Rumi is a mixed breed of wolf and dog, her mom was a guardian dog living in a farm that fell in love with one of the wolves. Her owner took her and raised her as the new guard of the farm.
Mira is a pure breed that comes from a line of show dogs, her owner used abusive methods of training that she refused, she ended up being abandoned for being a feral and aggressive dog. She was on the street for a time before being caught and sent to the Kennel
Zoey is half breed, after her owner divorced they ended neglecting her and her attempts to make things better become too much of an annoyance, she was abandoned in the kennel.
She and Mira had a rough start but they became best friends, they refused to be separated.
Any attempts to adopt Zoey are useless she whines and squirms and Mira barks until they are together, Mira bites at the minimal touch she doesn't trust anyone. But after learning they will be put down, she decided to be good for Zoey.
They end up adopted by Bobby.
Mira think she fucked up when out of instinct bites Bobby hands, she whines and pleads that at least he conserves zoey.
But the man is not mad and even is apologizing to her for scaring her.
With patience and care she comes around.
Bobby loves them and they love him.
He is their dad.
A few years later he has to travel for work, the project he is working on will take at least a few months to be completed, the longest he has been away.
Choosing the best option, he asks his friend if he could let his dogs in her farm.
She gladly accepts, 1 bc he is her friend and 2 maybe having company will help Rumi. Her guardian is a kind dog and does her job perfectly but outside of that she is an anxious lonely mess.
Mira and Zoey protest and Bobby has to escape while they sleep.
He videocalls as much as he can to reassure them that he is not abandoning them.
There is a period of time where he can't call until the project is over.
When he comes back for them, he is tackled the ground by them.
He decides to stay a month on the farm to relax.
After the second week he notices that the belly of his daughters are suspiciously bigger.
The vet is called and surprise! he is going to be a grandpa.
Rumi's owner is shocked, yes she noticed how close they were but never thought that something more was happening.
The...logistics are far off, rumi is almost double the size of Mira and triple the side of zoey, she didn't though they could mate.
Looking back at the trio, Rumi is absolutely ashamed while Zoemira are smug shining with pride.
It is funny seeing the big bad wolf dog bending to the will of the smaller ones, the strong relentless guardian transforms into a lovesick pup when her mates are close to her.
The horse, Jinu, laughs at her. When her mates aren't close of course, he is admittedly scared of them.
They don't have a big litter, just one pup from zoey and two from Mira.
Rumi adores them and feels a little hurt when her mates don't allow her to be close to them. Her owner assures her it is temporary, they're just overprotective after giving birth.
Zoe and Mira feel bad, knowing that they made Rumi believe that they don't trust her to not harm the pups, her pups.
Rumi cries when she is allowed to lay beside her mates and pups, zoemira are clingy to show their remorse.
The three of them are happy with their little pack.
Zoey has a place to belong, Mira has a family and Rumi is not alone anymore.
They're so happy.
(They are fixed after that, Bobby and Rumi's owner are not willing to risk another surprise, the birth and care wasn't easy)
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The sad thing is that Anne Rice's vampires are creatures quite literally born out of trauma, even in conceptualization, they were a way for Anne Rice to explore her own trauma of her marriage and the loss of her daughter.
So— metatextually speaking— when Madeleine chooses to break the cycle of abuse and toxicity (and general unhealthy behavior), when she chooses to stand by Claudia, she kinda makes their death inevitable.
They got their happy ending, they found eachother. They got to experience a level of commitment and acceptance and loyalty and love that most of the other characters will never get to. But that happiness is in direct conflict with their very existence, so they had to go.
They got all they've ever wanted, and they had to die for that.
Love the trope of stalker being the person reader goes to about their stalker because they trust them not knowing they’re sitting across from said stalker likeee the enemy is closer than you think
He noticed the trouble in you long before you even had to say something.
Your twitchy fingers wrapped around the ceramic of your mug, the distant look in your eyes as you stared off, past him.
The two of you sitting inside your favorite coffee shop, the one you frequented often, but he wasn’t supposed to know that yet, love, you hadn’t told him but you would, soon enough.
“I didn’t know who else to go to” you finally said, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes.
“I trust you” Sure you do, love, and that’s exactly why he had to watch over you. You were just too sweet, too trusting of the wrong men.
“I think I’m being stalked.” You bit your bottom lip, already raw and chapped from the how many times you’d licked it in the past five minutes.
“I don’t know- I just- I feel a pair of eyes on me at all times. Especially when I’m walking home alone.”
The look in your eyes was one of hope as you searched his face, hopeful he wouldn’t think you were crazy. Not that it ever did much anyways, since his expression never changed from unreadable.
He gave a quiet, sympathetic hum and reached over, laying his hand over yours to show his faux support the best he could.
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☞ 500 words, gn!reader, nightmares, softness, hurt/comfort, smut-ish and not super explicit but still 18+
In the pitch black of the room his laboured breaths are invisible. When he reaches out, his fingers meet cold, bare sheets, and the dread lodged in his throat breaks free in a groan.
He chokes on his words, presses them through gritted teeth. "Where are you, darling?"
V's hands are warm as they reach for you, the rare sensation of bare fingertips, searching limbs, eager in their desperation. Finally, a palm presses to your belly and when you grasp his wrist you can feel the tight gooseflesh on his skin like tiny knives.
"Pet?" Your voice, sleep-drunk, startles the silence. "Are you alright?"
He hums, drags you across the bed until your back meets his bare chest. His heat engulfs you, the static prickling that follows every touch you share. Wet lips find your neck as he molds himself around you, fitting like a glove. You shiver as he trails them over your shoulder, leaving a lingering kiss on the highest point. Cool air blows over the wet spot and makes you feel oddly exposed, oddly tender.
"Nightmare?" you ask but his reply is a low scoff. Not at you, no, it's the situation that's been gnawing on him, his inability to rest as his past catches up with him during the late hours, when the moon is high and his guard is down. He's only shown you glimpses of it, those heavy memories he carries like chains around his neck, dragging him down when he's helpless, succumbed to the wicked parts of his mind.
"You weren't there," he whispers. "You weren't in my arms, sweetheart."
"Must have moved," you mumble but your focus is not on his words, it's on the way his hand glides up your thigh, your hip, settling at your waist, but only for a moment, restless as he is.
"Is it bad that I need you?" he asks as it slides down your middle, teeth bared against your skin. His soft curls tickle your ear as he grazes them along a tendon at your neck, the mere shadow of sharpness but it's enough to weaken your mind.
You shake your head into the darkness and he must feel it for his hand finally moves between your legs and you push yourself further into him. A sigh escapes you both and just so you are both moving in your own rhythm. It's a practiced dance, a familiar comfort, his long, pale hands with their sharp knuckles, the slow roll of his hips, teeth and tongue and your writhing bodies that search only for each other.
You gasp into his mouth, his nightmare now mere salt on his lips, and you kiss it away, again and again until he's limp in your arms. His head comes to rest gently on your chest, shallow breaths now, whispered against your clavicle, mingling with some words you can't quite understand. You comb through dark curls, spread over damp shoulders, and when sleep finally takes you he's grasped you so tightly that there is no doubt about staying where you are.
