#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

[screamingviridianforest]

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!"

[saja-gaza01]

Hello🙋‍♀️

My name is Saja and I am 18 years old from Gaza City. I am married and have a one-year-old child. After more than a year and two months of war, we lost all our possessions, our homes and our lives. We are no longer able to work and everything here costs ten times its normal price. We cannot provide anything for our family. Please support my brother’s campaign to help me, my son and my family. Any amount you donate will save our family. Thank you.🙏🩷

[existentialgaybirdnerd]

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?

[laswells-ashtray]

Soap can outdrink Ghost and Gaz. No doubt.

He can match Price pretty well but more often than not he can outdrink Price.

He tries to outdrink Alejandro and Rudy once. Manages to outdo Alejandro. He blacks out and wakes up several hours later and Rudy is still drinking.

He tries to outdrink Nikolai one occasion that they dub the incident, never once does he even think about it because it's been months and he still gags at the smell of anything vaguely alcoholic.

But these instances lead him to his best plan yet, get Rudy and Nikolai in the same place for a night and see who can outdrink the other.

[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,,

[mihof]

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

[screamingviridianforest]

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.

[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.

[remiebear]

Silly cat icons pt 2!!!

[amazeingartist]

141 Warriors Cats!

inspired by scoots fic (go read it)