#shifter au

[noodlejaq]

Celine and her cuddly and clingy Shifter wives and daughter.

[hatsbuckets]

Kraken Shifter!Ghost who hates his kraken form. It’s too emotional. It comes when he’s terrified or furious or pushed so far past himself that there’s no him left, just instinct and teeth and ink-black water.

So when you’re all crammed into the flat one rare, quiet evening, Johnny sprawled on the couch, Kyle nursing a drink and pretending not to laugh at whatever Johnny’s saying, Simon thinks shouldn’t be like this, fidgeting, restless. Unable to settle no matter how many jokes Johnny throws his way or how gently Kyle needles him into a smile.

Even your hand in his hair doesn’t fix it. Not this time.

He keeps shifting under your touch, eyes fixed somewhere that isn’t the room.

You don’t push. You just watch him for a minute longer, then ask softly, “Simon… do you need to shift?”

He shakes his head immediately. A lie.

You don’t call him on it. You just smile, small and knowing, and stand, offering your hand. “C’mon. Bath’s free.”

He follows you without a word, gaze stuck on the floor. The water fills the tub, steam curling up the tiles, and when you step aside he hesitates, just a second, before climbing in letting go.

He shifts, just a soft, almost shy ripple through the water.

And when it’s done, he’s… tiny.

So small it knocks the breath out of you.

Not the house-sized horror you’ve seen tear through buildings, ships, and oceans. Not the nightmare that lives in the back of his head. This Simon could fit in both your hands, all smooth dark skin and delicate tentacles, eyes bright and uncertain as he blinks up at you.

Johnny leans into the doorway behind you, mid-comment, and stops dead.

“…Oh,” he says. “He’s so small.”

Kyle hums softly in agreement, already grabbing a towel without being asked. “Yeah. That’s—bloody hell.”

You swallow the instinct to coo, to fuss, to say anything that might make Simon feel like he’s done something wrong. Instead, you crouch and offer your fingers. One tentative tentacle reaches up, curls around you, light as a heartbeat.

“Okay,” you murmur. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He lets you lift him out, water dripping as he wraps himself around your wrist, then your forearm, clinging. By the time you step back into the living room, he’s half-looped around your bicep like he belongs there.

The room hums with quiet. The show plays. Outside, the world keeps turning.

No one makes a big deal of it.

Johnny flops back onto the couch and restarts whatever brainless show was on. Kyle settles in with a blanket, glancing over every so often.

You sit, arm propped comfortably, and Simon slowly loosens his grip, inching closer until he’s curled against your chest, tiny, warm, and content in a way. A tiny, tentacle-y, mer-creature cat, just... resting.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[crashingcryptid]

Sheep hybrid reader who forms a bond with cat shifter Simon. He's basically a barn cat when he isn't working as a farm hand. Catching mice in the barn, sunbathing on the porch, and demanding scraps of cooked chicken from Nikolai or John.

He didn't go near most of the other animals on the farm, except for you, a sheep hybrid who helped tend to the actual herd of sheep. You smell good. Simon isn't sure what it is, but sometimes, when he wind blows just right, he can smell you all the way from the pasture.

The sheep smell like it too, but not as much as you do.

"Hi, kitty kitty..." You coo quietly as you scoop the black and white barn cat into your arms. You look around for Simon since he normally would scold you for slacking off, but you don't see him. "You're such a cutie... wanna snuggle with me?" You lay down on the grass with the other sheep, sighing contently when the car curls up on your tummy.

"What's wrong, kitty?" You whisper when you notice he isn't really purring, just staring at you. "I know I'm not as soft. John had to give me a sheer so I don't get hot." Simon narrows his eyes, slowly extending a paw, as if pointing to the small cut on your arm left by the clippers.

The gruff meow he gives you makes you laugh and bring him closer into your arms. "Yeah, I got scratched up, but it's okay. Don't even feel it." Simon leaves a dead bird on John's porch that night.

[streysteal]

Dragon shifter AU that i did art for in the CoD big bang event that happened last year! Here is the fic written by monsterlice! please read it, its so lovely! https://archiveofourown.org/works/66010600/chapters/170088619 Also there is a couple of extra spicy drawings in the fic that tumblr wouldn't like hoho

[entropicquilibriumofchaos]

Canine shifter!Dennis who grew up being told that shifters are inherently sinful, are demons that walk in the earth. Dennis, who shifts for the first time in the quiet of the barn in the dead of night and knows that if anyone in Broken Bow finds out about him he'll be ostracized or killed so he keeps it a secret while praying every day to be "cured" of his disease.

And so he shifts only when it becomes physically painful not to, and always out of sight of anyone else. He manages to graduate high school, and then college without anyone finding out. He starts med school and meets other shifters who seem... comfortable with who they are. Proud even. But not Dennis. He knows that being a shifter is a death sentence for him, even if it isn't for these other people.

When Dennis is called home for the summer to help with the farm, he doesn't think twice about it. He returns to Broken Bow and keeps his head low until one night, a rustling on the front porch wakes him up, and apparently his father as well. The two of them are greeted with a fawn, splay legged on the wooden beams of the porch, panting and scrambling against the slick surface. Before their eyes, they watch as the fawn shifts into a young girl. Dennis' heart lurches as he hears his father rack the shotgun in his hands, the barrel coming up in his peripheral vision as his father recites verses from the Bible.

It's instinct rather than conscious decision that causes Dennis to shift right then, leaping at his father and knocking the gun out of his hands. Dennis doesn't hurt him, no he would never- he's still his father. He just meant to distract him for long enough for the girl to get away. And he did, the tell-tale white flag of a retreating white-tailed deer fading into the forest across the field.

But now, he's on his own. His father wrangles Dennis onto his back, and he feels the cold metal of the shotgun’s muzzle against his belly. He knows he only has one option. He throws himself away from the gun and across the porch, leaping off as soon as he’s on all four paws. He hears the shot gun go off, and somewhere in his mind registers the searing pain in one of his ears where the edge of the cone of bird shot clipped him.

And so Dennis runs. He spends more time as a dog than a human as he flees, riding in open train cars for as long as he can before being spotted. It's been months, maybe even a year at this point. It gets harder and harder to shift back into being a human; his body knows that it's safer for him in his canine form, his reflexes are quicker, his senses sharper. It's those traits that allow him to hear the group gathered around the park benches before he sees them.

It's late, the sun had gone down hours ago. The darkness didn't faze Dennis anymore, it was easier to move in the dark, especially in the city. The park he was in had been a nice reprieve from the cement and asphalt of the rest of the city- Pittsburgh, if the ambulances and cop cars were to be believed. The group had settled down onto the park benches, passing cans of beer around as they decompressed.

Dennis couldn't help himself as he laid in the shadows, watching as he laid his head on his paws. They looked exhausted, but there were smiles too. Laughter. His heart ached; he hadn't felt that closeness, that friendliness with another living creature since he had started running. It was too dangerous.

Dennis was startled out of his thoughts as he realized that the group had broken up, and two of the men were walking his way. He scrambled up from his spot under a nearby tree and weaseled his way under a bush.

There was nothing particularly stand out about the men that passed him, but Dennis swore that the taller man's kind eyes had locked with his as they walked by. He felt his heart thumping in his chest and for some inexplicable reason, found himself slinking down the path behind them.

"I think we have a stalker," the shorter man whispered to the taller man, casting a glance back at where Dennis was pressed to the ground following them from a distance. He froze as the taller man turned to look as well.

"Well shit," the taller one said, crouching down and looking directly at Dennis before making a clicking sound. "C'mere pup. What're you doin' out here?"

Dennis slinked forward, his tail wagging behind him out of his control. There was something about the kindness in the man's eyes, in his voice that made Dennis think maybe, maybe, he could trust him.

When he approached, the man stuck his hand out for Dennis to sniff. He smelt sharp and metallic; Dennis recognized the smell of blood underneath antiseptic from his days of med school. It made sense, the entire group had walked out of what Dennis assumed to be a hospital about an hour before hand.

Dennis licked at the man’s hand tentatively, earning a grin and a scratch behind the ear.

“He doesn't have a collar,” the taller one mused as the short man approached cautiously, extending a hand to Dennis as well.

“Probably a stray,” the shorter one responded.

“Looks too well kept to be a stray. We should call the shelter, see if anyone's missing him.”

“Or,” there was a lopsided smirk on the short man’s face as he set a hand on the other man’s shoulders, “We bring him home for the night and call in the morning.”

The taller man sighed, looking up from where he was knelt down. “You have a serious savior complex, Abbot.”

The shorter man, Abbot, laughed before pulling out a bag of something that made Dennis’ mouth water. He stood up slowly, inching his way closer as the man took a piece of beef jerky out of the bag.

“You hungry boy?”

Dennis could have screamed. Yes! He was starving. The last meal he had was a pizza crust from the dumpster this morning.

Abbot offered up the piece of beef jerky and Dennis took it as gently as possible before moving back a bit and scarfing it down. He didn't see Abbot hand the bag off to the other man while beginning to dig through his back pack.

Soon enough, Dennis was being led through the streets of Pittsburgh with a rope tied loosely around his neck while the taller man - Mikey, he had deduced - snuck him pieces of beef jerky. And then, they were walking up porch stairs and into a warmly lit house.

Mikey bathed Dennis and wrapped him in a towel, cooing at him while taking pictures of him wrapped up. It should've been embarrassing to have these men dote on him - he was a twenty seven year old man for God’s sake. But Dennis just felt warm. Cared for in a way that he hadn't felt for long before he had run from the farm.

Abbot had given him a bowl of water and some white rice, which he devoured gratefully. His eagerness had made Abbot chuckle and ruffle the fur between his ears. It felt nice.

He was put into the guest bedroom and Dennis couldn't help the sigh that left him as the door clicked shut. He'd have to escape tomorrow somehow - he couldn't let them bring him to the shelter. But for the night, he could hop onto the bed and curl up with the heaps of kindness he'd been given.

~~~

“I'm gonna check on our guest,” Robby sighed, untangling himself from his husband. The bright light of the sun shone through the gaps in the dark curtains as the morning dragged on. "Probably take him outside to go to the bathroom before we call the shelter.”

Jack made a noncommittal noise, not releasing his grip on Robby until the other man pinched at the skin below his arm pit.

“Ow. Asshole.” Jack grumbled, turning over and taking the blankets with him.

Robby laughed, shaking his head as he made his way across the hall to the guest room. He opened the door slowly, expecting the muzzle of their little stow-away to peak out at him as he cracked it open.

Instead, he was met with a person. A boy, specifically, sprawled out on the guest bed where Robby had left the stray the night before. The door creaked slightly, causing the boy to jolt awake, immediately locking eyes with Robby as he frantically tried to cover himself up.

“Oh- oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I swear- I can explain,” the boy stuttered.

Robby blinked at the situation in front of him as he felt the familiar warmth of Jack behind him.

“Huh, well this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Robby nodded half-heartedly, his eyes fixed on the boy in his guest bedroom. “That… that is an understatement.”

[nerfedbylife]

Saw something about fat bear week and got ambushed by a thought

shifter 141 x shifter reader

Simon, kyle and johnny were watching fat bear week diligently since they caught their captain on there in his bear form, aptly numbered 141

The video of him looking positively round and particularly grumpy about catching his fish was still something that pulled a smile on hard days

But this years competition was dominated by a beautiful fat fluffy she-bear

The guys were gushing about her figure, how soft and great shed be to cuddle with, how cute her tummy stuck out and what a perfect round Thing she was

When she raised onto her hind legs she looked like a giant teddy

Until she raised those paws

"And what glorious murder mittens!"

Johnny was cheering quite loudly and caught the attention of their captain

When John came wandering in after hearing a commotion and saw his men huddled around a laptop, he became curious.

What he wasnt expecting to find was his lovely wife on screen.

"huh she's gettin more beautiful every season", he mumbled in his beard

And of course kyle caught that "what?"

Running a hand over his face he said louder "i think its time to meet the wife"

-

When the Team met the missus they were in awe how the captain woke the sleeping bear

And simon was already dreaming of having her as his weighted blanket to be honest, with her looking so pliant and fuzzy laying in the sun

a/n: lost a bit of steam but god those bears deserve to be seen! Such bountiful fish!

[saintquincy]

part two of this with bear shifter!price.

cw: mdni, suggestive, age difference AN: reader is still mostly gender neutral in this part, but part three will have smut and they will be afab in that. You can read this without reading that part, so do with that what you will. Also, the age difference isn't strictly defined but it is there.

you didn't tell anyone about the bear or the raspberries. it was embarrassing, terrifying and you weren't sure that anyone would believe you. you barely believed you. you had no proof that you had seen a bear and who was going to believe that a bear licked your face, smothered you with its body and then eventually got bored of you and ambled away.

you didn't know what to think about it, so you didn't. you went about life as if it had never happened. it was easier that way, especially when you had enough to worry about, like gloria calling out of work again. it was the third time you had opened only to get conned into closing because of gloria. the work wasn't hard, most week nights were frequented by regulars, sometimes a few tourists, but rarely a crowd.

the other thing you had to worry about was one of the new regulars. an absolute unit of a man. in an actually embarrassing display you had dropped a freshly poured draft the first time he walked in the door. a few of the regulars had yet to let you live it down, especially when there was not much else to talk about since their previous target, bobby, had skipped town and was allegedly turning his life around.

you refused to be the next bobby.

selfishly and perhaps a bit meanly you were hoping that gloria would be the next bobby. it was the only thought that was going to get you through another double. daydreaming about gloria getting caught with different married men in town. you knew she was fucking at least one married man, him and his wife were toxic as fuck and you had gone to school with both of them. you were fairly certain gloria wasn't the first to get entangled with them.

you didn't get to daydream tonight because the bell over the door rang just as you finished unloading the dishwasher, running your fingers under the tap because the glasses were too hot and you were too impatient. you didn't need to look up to know who it was.

it was like you were attuned to him. some kind of cosmic bullshit that tied you to him in this annoying way that let you know when he was the one at the door, when he was leaning forward at the bar looking for you attention, when he was leaning back on his barstool to very obviously adjust the heavy piece of meat tucked away in his jeans.

you forced a smile as he approached the bar. you were a professional after all and he hadn't done anything to deserve your ire, he just existed and that seemed to be enough.

"what's it going to be, john?" you asked when he slipped into his spot.

and it was his spot. no one else would sit there anymore, the spot at the end of the bar, tucked into the corner so that the wall was behind him and the rest of the bar in his view. left empty even on the busiest of nights, as if even the tourists knew not to sit there.

you had heard the rumors. retired military, records that were redacted to the moon and back, and a kill count that had all the men hot and bothered. it didn't take much to impress men in a backwoods town like this and john price was the complete package. brawny, bearded and broad.

the women thought he was the complete package as well but so far the man was a mystery. had made it more than clear that he wanted to be left alone to sip his whiskey, scrolling his phone, cracking a very rare smile at something he saw on it.

"whiskey, neat, don't bother putting the bottle away."

you gave him a cheeky two fingered salute before grabbing a glass and pouring him the first of what you were sure would be one of many drinks that night.

you weren't wrong because by the end of the night the man had drank nearly the whole bottle. you felt a bit bad letting it get that bad but your head had been in another place as a group of unruly fucks had wandered in sometime after dinner looking for a good time. this wasn't the kind of place for a good time, but they played pool, tossed darts and kept your attention for most of the night.

in between slinging bottles of beer and pouring rows of shots you had made sure that price's glass, along with the smattering of other regulars, was topped off.

by the time you were shooing people out the front door and flipping on the harsh overhead lights, the giant of a man was leaning heavily against the wall, eyes glazed over in that way you had seen many times before and tried your hardest to avoid.

it was a real bummer to see the fathers of kids you went to school with wasting away at the bar. and you wouldn't be the reason they saw an early grave.

but price was at least ten years younger than most of them, even if he often walked around town like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"hey john, you need a hand?"

he looks up but there are no thoughts behind those eyes.

"got someone we can call for ya?"

"wot?"

"got a friend or wife or someone else i can call to get ya?"

he lumbers off the stool, listing heavily towards the bar, phone in one hand, the screen brightness turned all the way up. he looks down at it, as if considering your question before he's shoving it away in his pocket.

"gotta pay up," he slurred.

"already taken care of, big guy, why don't we get you outta here."

typically john can drink anyone under the table, but tonight must not have been his night.

you're quick to loop an arm around his waist, his weight heavy as he leans into you as you guide him towards his truck. you eye your own car wistfully, the two door beater had been some assholes wet dream sports car that he drove into the ground before replacing it with a newer, shinier model. perfect for you and any other normal person, but John was tall, broad and built like a brick shithouse.

he would make your car look like a clown car.

maybe it's a quirk of this being a small town, but driving john home in his own truck doesn't seem that strange. the problem is that you aren't entirely sure where he lives and the direction the man mumbles to you seems to be taking you in circles.

when you finally get to his house you realize just how far out you are because you recognize the cabin. It's been cleaned up, the roof redone, the yard no longer overgrown brambles. You hadn't been too far from here when you saw the bear.

and even though you knew you were safe from the bear, just knowing how close you had been before had your heart racing. the pounding ramping up as you stopped the truck in the drive, by now john was leaned heavily against the passenger door, snoring gently.

he didn't wake until you were trying to manhandle him out of the car and towards the house.

"buy a man a drink 'fore ya try an get in 'is pants, love," he slurred,

"think i've given you plenty to drink tonight, you menace."

he shifts his weight, just enough so that he's no longer crushing you, his arm looped over your shoulder, his hand coming to a rest right on your chest, his fingers flexing enough to send sparks of arousal down your spine as they graze over your nipple.

he doesn't say anything about it, doesn't move his fingers again, but the weight of his hand there is enough to leave you dizzy. you should not be lusting over a patron old enough to be retired who you let get so sloshed you had to drive him home.

john somehow manages to pull together enough brain cells to navigate the steps, the three locks on his front door and then spends an uncomfortable amount of time locking the door behind the two of you. you try to pay attention to the order because you fully plan to undo his work and leave him with a note that you have his truck and he can ring in the morning for a ride.

that was the plan.

you get him to his room, it's dark and you can't find the light switch so you stumble around with just the light from your phone. you practically drop him onto the bed before sneaking off in search of a glass of water, maybe some paracetamol.

when you return with a glass of water and no pills, john is bent over at the waist, fingers helplessly pulling at the laces of his boots.

you let out a sigh, placing the cup on his nightstand.

you dropped down to your knees in front of him. you didn't make a habit of getting on your knees for just anyone, and you tried to ignore the the implications of being knelt in front of john. it was intimate, it was sexual. but the moment you batted his fingers away he was falling back boneless against the bed. a bit dramatic, but you had enough experience with drunk men from work to know that was a best case scenario.

as you stood you saw the way he was awkwardly hanging off the bed and that just wouldn't do.

"john?"

he doesn't reply.

"john?" you repeated, leaning over and gently shaking his shoulder.

he groans, or is it a moan? in either case the sound is too near to a growl to not fuck with you. you were trying to not let this be a sexual thing.

he doesn't wake as you pull his legs up, shoving him awkwardly to get his whole body on the bed. its not graceful, the man might be retired military but he's still solid muscle beneath that layer of fat that came with his age. what you don't expect is his paw of a hand to shoot out, grabbing onto you and tugging with a strength that you would hadn't expected from a man in his state.

"oof."

the breath leaves your lungs in a whoosh, you can barely move before he's pulling you in close, tucking you into his side. you try to wiggle in his grasp, desperate to free yourself, heart pounding, face warm when you notice the hard press of him against your back. most men would have whiskey dick after the night hohn had had, but all those whiskeys didn't seem to have impeded him in any way.

it didn't seem like he had any plans to act on that though, his arms banding around you like iron clamps, holding you close, his body like a furnace. no amount of squirming or wiggling or calling john's name was enough to wake the man who held you captive.

the oddest sense of deja vu washed over you as you laid there, you could smell the pine trees, taste the raspberries on your tongue. if you had survived a bear you could survive your very drunk, very handsome patron.

in the morning you woke up alone in the bed, the smell of bacon wafting through the house. the sun was bright, too bright. how long had you been asleep?

you dragged yourself out of bed, still fully dressed, shoes included.

john was in the kitchen, shirtless, lounge pants slung low on his hips, low enough you could see the trail of hair that dipped below the waistline. his chest and back and arms all covered in a thick layer of hair. he looked more beast than man as he munched a piece of bacon, his heavy gaze falling on you as he chewed.

"made ya breakfast if ya 'ave the time."

"think you might owe me more than breakfast after last night."

"aye, think ya'd let me wine and dine ya proper? promise i'll ask nice before pullin' ya in my bed again?"

you laughed, "better be some good grub, old man, if you think you're getting me back in that bedroom."