#cat Kyle Garrick

[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

[screamingforests]

Smth smth thinking about reader being an escaped shifter experiment, escaped from the US to hide in Britain

You try to act like a normal civilian, but the urge to shift is building to be intolerable. So why fight it? It's easier to live as a cat anyway, maybe someone could take you in.

What you didn't expect was for 4 giant, bulky, military men to find you. They'd found you in an alleyway near a fish restaurant, searching for scraps. The one wearing the weird mask had been the one to pick you up.

Then, the other 3 rushed over after hearing your yowling. The damn masked bastard had you scruffed!

"I found a cat."

Wow. Brilliant observation.

"Simon, it's a stray."

"I was a stray."

There was a snort, "C'mon Cap, it's kinda cute, isn't it?"

You hiss indignantly, you were not an it! The one with a mohawk reaches out to you, letting you sniff his fingers.

"We do not need a cat, Soap don't touch it. Who knows what it has."

"It's too clean to be a stray, ah doubt it's a stray. Give 'er here, LT."

The masked man hands you over, and you're quick to scramble onto the mohawk man's shoulder, wrapping around his neck. You growl a little in your displeasure, but don't swat.

"See! Docile, little thing, aren't ya!"

[lologoinsolo]

Added after this one, Part 3, Part 4

Cats and Their Men Masterlist

You stammer at the man as he holds what looks to be a calico. His face looks worse for wear despite how handsome he is. Cut lip and cheek that look as though maybe the cause is from the one wiggling in his hands. “Sir, the uh,” you look down at your phone for the time. “The stores about to close.” You look from him to the kitten and then back to him.

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m sorry. Really, I am but I’ve no idea what I’m doing.” He rubs at the baby’s head and she nips right at his finger. He groans, “why are you so mean? You were all cuddly in my lap and now you’re being hissy.”

You laugh a little at his lament and rub your own face. “Alright,” you can’t very well leave him like this. You’re sure the kitten would be more than happy to chew on something better than the man’s finger. “Come on,” you motion for him to follow. You don’t bother to page for someone to cover the front. The store’s about to close in 2 minutes anyways. “I’ll get you started, sir.”

“Kyle,” he grins when you quirk a brow, “just Kyle, none of that ‘sir’ business or else I’ll feel far older than I actually am.” He rests his kitten against his chest when she starts wiggling even more. “Curious little bugger, found her shivering at my front door.” There’s a glint in his eye as he retells his findings, “she didn’t even notice me grabbing her till I picked her up and look what she did to my face.” He says with dramatic flare when he holds her up to his eye view. The kitten merely blinks at him and her paws prod his nose.

You pull a cart since you have a feeling he’ll need a lot of things. He doesn’t give off ‘I already have a cat’ energy. “Serves you right for spooking her.” You joke about his woes when he gives you a playful glare.

“You’re only siding with her because she didn’t mark up your pretty face.”

You cough at that and push the cart more quickly down the aisle. You can handle getting yelled and cussed at but god forbid a handsome man says you’re pretty. “So,” you manage to say when he gives you a dazzling smile. He caught up quickly to your step and looks neither winded or strained. Why are all the tall men getting kittens? You inwardly roll your eyes, “you said a friend told you to find me?”

His brow raises slightly and he maneuvers his kitten to be more in his arms. “Yeah,” he simply says, “says you know a thing or two about cats.”

“Did he..” you look a bit hopeful, “did he say if he’d come back to the store.” Picking up some cat toys and placing some cute orange cat shaped bowls in the cart. “He uh, he left in a hurry last I saw.” You give a quick reasoning so as not to feel as desperate as you sound. You still feel the phantom touch of his hand. You never got his name…

“Can’t really tell,” he shrugs and he plucks some crinkle toys and tosses them in the cart. He doesn’t seem to care about pricing either. “Man’s unreadable unless you tell him a stupid joke.” There’s a short chuckle and flash of a memory that goes through his eyes.

You deflate a little, it wouldn’t make sense to feel like this. You don’t know mafia guy anyways. “Ah, well. If you see him, tell him he needs to take his cat to the vet.” Kyle nods and he perks up when he sees the cat clothing.

“When you get older, rug, I’m gonna buy you one of these.” He points to a cut pirate costume as if the kitten understands him. “You’ll hate me for it but at least I can get a picture out of it, yeah?”

You smile at his enthusiasm, from what you seem cats have never been a fan of clothing… but then again the clothing here doesn’t look— “wait,” you jerk your head to him, “rug? As in,” you gesture to the kitten that’s starting to meow when he pulls her back down from his shoulders. She must’ve climbed up there when he was looking through the clothes. “The cat?” You blink once then twice when he shrugs once more.

“Not really a naming guy, plus,” he rubs along her ears, “she was shivering on my rug. Figured I’d just say that and be done with it.”

Better than garbage, you think. “Well…” biting on your lip, “that’s unique.” Trying to save face, you don’t want to be too judgmental.

He gives you a look and then snickers, “I’m just kidding, love.” He comes close and you freeze slightly till he plops his kitten down in your hands. “About the rug name at least. I really am shit with names. Johnny’s better at naming animals.” Placing his hand on his hip and you wonder if that’s mafia guy but then you think maybe not. “If you got an idea then I’m all ears.” He turns on his side and he rubs his chin in thought. He mutters something and then walks off to the litter aisle.

You hold her in your hands. “A name, huh?” Bailey was the only name you could think of but that one’s been taken already… “hm,” you rub her nose to the top of her head. She seems to enjoy that as she curls into your fingers. “Pretty girl, what should your name be?” Humming softly in thought and leaning against the cart when Kyle comes back with a tub of litter and a nice looking litter box. You hadn’t expected to see the nice flex of muscle from his arms but you’re certainly not gonna complain about the view. “I got a secret to share, Kyle.” You say as he comes within earshot

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles and places the litter box in the cart first and then the tub. “What’s that? Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He makes an X over his chest.

“I’m shit with names too.”

His shoulders jump and he lets out a laugh. “Really?” Rolling his eyes, “guess we’re both in a pickle. Might have to stick with rug for now.” He rubs a thumb over his kitten's little head. She nips a little at his finger but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pats the top of her head like one would a dog.

“I think she hates that idea.”

“Very opinionated this one,” he takes over the pushing of the cart and you lead him down to the cat food aisle. You check her teeth and you are pleasantly happy that she won’t need formula. “Now,” he turns side to side to check the kinds of food the store sells. “What does my girl need?”

You give him a thorough answer after having learned your lesson with your mystery man. Explaining what he should and shouldn’t do and placing a weeks worth of 3 different foods. You then also speak about how he’ll need to see a vet. You checked her for fleas and you are incredibly happy to tell him that she only had one but that it’s still good for him to get some flea drops. After you give him the runaround once more around the store, checking for items you know she won’t need but she absolutely needs a carrot cat scratcher. You finally take him to your register so he can pay. Your manager looks none too happy about a remaining customer but your manager has nothing to remark when Kyle looks right at him.

“Okay,” you finally say after bagging all his items and placing them in the cart. “Here’s your receipt,” you pass it to him and you give a little pet to his kitten. “Sweet girl when she wants to be.” He chuckles around you and pockets his receipt.

“Only when she wants to, that’s for sure.” He lets out a low whistle, “cost me a high bill but only the best for her.” He tucks her a little closer and gives you a kind look. “Thanks for staying late for me,” he looks like he wants to say more but hesitates. “I’ll see you around?”

You blink and then nod quickly, “I’m always here, Kyle. Gotta make money,” you laugh shortly and his lips pull back so that you can see just a peep of his pearly whites. He takes his leave, chugging along his cart to place it in his car. He mouths something to his kitten when she tries to get out of his hands. Probably a scolding with how he tuts a finger side to side in front of her face. She’s hearing none of it though from how her tail flicks back and forth. You wave him goodbye and he waves back right at you before he steps in to drive away. You hope he’ll come back to tell you her name once he’s figured it out. You wonder if mafia guy will come back too…

[gaybirdnerd]

Soap and Gaz: *Ribbing Ghost about some of his habits such as picking apart pre-made sandwiches to rearrange them or when he hears something unexpected and goes so completely still you'd think he's a statue*

Ghost: "At least I didn't have a werewolf phase"

Soap: *Genuinely scared for his life cause he was 13 when that happened so how THE FUCK did Ghost know that?* "WHAT?"

Gaz, also had a werewolf phase at 13: *stunned and doesn't know how to talk*

Price: *so only Ghost will hear* "at least I'm not dancing around my feelings with my subordinate"

Ghost, ready to murder: "I will end you and your ability to speak Russian"

Price: *backs away*

[remiebear]

Kitty meow meow cat meow meow wow

[the-californicationist]

What would your fave position to be in with the 141, either individually or together... asking for a friend... <3

Mmm. Well. If it were me, personally?

(NSFW/MDNI under cut)

For Gaz, it’s gonna have to be big spoon little spoon. He’d be making us both late for work every morning, turning my hips just right so that he could slip his heavy morning wood inside. He’d start off so soft and gentle, but by the time he was stuffing himself down to the root of his huge cock, I’d wake up, feeling the wetness he’d been busy creating, nearly choking from how full I feel. My body would be rocking back and forth as he had his way with me. And when I chastise him for making me miss the train? Just placating little excuses murmured between kisses — “I’m already workin’, babes. Can’t ya feel your man? Hard at work…”

For Ghost, it’s the cowgirl to lotus to missionary pipeline. He’d start off flat on his back, demanding some face sitting or a sixty-nine situation. Then, he’d stick me right on top, egging me on — “Lemme see those fuckin’ tits bounce, love. Good girl.” Then, he’d get too bothered, unable to hold back, too hungry, too much of a control freak. So he’d sit up, wrapping his legs behind me, moving my hips with his hands and grinding me into a shaking trembling mess. Finally, when I could barely remember my own name, he’d press forward, pinning me on my back, arching over me like a shield, telling me — “Shh, shh. Tha’s alright, love. You don’t need to fuckin’ talk. Suck on my fingers like it’s my prick, yeah? Tha’s it… all the way in, there ya go.”

For Soap, it has to be legs-over-shoulders. That big Scottish cock is curved and I will be taking no notes! None. It’s bent at a cruel angle and perfectly shaped to drag his ruddy head right across my g-spot with every stroke. He’d love to press my thighs to my chest, going deeper or harder, his hands staying busy with my clit or my nipples or my mouth, always finding new buttons to push. He’d especially enjoy ripping mind-breaking orgasms from me, shoving my vibrator against my clit as he fucked me, teasing me with it and saying shit like — “Is she gonnae come again for me, bonnie? I ken there’s one more in her, and I willnae stop until I have it…”

And for my darling captain, John Price, it’s nothing but straight-up, bone-shaking, soul-rattling doggy. After a long hard day of dealing with unimaginable bullshit? I’m on all fours in the fucking foyer, face pressed into the hardwood, pussy spread open like a cheap whore, stuffed full of cock. When he sees me in that tight pair of jeans that he likes a little too much? There I am, shirt raked down below my breasts, back arching as I’m bent over the kitchen counter, his meaty palm wrapped around my neck, bruising my hips with how hard he’s rutting into me from behind. In the middle of the night, his fat prick drooling and heavy, swaying between his huge thighs? He’ll fist my hair in one hand and grope my ass with the other as he breeds me, snarling into my ear, “Filthy fuckin’ slag. Whose cunt is this? Hmm? Nuh-uh. Say my real name…” And he won’t come until I call him Daddy.

But all together? Preferably a perfect seal: Price and Soap fighting to fit inside my pussy, Gaz stuffing himself deep in my ass, and Ghost filling up my throat!

What about you, anon?? Got any favorites?

[dansedesdragons]

“𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃”

➤ || you text some cod men to introduce them to your children. spoiler alert: you like animals.

꩜ || w. john price, johnny "soap" mactavish, simon "ghost riley, kyle "gaz" garrick, alex keller.

☠ || tw. cat and wine. i won't elaborate further. my first smau and since English is not my native language i hope it's will be ok ( ᐛ )و

‣ notes : i will probably do a part two even if i would like to find other ideas. if you have any, my box is open!

[ghcstao3]

more cat shifter!ghost because that is my roman empire actually. it’s been months but idc

- soap who says biiig stretch whenever ghost gets up from a cat nap and ghost immediately going to stick his claws in whatever part of soap he reaches first because of it. soap never learns.

- since no one beyond the 141 knows ghost is a cat shifter, they’ll all tote the lieutenant around like a scarf when he decides to wrap himself around someone’s shoulders and outsiders are none the wiser to the cat being the big, bad ghost

- soap has a photo album on his phone dedicated solely to pictures he’s taken when ghost was loafing in cat form

- price thinks he’s funny for keeping around a bag of temptations treats to shake when he needs ghost for something

- gaz has a scar on his hand from the time soap dared him to put a collar on ghost and ghost bit him hard. it took a week after that before ghost was speaking to either of the sergeants again

- ghost will more often than not take his naps/seclude himself in soap’s room as a cat rather than his own for “reasons unknown”

- (the scent of soap is comforting to him and is stronger to ghost’s feline form)

- ghost is always slow-blinking at soap but only when the sergeant isn’t looking

[gomzdrawfr]

Kitty soap rubbing himself on everyones legs leaving fur behind on their pants?

another menace joined the chat

affectionate lil kitty

Also kitty!Soap almost never leaves Ghost so expect to see his fur on Ghost 24/7

[temeyes]

Tell Gaz and Price I said pspspspspspspsppsp

and just like cats, they look at you with a perturbed expression,,

[mihodm]

I haven't found a suitable Gaz cat, so here you go...

[screamingforests]

Cat shifter reader au

The sick chapter, uhhh reader is referred to as "it" but its not meant to be dehumanizing, im just tryna keep it gender neutral

~

You had caught the flu. And it sucked. Being sick as a cat was 100% harder, especially because the experiments ran on you left your immune system weaker than usual. Usually, you would hide beneath a dumpster and ride out the worst of it or hide in your tiny apartment that you barely lived in.

But now you couldn't do either. You were trapped within the house of the four men who had all but abducted you.

You'd been hiding beneath Soap's - or Johnny as "Ghost" called him - bed. He was, surprisingly, the least touchy with you. It was something you appreciated after living so long alone.

Johnny, Soap, whatever, had heard you sniffling late into the night and heard you heaving the next morning. When he couldn't coax you from beneath the bed for even water, he got concerned.

So he left the room to round up the others.

"I think the cat's sick."

"Can't we just take it to the vet?" John asked. "They can give meds for it, can't they?"

Ghost chimes in, "that wouldn't be an awful idea except-"

"It bites us every time we get too close," Gaz finishes, nodding. "What about using a towel to grab it?"

Soap sputters at that and it delves.

Meanwhile, you were almost crying beneath the bed. You were shifting rapidly from human to cat form because neither form could take the sickness. The rapid shifting sapped what little energy you had left.

You could hardly stop the soft, pained meow that left your throat. Every movement made your body ached and for once, you wanted to ride it out in your human form but you couldn't.

Not with the military men outside the door, still arguing about taking you to the vet or not. Who knew if they'd turn you into the government to be returned?

The thought made you shudder.

Finally, the arguing dies down, and the door opens. There's a shuffle of feet, but you're fading in and out of consciousness.

You hiss softly as you see several items get pushed underneath the bed. A cat bed, when did they get that?, and a bowl of water. Some soft cat-food soon followed.

Then Ghost gets on the floor and peers under the bed to look at you.

"You better get well, cat, you're worrying Johnny."

You growl but move to curl up on the softer cat bed. It was better than the cold floor.

~

The next morning, you awake to being shuffled around. Someone was pulling on the cat bed, but you were far too fever addled to care. You should've.

Before you know it, Gaz is lifting you up and setting you on the bed.

You sneeze and look around blearily, something feels off.

You shifted back into your human form while asleep.

The shock of it makes you shift back and scramble towards the open window. Gaz isn't quite fast enough to stop you. Fear pushes you further.

But you're too sick to really go far, but you find a decent hiding place. You practically collapse into it as your consciousness is stolen from you.

[lologoinsolo]

Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Cats and Their Men Masterlist.

“Sir, I’m telling you.” You sit up a little more, “you cannot get a rabies shot from the vet.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing but also, you can believe it. “If you are worried that you have rabies then you need to go to the doctor.” You’ve repeated this so much that the man finally leaves in a huff. Well not before cussing you out for being a bitch to him. “Not shopping here anymore, my ass.” Mocking how he yelled that out before he left the store.

You take a breather when you start to get worked up. Rubbing your face like one would a cat, the smock you’re wearing is slightly wet and it’s making your skin prickle. You managed to get Jessica to let you start bathing two days ago. You figured it would be easier than working the register up front. Boy… were you wrong. The dogs are great, usually, but the pet owners or “Pet Parents” as the groomers say are not great, mostly.

Your eyes flicker over to the computer, you were making a ton of cold call to entice people to take their dogs in for bath or haircut when that guy was very insistent about needing to a rabies shot. “Can’t believe this—“ you start off but something catches your eyes. A man with a beard and a dark blue beanie is walking by holding some kitten salmon bags. A cat is walking right behind him. “Uh, sir!”

You stand up and come around to greet him. He must not’ve heard you with how he still walks. “Sir!” You yell a little louder and he pauses, turns around and looks at you. “Your cat,” you point down to the cat that’s now licking their toe beans. “They need to be leashed or in a kennel. They can’t be walking around.” It’s not safe, especially with other animals. The cat could get lost or worse! You start walking towards him, you plan on offering to help at least hold his cat for him.

He looks where you pointed and then looks at you coming up to him. “That’s not mine.”

You blink at him, your hands start to land on your hip. You’ve heard a lot of dumb things today but this is taking the cake. “Really?” You squint at him when the cat starts to rub at the man’s leg. “Sir, I understand that they are doing well by staying by you but it’s not safe—“

“Miss,” he cuts you off, he moves the kitten food to one arm, “I don’t have a cat.” He leans a little on his side, his chin tucks to his chest. There’s a spark of amusement in his deep blue eyes.

You can’t believe this. He’s holding kitten food in his hands, granted that cat isn’t a kitten but still! You take a deep breath, your patience has been running from you and you try to catch it once more. “Sir, the cat—“ just as you’re about your speech a man starts running up in your peripheral.

“Ah, there you are, love!” A familiar sound comes from the side, a dashing smile as always and slightly messed up face. “Was wondering if I’d catch you again— Sir?” Kyle turns from you and then looks slightly shocked. They know each other? “What are you?” He trails off when he sees the bag, “Oh, you’re cat sitting, I thought Johnny was gonna cat sit Bailey?” His arms cross a little, the puzzled look on his face brightens when he spots the cat doing a figure eight around the bearded man’s legs.

The man’s lips thin into a line, “Johnny’s needed, he had to head out.” Sadly, he ignores the cats affection, and then the older man looks from you to Kyle and then back to you. Something must’ve clicked in his head as his heavy brows lift just the slightest “I don’t have a cat, Miss,” he says to you, “bloke probably followed me in.” Kyle comes close and crouches, squatting right in front of the man. The cat perks up and nudges right against Kyle’s waiting hand.

“Looks like you, sir.” And the cat kinda does, there’s matching brown on the cats face, almost like a beard, and deep blue eyes, same as the man’s. “Just missing a cigar and fishing hat. Or beanie.”

“Garrick.” The older man’s voice is tight and looks on the edge of sounding like authority.

“Sir?” Kyle seems either none the wiser or is purposefully playing ignorant. He looks up with a grin, “it's fate, that’s your cat now.” He laughs and the older man looks none too happy. “Cat distribution center is at it again. Johnny will not be pleased one bit.”

“I don’t want the cat.” He looks to you and you shake your head side to side, same for your hands as you shake them in front of you.

“Sir, we can’t hold animals here.”

The man sighs long suffering like and Kyle laughs a little louder. “Face it, John,” he moves his hand down the cats back, who is now purring up a storm at all the loving, “he’s yours,” he lifts the cat's leg slightly to see the gender and the cat must think Kyle’s playing. He lets out a little noise and proceeds to curl and grip Kyle’s hand. Bunny kicking and licking at Kyle’s fingers. “Playful little guy.” Wiggling his hands some more and the cat pounces.

John, now that you know his name it’s rather suiting for him, tilts his head back with a sigh. The dark blue beanie he’s wearing scrunches slightly at the top. He mutters something under his breath about needing a smoke. Kyle continues playing with the cat and you wonder if that’s how he’s gotten more cuts on his hands and face. His kitty probably plays too roughly.

But, what are the odds that 3 men are back to back finding cats? You laugh a little and John tilts his head down towards you. Your laughter does and give him a sheepish smile, “don’t laugh now, sweetheart. You’re gonna help me with him.” His beard moves slightly as he looks none too happy. His cat really does look a little like him. Grumpy. You look to the empty grooming salon and then back at the two. Kyle has long since stood with the cat now up in his arms.

“Wonder if he’s old,” Kyle muses as he stands beside you, you in the middle of the two walls of man and muscle. “Would be a real match, eh, John?” The little nudge at age merely makes the older gent huff a laugh.

“Don’t test me, Garrick.” There’s no real bite in his words save for the twinkle in his eyes. You excuse yourself to go grab a cart for the two men, the grooming salon is as empty as can be. Jess can handle it, you think with a shrug as you walk on back. Pushing the cart and when you get close, you hear that they’re discussing names. Well, Kyle is at least.

“Could call him John Jr.” he holds up the cat a little, “beard boy, cigar, wonderer.” His names get worse and worse and you finally step in with a—

“How about Louis?” Both men look at you and you shuffle under their gaze, “that’s an old man name. I don’t really think the cat’s old though. Maybe 3 or 4 years old?”

There’s a little pause and you wonder if you should have went back to the grooming salon. “Old man name, huh?” John places the salmon kitten bag in the cart and quirks a brow to you. Kyle plops the cat down in the cart and already he’s off to sniffing the contents. “Just looks old, got a good amount of years left on him though. Ain’t that right, boy?” He moves his hand slowly to the cat. Louis purrs deeply and rubs right against his dad’s hand. Kyle says something, probably a tease, but you’re too entranced at what you see. A man that oozes strict authority, is being incredibly gentle in petting.

You really do need to work on your judgement. “Speaking of names,” you cough slightly, looking to Kyle whose’s already grabbing a nice looking cat bed. 2 to exact, his cat is definitely spoiled, “What’d you name your girl after all?”

“Oh, yeah, that…” He gives a small smile making your brows turn up. You think the worst, you really hope he didn’t give her away but you don’t know his circumstance or his home life. Just before you spiral he speaks, “don’t laugh, but her name is Marina.” You breathe a sigh of relief you didn’t know your were holding in. But you start to look downright puzzled at why he think you’d laugh. “She’s,” Kyle starts, he seems a little squirmy now, “she’s named after that lady on Sinbad… you know… the one with Eris in it and Sinbad had to—“ it starts to click.

“Oh!” Your noise alerts Louis who was making biscuits on one of the beds, “I remember that movie. Very regal sounding and I think it’s very fitting considering Marina was a bit sassy.” You loved her character in that movie. “She’ll look even cuter in that pirate costume with a name like that.”

“Thank you,” he sighs in relief, “Johnny thought it was dumb. Wanted to name her Rugrat,” he scowls, “course he was taking a piss but still.”

“Well,” you pull a face at that, “this Johnny has no idea what he’s talking about. I thought you said he was good with names?”

John’s eyes squint as he scoffs. “He can’t name shit.” He’s heard all the stupid names that the Scot has given his bombs. Cannot hear about another ‘BoomBoom’ or ‘Bigbooming’ without wanting to roll his eyes. Hard.

You laugh at this Johnny’s expense. You have a feeling that with the way this has been going… you’ll probably meet him sooner rather than later. It’s a real small world that the men you’re talking to also happens to be friend. Weird coincidences…

You end up joking back and forth with Kyle the entire time you take them around the store. Kyle’s been picking up more things for his baby and Louis is snoozing on the cat bed like the “old man” that he is. You give John the full rundown just like the two men before. He takes in your information like you’re giving him instructions on how to build a ship, very laser focused. Every time you looked away he’d follow you to keep eye contact. Your cheeks have never been warmer…

Eventually you get them both back to the grooming salon. Rather than making them go up front you use the register here to start scanning their items. Even slid them some coupons and discounts much to John’s strong disagreement. You bagged all their items and passed them both their receipts, giving Louis one last rubbing that wakes the old grump up. You quietly apologized for your transgressions and wave at the men once they take their leave. John gives a nod but Kyle waves back, you barely catch what Kyle says as they start walking away.

“…m’s gonna be back this week or next, sir?”

“This week, Gaz. Now help me load my truck.”

“Yes, sir. Johnny is gonna be livid that you have a cat now.”

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Miss V. Plz elaborate on the nursery school thing! What happened to us? Like the public needs to know T~T

-🍡

This got away from me. But there's a hint of what that is in this story. Enjoy Dango.

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆Pink Milk⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

✧*̥˚ 18+mdni *̥˚✧

✧*̥˚ Master List *̥˚✧

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ series will contain the following kinks. Objectification. Somnophilia. Pet play (this is a hybrid!au). Dacryphila. Spanking. Orgasm control/denial. Exhibitionism. Mixopilia. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Summary: Kyle reads through your history file to see what he can reward and spoil you with. Somehow, he ends up comforting you.

'*•.¸♡ Strawberry Cake 🍰 ♡¸.•*'

Kyle was really at a loss. He had you for all of three weeks now, and he's had to spank you and then deny you an orgasm at least three or four times a week. He was following the instructions that came with you, read them until he had it memorized. He spoke with Simon about his issues with you getting acclimated to the rules around his house. The man had tilted his head to the side and pulled a tennis ball from his pocket, and held it up.

"Watch." He simply said. "Soap."

Soap had looked up from the comic he was reading, and his ears tipped forward. Bright blue eyes excited at the sight of the ball, tail wagging just a bit, and his comic easily forgotten. "Ball!"

"Sit rep on your day and duties." Simon tossed the ball up and caught it.

Quickly, Soap got to his feet and stood at attention. He listed off all of the things he accomplished for the day, followed by things he had left to do after his break. The entire time he spoke, his eyes followed the ball religiously. When he was done, Simon tossed the ball out of the rec room, and it bounced down the hallway. Soap wasted no time chasing after it yapping the word "ball" repeatedly in an excited howl.

"He finished a good portion of his tasks. So he gets to be rewarded." He crossed his arms and listened to the barking in the hallway. Soon Soap came back with the ball, tail wagging so much he's practically vibrating. Simon takes the ball and tosses it again, sending the pup into overdrive to try and catch it midair.

Kyle hums and nods his head, "Maybe I should do that."

The security system chimed, saying that the garage door was opened. The familiar sound of Kyle's boots echoed in the mudroom. As always, you make no move to get up and greet him. You give the room a cursory glance and note that everything is cleaned and put away. The last thing you want is another spanking and whatever the hell it was that he did after the spanking. You scowl at the thought of that ruined orgasm, never in your actual days have you suffered that type of frustration.

You were lying on the couch watching the silly little nature program that Kyle left on for you. The soothing drawl of the documentary narrator was soothing in a mocking way. The words went in one ear and out the other as the voice went on about how wild hybrids were solitary and a rare sight in the wild. You, of course, thought it was absolutely bull shit. Your mother was a wild hybrid, and she was often trailing behind her older sisters and brother out in the grasslands. She had told you and your siblings that staying together in a group was safer and in her words 'more fun to mess with humans in a group'.

"Pretty Kitty." He calls out to you, "I've got a surprise for you." He enters the room and nods approvingly at the clean state of the house. The last few weeks, you had been on your worst behavior with destroying the house. Each time, it ended with a spanking, and the thing that came came after a spanking. He held up a pink paper bag that had a cute little symbol on it in gray. "Come on, up up."

He nudged you out of your comfortable indent on the couch, ignoring the hissing. You're ushered into the kitchen, and he points for you to sit in your normal spot. You still haven't said two words to him, and even though you hate to admit it, you're quite curious as to what's in the pink bag and why he is smiling so wide.

"My pretty kitty." He sets your designated plate and cutlery down in front of you and then rummages through the bag. "You've been good the past three days, and I thought you could use a treat for the good behavior." He pulls out a round cake that's decorated in strawberries. "It said in your file that you enjoyed strawberry treats."

You watch in horror as he cuts the cake and serves you a slice. You can hear your sister in the back of your mind screaming and crying. She doesn't want to leave nursery school and go to where they are taking her. The phantom scratch of her nails clawing at you, desperate to hold onto anything. The table you, her, and your brother are sitting at, gets knocked over. You can see the scene of the various strawberry themed treats on the floor in your mind's eye.

It's graduation day all over again.

The plate and cake are on the floor before Kyle can process anything. You're hissing and glaring at him. Whatever rational thoughts you have are snuffed out, and you're darting for the nearest exit. If you run fast enough, if you're quick enough, they can't catch you. It's faint, but you can hear Kyle calling for you. His footsteps close behind you as you desperately try to fiddle with the front door locks. You're hoisted up into his arms, and you hiss and claw at him.

"Put me down!" You flatten your ears down and bare your fangs at him.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" He moves you away from the door and to the front room. He's calm, but on the inside, he's freaking out because of how hysterical you are. He's seen this before, in some of the soldiers that are under review for cptsd. This type of reaction he wasn't even sure that hybrids could have. "Please, my dearest kitty, come back to me." He sits down on the couch and holds your struggling body close. Gently, he grabs your chin and makes you look at him. It's a risk, really, but he presses his forehead against yours, so all you can see is him.

It takes a moment, but you do calm down enough to follow the deep breaths that he does. The kitten in you remembers this from the very first two weeks of nursery school. The teachers would hold you still and help you breathe through the fits as they called them. They always said that no owner wanted a nervous kitty. It wasn't an attractive trait to have amongst other undesirable habits. People wanted hybrids that were happy, useful, and pretty to look at. They wanted calm and obedient hybrids, for kitties, that meant calm, regal, sweet, and ready to please.

Your mind slowly comes to a hault, the flight or fight response settled, and you lean into your owner. He's comfortable like this is the first thought in your head. He's steady and warm, and it's the same feeling you've gotten from your mom before your first day at nursery school.

"There, there, my sweet kitty." His voice is low and smooth. He rubs circles on your back, and you find it nice. The part of you that fi ds it nice must be the domesticated half of you, because if you had your right mind, you'd never. "What spooked you?"

You don't answer at first and instead choose to sit up and frown at him. "I don't like strawberry cakes." You finally settle on that as the answer. He raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing you. You do t care and roll your eyes. "Am I in trouble for the mess?"

Kyle observes you for a moment, concern etched into his pretty face. He places his forehead back to yours, "I didn't mean to spook you my darling bonbon."

The laugh you let out is sudden at the new name he has called you. Incredulous, "Do I look like a damn bonbon? That's a ragdoll name."

The smile he gives you is endearing, "Wasn't aware that there were certain names that belonged to certain breeds."

"Ragdolls like those types of names. Stick to the few insulting ones you call me." You gripe.

"You find what I call you insulting?"

"No wild animal wants to be called sweet kitty or princess, or have the word my in front of what they are called." The snark in your voice makes him chuckle, and he presses a quick kiss to your forehead. Naturally, you balk at the action, but you don't hiss at him.

"You're still my pretty kitty, my darling Poppi poppet." He teases you and rubs his nose against yours. "If you don't want the cake, what can I give you as a treat?"

"Anything but cake." You sigh. "I prefer cold drinks and ice cream. Maybe strawberry still, my last owner didn't beat that preference out of me." It's meant to be a joke, but Kyle doesn't read it that way.

He chooses to ignore that sentence, "Well, let's see if there's ice cream in the fridge. You still need a reward for your good behavior." He places you on the couch and gets up to clean the mess in the kitchen and to grab you ice cream.

You follow him into the kitchen and help him.

Tag list: @gazsluckyhat @unclearblur @lilahs-lily

[remiebear]

Silly cat icons pt 2!!!

[joliejoles]

11 and an half hour and 39 cats later...

I present to you COD cats!!

And extra !!

And old Alejandro design I had to redo cause I wasn't satisfied

(yapping ahead...)

Just felt like doodling cats and then it went to doodling the 141 and then to, well, all these.

I just designed for fun, mostly based on vibes or human designs, while trying to add some spice and what not. Realistic fur patterns and genetics and stuff?? Don't know em.

Besides Alejandro just fits a Doberman better than a cat, hence.. dobercat.