ordered to memorize word for word from the moment their small hands were steady enough to hold a weapon. 

“Improvise.” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pls roo...

thots about mafia Andy 😩🤲🤲🤲

just a morsel

pls I beg 😵‍💫❤️❤️

-🌿

Vendetta

Summary: your sister got involved with the wrong person and now you're both caught in the consequences.

Warnings: noncon, violence, threats, guns.

Thanks to all who read and enjoy! And please leave some feedback in a reblog or ask! Love you. ❤️

Kiza doesn't answer. You growl at your phone and shake your head. You drop your hand, gripping the cell tight, and stomp up the stairs. You think she'd learn her lesson after everything. All she has to do is check in.

You get to the top landing and try again. No reply to your text and straight to voice-mail. Now your anger is starting to swirl into worry.

You approach the apartment door. Nothing's much different than it ever is. The brass handle and knocker are tarnished and there's strips of paint peeled from the wood.

You shove your key in and twist. You're in your head. You're paranoid.

As the hinges whine, your sister calls out.

"Hey! You're home." She announced oddly. Just the tenor of her voice keeps your hackles raised. You think of running back out but you're more concerned for her.

"I've been calling." You say as you drip your bag on the shoe mat and spin. "Ki, we talked about this--"

The heavy clock of the gun stops you just inside the front room. Kiza sits on the couch, face streaked eith tears. She sniffles and her brows wrinkle helplessly as she mouths, 'sorry'.

The barrel at your temple keeps you from moving. A large hand covers yours and wrestles free your phone. Your lip twitches. Fuck. You knew better. You're never going to be done with that boy and his bullshit.

"I know it wasn't this one who thought of getting the cops involved." The deep voice is as gritty as silt. It's not what you expect from those upstarts.

"Cops don't do nothing unless there's a reason," you shoot back.

The man scoffs.

"Eye for an eye." He growls.

You close your eyes and wait. You're not stupid. It won't just be you but even if you let that idiot keep messing with your sister, it wouldn't be any different.

"Kiza," the gun clicks and your peek between your lashes. You open your eyes all the way as he lowers the gun and heads for the couch. "You know, Jacob really liked you."

"And you went and snitched. Do wrong to one of mine and I'll pay you back in kind." The man bends and taunts her with the gun. You instinctively move closer. He just as quickly aims it back at you.

"So... you. Loving sister." He walks back to you. "Get on your knees."

You stare at him, face swimming with disgust and doubt.

"I'd rather die on my feet," you hiss.

He snorts. "You're not worth the clean up. Get the fuck down and take my cock out."

Your insides crawl with revulsion. You search his face. Bold blue eyes, chiseled jaw, long nose. He's much old than you and Kiza. Like as much as both of you together.

"Hell," he presses the barrel to your cheek and hooks his hand around your neck. "While you're down there. You can take your tits out too.

[quarterlifekitty]

I LOVE the mermaid AU!!! Anything more that you can feed us 🙏

lol based on popular demand

Johnny never felt like a man who belonged. He’s always been very strange. It’s part of why he fell for you and Simon so quickly. You were… otherworldly. Not constrained by the social laws that he felt chained by for much of his life— especially with him being a crown prince.

Soap is not so smooth at the best of times, and his shock makes him less so. Beach rocks tumble and skitter from his settling weight. Simon’s hackles raise dramatically from the slightest noise, his tentacles poised, the ones on your tail pulls you further beneath him, shielding you with his body. He spots the human eyes on him, and his own light up in recognition.

For the first time in a long time, he isn’t quite sure what to do. He settles. Decides that he’s willing to let things lie, he feels reasonably sure that the prince will make his escape after that display, and Simon will let him. But, for the first time in a long time, he’s wrong. He steps closer, his bare feet crunching against the sand quietly.

You can’t tell what’s going on, you can see almost nothing but Simon’s larger form caging you in. You can only guess he spotted a predator or another male.

Soap and Ghost keep eye contact the entire time. Ghost holds no animosity towards the human— in fact, he rather likes him— but he won’t have any trouble putting him down if he poses a risk to you or your bond consummation.

Johnny sits himself down in the sand, just a foot or two from Simon, who has a low and cautious growl in his chest.

“Go on,” the prince starts, and you perk up in recognition. “Let’s see ‘er then, big guy.”

“What makes you think I won’t kill you, human?”

“You woulda dunnit by now if that were the case, Si.” Hard to argue that. Simon isn’t really sure why he isn’t killing him, he’s gotten far too close to his mate in a vulnerable position, demanding to see her as if he has an authority in the matter.

You’re able to wriggle a bit, turning onto your side, propped up by an elbow. Soap can see your curious, dark eyes peeking at him. There’s little bioluminescent flecks in your irises, drowned by your blown out pupils.

“Hey there, you sweet bonnie thing. Missed ye, y’know. Must say, you’re a bit more wee than I remember… or maybe Si’s just more of a beastie?”

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave you (Pt. 79)

(Sneak peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: It's Hoseok's turn to breed you through your heat, but Namjoon won't let him have it easily.

Tags: Heat sex, knotting, group sex, Sub! m/c, Dom! Namjoon, Sub! Hobi, d/s, threesome, comparing knots, Cumplay, size kink, big dick Namjoon, womb fucking, belly bulge, slight inflation kink, breeding kink, clit torture if you squint, overstimulation, voyeurism, squirting, messiness kink, inspection kink, humiliation kink, implied cuckolding, very brief human furniture, implied puppy play, puppy space Hobi, collars, dominance displays, porn without plot,

W/c: 10.7k

A/n: ahhhhh here it is <3 the second part of last chapter that i split last minute <3 more filth but at least it's hobi filth <3 keep your eyes wide open on the ending! this one is a bit of a cliffhanger <3

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Namjoon leans down, pressing a kiss to your nape. Meanly pressing in further, harder. You are so hot inside, the heat fever tearing through you now that you have a little food in your stomach and more energy to burn. Warm and wet and tight. Your eyes roll back and Hobi can do nothing but watch.

But Namjoon's pace stutters. It's understandable. This is the 5th knot he’s given you in as many hours. It's sometime after mid-morning and it's been probably around 30 hours since he's slept at all. Namjoon's only human. Even the pack alpha can't last forever.

Hoseok's honestly a little surprised that Namjoon hasn't tapped out yet, that his knot isn't ready to fall off.

But Hoseok watches his pace falter and Hoseok's lip lifts. It's an instinct to growl. Namjoon spies it, hackles raising.

Alpha instincts are a peculiar thing.

“You think you could do better?” Namjoon taunts, a little playfully. Arms bulging as he holds himself up, trusting harder into you. Almost in retaliation. Hobi blushes and looks away, successfully chastised.

Hoseok shouldn't be intimidated, Namjoon might be the pack alpha, but Hobi has still seen him put his shoes on the wrong feet before and leave the house- too many times to count.

The growl comes out of his mouth before he thinks better about it.

Namjoon stops moving.

Hobi clamps a hand over his mouth in surprise and the snarl becomes a whine. “Yes! No! Maybe- I think I-.” Hobi hovers unsure, bashful at being caught snarling at the pack alpha. Across the nest Jin lifts his head, woken up by it, hair all fluffy.

Namjoon is not one to let this kind of thing slide especially not during a heat.

Namjoon slides out of you, long and hard and hot. You whimper. You don't like feeling empty. You try to push back on him but are stopped by a hand pressed blank your pussy, Namjoon's fingers brushing your hole, fucked open and messy. Gaping just a little and dripping a pretty spiderweb like strand of cum down onto the nest.

You whine. Loud and grating. Hoseok's instincts make him want to gnash his teeth. It sets him on edge. Across the nest, Yoongi turns, distracted from his task of trying to convince Jungkook to suck on a straw instead of trying to suck on his dick. Alarmed at the sound of your whine and the desperation in it.

“Alright alright, calm down,” Namjoon says, kind of laughing through it, kind of high. Namjoon is the picture of restraint- he's not a knothead. He's not like Hobi. He doesn't snarl and push and fight at another alpha challenging him- No.

Namjoon looks at Hobi, a mean glint in his eye. Namjoon can get a little scary when he's got something to prove, even scarier when he's got a job to do.

Your collar is there by the edge of the nest, taken out when Jimin put on his, black with a golden puppy tag, the twin to Hobi's red one. Your pink one is showing its wear. It's worn at the hole in the buckle, the one that fits you nice and loose. Perfect as a handhold.

Namjoon points and Hobi gets it before he's even registered that he's following a nonverbal order. Flushing as he takes off the bell and then tries to hand it over.

But Namjoon just eyes your throat expectantly.

Making one sub-collar another is- well-

Hobi's hands stutter, shaky with anticipation as he tries to fit it around your throat. It takes him several tries to get it latched properly. Namjoon’s cock twitches as Hobi looks up for his approval. You push into his hands, purring loudly. No longer displeased at not being filled if you can teeth at the scent gland on his wrist.

Namjoon pulls back and away from you. Heavy cock throbbing and pulsing dully. There is a bit of whiteness, leftover cum, that covers Namjoon’s cock. Milky at the tip and pink. your pussy lips are also red and a bit inflamed from the ceaseless friction of his balls flopping forward and hitting where you’re sensitive. namjoon pries you open with two fingers, showing hoseok that you’re already so wet on the inside, full of Yoongi and Jimin's and Tae’s cum not just Namjoon's.

But not Hobi's, not yet. Namjoon should fix that.

Namjoon lets you go and reaches for Hobi's collar and puts it on him with out a word. so deep down in alpha space that even his teasing goes quiet. He tests the give of the collar, pulling hoseok this way and that until he’s satisfied with it. Hoseok whines at being pushed around, tugged almost until he falls over, but he lets Namjoon do it. Obedient.

Namjoon pulls him over to where he sits behind you, almost between your legs.

Namjoon palms blatantly between your legs checking with a dimply smile to make sure Hobi's watching. You mewl. But Namjoon just grins at Hobi. His fingers still hooked in his collar.

You mewl loudly and Namjoon puts his fingers back where you want them. His words summoned at last. "Oh don't be a brat, alpha's right here pup."

Hoseok's cock twitches at being manhandled, especially when Namjoon slides that hand down Hobi's midline, feeling him up and Hoseok lets him. Hoseok would let Namjoon do anything. he doesn't even flinch or growl when Namjoon pushes his thigh apart and pushes down his boxers. Palming his cock, examining him. Wrapping his big hands around it and testing where his knot will form. where it's already half popped. Rubbing at the sensitive skin and slight bulge with talented fingers that have Hobi panting in seconds.

It gives Hobi no small amount of pride that his hand does not cover all of Hobi's cock. He's still sizable. Hoseok's scent fluffs out a little stronger at that.

Namjoon has one hand in you, hooked into your hole to soothe you, and the other wrapped around Hobi's cock. he has both of his pups, right where he wants them. He tugs at Hobi's cock once, twice.

“Show me then, show the pack alpha that you know to breed.”

Coming Saturday December 28th @ 5pm EST (time Zone Adjustments Below)