#feral behavior

[harrowharksboner]

most insane shot in the entire series. caitlyn’s arms locked around vi like she’s claiming her soul, vi shoving her back like shes possessed and yet the kiss didn't even budge, not even a fraction. oh they were starving. this is the type of greed they talked about in the bible

[lettres-oubliees]

🦇༉‧₊˚ Pairing: Vampire!Macklin Celebrini x Reader.

🩸༉‧₊˚ Summary: The SAP Center is usually noisy, but the heavy silence of the late-night post-practice now dominated the arena. You were the only marketing intern left in the building, tasked with delivering a last-minute schedule to Macklin. However, Macklin Celebrini seems to prefer the darkness for reasons that go far beyond dedication to the sport.

🏒༉‧₊˚ Warnings: Mildly suggestive tension, vampiric elements (biting/neck contact), and physical proximity.

( >ᵥ_ᵥ< ) ༉‧₊˚ The weather in San Jose had cooled down, but the air inside the empty arena felt even colder, silence fell over the SAP Center. The atmosphere after the evening practice was heavy, saturated with the smell of melting ice and sweat. As an intern on the marketing team, your job usually involved gathering content for social media, but today, at the communications director's request, you needed to deliver a last-minute interview schedule for Macklin.

The hallway was silent. Most of the players had already left, but the light from the locker room still glowed beneath the door. You knew it was Macklin, he seemed to prefer the night shift, away from any ray of sunlight. You knocked softly before entering.

Macklin was sitting on the bench, still in his uniform pants but shirtless. What struck you first wasn't his athletic physique, although that was impossible to ignore, but rather the sheer intensity of his posture. He seemed distant, with an expression that was hauntingly dual, something predatory lurked in his focus, a tension that contrasted with a deep, almost palpable melancholy that seemed to emanate from his silence.

"Mack?" His name escaped in a whisper, your voice coming out more shaky and low than you intended. When his eyes finally met yours, you felt the air leave your lungs.

"You shouldn't be here at this hour." His voice sounded huskier than usual, carrying that Canadian accent that now felt deeper; a rugged, low-pitched draw. "I just... I needed to give you this." you replied, your voice faltering slightly. "The schedule for tomorrow." You stepped closer, extending the paper toward him. The moment he reached out to take it, his fingertips, cold as a winter frost, brushed against yours. The thermal shock was instant, but it wasn't the cold that made you shiver, it was the jolt of electricity that surged straight down your spine.

Macklin didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he gave a firm tug, forcing you to breach his personal space. At this range, his scent enveloped you, a blend of oak and the biting chill of winter. There was also a lingering metallic edge to him, something that wavered dangerously between the scent of the arena’s ice and the copper tang of fresh blood.

"You’re nervous," he observed. His lips curled into a restrained smile, revealing the glint of canines subtly sharper than any human's. "I can hear your heart. The rhythm is racing... I can hear it hammering against your chest."

He stood up with deliberate slowness. Macklin smoothly pinned you against the lockers. His free hand glided up your arm, leaving a trail of chilling heat in its wake, stopping only when his fingers cradled your face. His thumb traced the contour of your lower lip with sheer possessiveness, his eyes watched your lips with raw need.

( >ᵥ_ᵥ< ) ༉‧₊˚ "It's becoming impossible to stay focused on hockey when your perfume is the only thing that awakens my... thirst." Macklin leaned in with a predatory slowness, the tip of his nose brushing your earlobe before tracing a deliberate path along the curve of your neck. The moment his tongue met your skin, the contrast was striking, your living warmth against the ice-cold caress of his touch. "You smell so divine." he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the exact spot that made your knees go weak.

He pressed his body against yours, and you felt the superhuman strength coiled within his muscles. For an instant, the pressure of his lips on your neck grew firmer, almost a suction, and an involuntary moan escaped you. Macklin stopped, taking a deep breath against your skin, fighting the primal instinct to sink his teeth in. He pulled back just enough to look deep into your eyes, his pupils blown wide.

Your body went soft as you molded yourself against his, your hands sliding up Macklin’s bare chest, feeling the rigid muscle beneath skin that seemed to burn under your touch. He let out a low growl, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest, and pinned you harder against the metal. His hips locked into yours with a possessive firmness that stole the breath from your lungs, eliminating any remaining space and making it dangerously clear just how much his appetite was consuming him.

He leaned in, sealing the distance between your lips in a kiss that was the opposite of what you expected. It wasn’t cold; it was an explosion of pure need. There was a desperate urgency in the way he took you, the taste of metal flooded your senses, and your hands shot up instinctively to his shoulders, gripping his bare, cool skin in a frantic search for balance. His tongue explored yours with a famished hunger, and for a fleeting second, you felt the sharp edge of his fangs graze against your tongue.

His hands, large and steady, slid down from your back to your waist, squeezing the flesh there with force. Macklin lifted you effortlessly, your feet losing contact with the ground, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. The sudden contact between the thin fabric of your clothes and his bare skin pulled a shaky sigh from your lips.

Macklin returned to your neck, and you felt the pressure of his fangs scraping your sensitive skin. Your pulse throbbed frantically there, his lips and tongue worked with a voracity that made you arch your back. As he sucked the soft skin just below, one of his hands slid up under your shirt. "Mack..." the plea escaped your lips.

You buried your fingers in his damp hair, pulling him closer as you felt the weight and heat of his body against yours. The silence of the locker room was now filled only by the heavy breathing of you both and the muffled creak of metal under pressure. Macklin let out a low growl against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck, without quite breaking the flesh. "The schedule will have to wait." he murmured, his voice husky, before seeking your mouth again with hunger.

The lights of the SAP Center could have gone out completely, but inside that locker room, you and Macklin had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for miri-tiazan behind the cut; “Robin gets nested”. content notes: Aftermath of sex pollen triggering an omegaverse heat cycle in a minor. No sex or SA; just a pack dynamics speedrun for a feral-brained Robin and a very stressed-out preteen with a tire iron. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

"'Walk'?" Robin parrots with a frown, still tryin' t'rub his gloved-up wrists all over Jason's face. Jason makes a face, then scowls up at him. Stupid fuckin'—

"Yer a fuckin' moron," he seethes, tightenin' his grip on Robin's wrists. "Y'coulda got hurt, y'stupid—I thought you an' Batman were s'posed t'be smart! What're y'even doin' out here t'night anyway?!"

"Babypup," Robin replies reasonably, like he thinks that's actually an answer t'any goddamn anythin' that Jason jus' said, an'—

Robin squishes Jason's cheeks between his palms an' sticks his tongue out at 'im, makin' a funny face like he's tryin' t'make an actual baby laugh or something. Jason sputters in indignant reflex an' tries t'swat 'im off; Robin jus' coos at him.

So much fer either'a 'em havin' any fuckin' dignity left in this dumbass situation, Jason thinks sourly.

Then he hears somebody yell somethin' real angry-soundin' from halfway up a buildin' halfway up the block, an' he stops givin' no fucks 'bout nobody's dignity, his or Robin's.

"Move," he snaps, grabbin' onta Robin t'shove him back towards the nearest—

'Cept Robin don't get shoved. Like. At all.

It'd be fuckin' embarrassin', but mostly it's just a fuckin' problem. They can't stay out like this—not in Crime Alley, not this late, not like this—'cuz even though Robin ain't bleedin' the same mess'a heat pheromones that he was back in the alley, he still smells like heat, an' it ain't like he didn't get plenty of them pheromones all over Jason too.

Even if neither of 'em smelled like heat at all, they both still smell like easy fuckin' targets, Jason is real goddamn sure. Sure as he is that fuckin' Batman fuckin' sucks at his fuckin' job, at this point.

"Babypup," Robin huffs, puffing his own cheeks out indignantly an' squishin' Jason's between his palms again. Jason grabs onto the other's arms and glowers up at him.

Yeah, well, he already gave up on both their fuckin' dignity here, so . . .

Jason makes himself make a pleadin' lil' pup-whine, an' Robin's whole damn everythin' all snaps inta focus all at once.

All snaps inta focus on Jason all at once.

It ain't—it ain't—

"We gotta go home. Without no flyin'," Jason stresses, squeezin' his grip on Robin's arms.

"'Home'," Robin echoes, all his attention still all locked in on Jason like—like that's even—like he even—

And Jason realizes—he didn't really mean to, but he'd grabbed Robin's arms right where he'd bit 'im, b'fore.

"Home," he repeats tightly, 'cuz they gotta go, and, "Jus'—c'mon, M—Mama," he makes himself say, 'cuz he can't call nobody else "Mom" an' won't ever—ever have nobody else t'call that anyway, but—but it ain't safe out t'night, an' runnin' 'cross half the damn neighborhood roofs makin' a goddamn racket ain't that much better. Just—there's better places t'hide than that.

A lil' bit better, anyway.

Robin's so goddamn stupid fer bein' out here t'night.

Jason's so goddamn stupid fer doin' any of this at all.

"'Home'," Robin echoes again, lookin'—lookin' real intent about sayin' it.

"Yeah," Jason says, an' breathes out rough, an' then jus'—whines, again, an' stops tryin' t'push Robin, an' tries t'pull 'im instead; steps backwards an' tugs at his arms, an' makes big stupid pup-eyes at 'im like he only does when he's playin' real dumb so some moron'll let their guard down.

Robin goes right with 'im easy an anythin', an' Jason don't know how he feels 'bout that at all.

"Babypup," Robin says, still starin' at 'im jus' as intent and fixated. "We gotta go home."

Jason knows how he feels 'bout that, an' how he feels is it makes him wanna fuckin' cry.

He don't even got one of those no more.

[feralfather]

what if spider gets hurt - either accidentally, or in a fight, i don't have a preference - and quaritch just LOSES it completely

This ask was like, two years ago, but it was half finished and I picked it back up! I’m not sure if it’s obvious where I stopped and started again, but I’m trying to get back into the swing of things-

He should have never left Spider alone. He knew something would happen, and those strange instincts were acting up again today. It was urging him to not leave Spider alone, to stay nearby in case something happens, but he couldn’t. He had to ignore these gut feelings. There was a private meeting he had to attend, one that Spider wasn’t privy to.

So he had to leave Spider alone in the Bridgehead, while him and the rest of the squad sat in a boring meeting about money and investment and boring PowerPoints he felt they were definitely not needed for. The meeting dragged on for two hours, yet felt like far longer with his constant shifting and glancing at the clock which never seemed to move. His ears were constantly swiveling at the slightest sound, and his tail flicking and thumping against the hard chair and table. That gut feeling never left, and it was making him agitated.

When the meeting was finally concluded, he was the first one out the door, nearly knocking over a few big-wigs who were standing too close. His bare feet dirty and growing callouses thanks to Spider’s insistence that they needed to feel the earth echoed loudly in his ears as he beelined straight for the Recombinant Quarters, where he had left Spider earlier to entertain himself.

The nagging in his gut only grew when he didn’t immediately spot the feral boy. He nearly flipped the room upside down looking.

He wasn’t there.

He wasn’t in any of the rooms or the restrooms or the showers.

He wasn’t anywhere.

Miles nearly lashed out when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but managed to reel himself in when he seen a familiar bald blue head. It was just Wainfleet.

“Sir, take a deep breath.” His second in command spoke, brows furrowed in concern and ears perked forward in alarm. Miles hadn’t realized it, but he had began to snarl.

What’s wrong with him? Why is he freaking out? Why does he feel like tearing the whole damn base to the ground? Why wasn’t his boy here?!

Quaritch ignored Wainfleet’s concerns, instead swiveling his ears around frantically, straining to hear even a peep from Spider. “Find Spider. Go!” He ordered sharply, already moving himself.

The increasingly worried Colonel is in a repetitive cycle of speed walking through the bright metal halls, before slowing down and straining his ears once he realized his own footsteps were too loud and he couldn’t hear anything over his own damn breathing.

Everything felt too bright, too loud- yet at the same time, there was a ringing in his ears as he stalked the hallway like a predator.

Quaritch growled, trying to calm himself, trying to rein in this unfamiliar and unwelcome panic-

He heard an enraged scream.

Followed by something shattering.

His ears swiveled forward in alarm, before flattening tight against the sides of his shaved head. The fur at the tip of his tail bristled. His instincts screamed.

He knew that angry yell anywhere, having had it directed at him many times in the recent past.

Spider. Spider. Spider.

“Spider.” He whispered, and the sound of the boy’s name on his own lips kicked him back into gear.

Quaritch came barreling down the hall, the full weight of his Recom body rattling the very foundation of the floor as his feet pounded against the ground, his long legs eating up the distance with each thundering step. He was sure he looked like a madman.

His vision was narrowed, his focus solely on following where he had heard his son’s voice.

For a split second, he thought for sure Ardmore decided the search for Sully was taking too long and had strapped his boy back into that damned machine while Quaritch was distracted, that Spider’s brain was being torn apart and there was nothing he could do-

But the sound of Spider angrily struggling, and the resounding bangs and grunts from unknown voices weren’t leading him to the lab. It led him right to a restroom across from the busy mess hall.

He wasn’t even sure how he picked out Spider’s voice over all the racket going in there.

The metal door was locked, but that didn’t stop him.

“Spider!” He snarled and slammed his shoulder into the sturdy door, gritting his teeth at pain. “Son?! Answer me!” He ordered, his desperation masked by anger when the boy didn’t respond.

There was a still silence the moment Quaritch started slamming into the door, and he didn’t like it one bit. It meant something was wrong.

The moment Quaritch finally shouldered open the locked door, metal pieces clattering to the ground, he lost his absolute shit.

The restroom was a war-zone; two out of three sinks were busted from the wall, a mirror was broken and shattered on the ground, a stall door was ripped off its hinges, and four men stood over another, and there was fresh blood smeared over various surfaces.

And Spider was the one crumbled in the broken mirror shards on the floor, being ganged up on by a bunch of spineless cowards. The boy was groaning and wheezing, beaten black and blue. And he had gashes all over his back from being slammed into the mirror.

Quaritch didn’t have time to think- his instincts wouldn’t let him think. He was lunging into the human-sized restroom at the men, positioning himself to crouch protectively over Spider’s body, swinging his fists in a wide arch with an enraged roar that sounded nothing like Colonel Miles Quaritch and everything like a deranged beast.

There was yelling, there was anger, there was fear.

There was no thoughts of consequences or what will happen afterwards as he slammed two of the cowards through the one of the remaining stall door with a resounding bang.

He did not restrain his strength.

They crumbled and didn’t get back up.

He lashed his tail, striking another with a sharp crack like a whip as the man tried to get behind Quaritch to grab his queue to subdue him, feeling the attacker’s ribs snap under his Na’vi strength.

His fist lashed out and struck the last one in the face, feeling a dark satisfaction as the man’s teeth and nose caved under his large fist with a sickening crunch.

The Colonel wasn’t sure what he looked like, crouched over his bleeding boy in a destroyed restroom with four broken men surrounding them, but if he was in his right mind, he would be ashamed to admit he looked like a damn native savage.

But he didn’t care.

When the rest of his squad and some other soldiers found him, he was wild-eyed and cradling Spider close in his stiff, twitching arms as the boy’s blood smeared on Quaritch’s blue skin, staining it red.

He didn’t even remember gathering the boy up in his arms.

The scent of Spider’s blood was sending those stupid overwhelming instincts into overdrive and he refused to release his tight hold on the boy. It was hot and sticky, seeping through his trembling fingers, dripping down his forearms, puddling on the floor with the jagged shards of glass-

He ignored the way Spider weakly shoved against his chest, the way he kicked the Recom’s thighs, the way he moved from shoving his chest to shoving his palms into the underside of Quaritch’s jaw.

“Let go!” Spider rasped, his struggles unnaturally weak, and it only made the Recom hold on tighter.

His boy was never this pitiful in his escape attempts. He was always a spitfire with bruising kicks that would knock the air from Quaritch’s lungs and flying fists.

“I- I’m fine! I could have taken those buttholes by myself!” Spider hissed, trying to wriggle out of his father-not-father’s protective grip, only to freeze as he agitated the burning gashes on his back and the bruises on his skin.

Quaritch ignored his protests.

He had to keep Spider safe.

He had to protect him.

He had to get Spider out of here.

He needed to hold him.

He needed to make sure Spider wouldn’t disappear.

He needed to make sure those spineless bastards will never lay hands on his boy again.

He needed to get the scent of blood off of his boy.

He needed-

“Colonel…”

Quaritch’s lips pulled back in a snarled with a growl rumbling through his throat, flicking his wide yellow eyes over to the new voice. The new threat.

He almost snapped his teeth at Ja when the Recom slowly inched in front of him, into his direct line of sight, with his hands held up to placate his seemingly feral Colonel.

“You gotta calm down.” His squad-mate carefully said, glancing between Spider and Quaritch, taking in the immediate injuries he could see.

Quaritch felt himself bristling, his muscles tensing.

How the fuck was he supposed to be calm?! He had a damn feeling all morning that something wasn’t right, his kid got jumped by a bunch of yellow-bellied cowards, his kid was bleeding, his kid was hurt, his kid wouldn’t stop fuckin’ fighting him but is too weak to actually put up his usual fight, his boy needed to be guarded and protected until he heals-

His tail lashed and thwacked harshly against the metal wall. He forcefully curled Spider closer to his chest, much to the boy’s chagrin.

“I’m not a damn baby!” The boy squirmed, his feet unable to touch the ground as Quaritch held him in the nook of his arm like he was an infant, his other arm shielding him from Ja’s view and making it increasingly impossible to escape his protective cradling hold.

The boy was ignored once again. As long as he stayed with Quaritch, he would be safe. As long as Quaritch never put him down again-

“Colonel…” Ja took another step forward, his tail flicking anxiously behind him and his ears folded back. “You gotta focus and breathe or they’re gonna tranq you.”

It was only then that Quaritch noticed the human soldiers positioned at the broken door, neutralizing guns built to take down full grown Na’vi pointed at him while his squad tried to get them to stand down.

He wanted to snarl, to snap and growl. He wanted to rage and attack… but he’s already listened to these strange dangerous instincts too much today.

The feeling of Spider pressed to his chest was grounding, the feeling of his chest rising and falling against his own, the feeling of having him safely tucked in his arms.

Spider was safe.

Quaritch had neutralized the threat.

His instincts didn’t believe that for a second. They wouldn’t be safe until they were back out on the field with no humans around to snag his kid-

The colonel forced himself to relax and take a breath, closing his eyes and pushing whatever had possessed him into the far reaches of his mind.

But he didn’t let go of Spider. He couldn’t. The thought physically pained him.

Ardmore was going to tear him a new one for this… and he couldn’t even explain what this was.

[coffee-and-cake]

You know what I just realized for TFA MegOp in specific? Optimus would still fight Megatron even when suffering a cyber cold (like the Cybertronian equivalent of the common cold).

TFA Optimus is just a wild animal that TFA Megatron has to deal with occasionally digging into his trash and he nearly losses a finger everytime and has to get shots afterwards.

“Gah that lil autobot bit me! I think he was foaming at the mouth as well and coughing. Someone get me a rabies shot!”

Tfa Optimus *suddenly angry* “I have this sudden urge to fight Megatron.”

[dropofbittersea]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/76314006/chapters/199726631

[cosmicourple]

Tf: ONE A.U-ish backstory concept were when Sentinel’s team was about to remove a freshly created Orion’s T-Cog, boosh!!!!! Orion onlines, instinctively sensing danger, but also not fully aware & developed yet so he starts blindly n ferally attacking the surgeons(??) and scrabbling around the operation room (if they even used one idk fghjmnklfc) trying to escape. He even ends up biting Sentinel on the hand leaving a nasty looking scar that Sentinel does literally everything to make not be noticeable but if u looked rlly close, you could still see it hehehe, almost taking his digits clean off lol, obvsly their unsuccessful in their panicked rampage and are promptly swatted in the helm, knocked out cold, and have their T-Cog finally removed.

Honestly, I think Sentinel should have taking it as a warning that the minors will not be ignorant to such bullshit forever but noOoOoOoOoO—

[goddessofbees]

The Son of Thanatos by madu

Percy Jackson x Harry Potter crossover

@ma-du