Nothing like a sweet life in a slow mountain town for you and your orc boyfriend. Moving out of a busy city was just the thing you two needed. Now you have a big yard, a cottage, and a couple of farm cats that adopted you on the spot.
Your neighbors, on the other hand, consider you quite odd; why-oh-why would such handsome and clever young'uns move here? There is so much more to do in the big city. So many more people and opportunities. You're actually the youngest people in the town - probably at least 20 years younger than anyone else - you will be so lonely.
Your friends agree: they are convinced you two are dying from boredom: no bars, no malls, no cafes, no movie theatres. Nothing. Only elderly folk, tractors, and the spooky abandoned town.
And, yes, there are no malls and no restaurants. The townsfolk are mostly retired. The road is terrible, so people tend to walk. And the town is almost lost and forgotten by everyone, swallowed by the forest. Especially your little cottage.
But that's why you and your orc boyfriend have never had more fun in your lives. You can do whatever you like, wherever you like, at most improbable hours. You walk around naked, sunbathe on your patio, and play tag like kids. You eat and shout as if you're the only people in the world. Kisses and cuddles under the sun and moon are your everyday routine.
And being so young and in love, you two also fuck as much as your vigour allows you. Every horizontal surface in your house and on your patio, and every rock and tree on your property, have been marked by your sweat and fluids. Your orc boyfriend especially loves the natural odors and your beautiful, plump body, ripe and warm from his touch. He squeezes your breast with his palm sticky from his seed and kisses you with his mouth moist from your juices. Such a thrill it is when there is no need to hide or hush each other, when you can scream and moan as much as your body demands, closer to animals than you've ever been. You are constantly wet, your pussy begging for a cock every time your boyfriend pulls out. The desire is almost overwhelming, impossible to satiate in one lifetime.
The quiet life offered you a carnal freedom you never even dreamed of having. A big city could never.
Summary: After hanging up the ghost mantle, Simon struggles integrating with civilization, leading to him buying a house near a beach and catching more than he bargained for.
Fish.
That's all he smelt standing on the rusty old excuse of a dock. Watching the waves as they slammed against dark rocks that lined the overgrown beach.
This is the last place he thought he'd end up at, he was sure his life would end in whatever third world country he was deployed to- but what was he supposed to do? Say no?
Disobey his captain when he passed over the documents? That damn piece of paper stating that his run is over, that he's unwillingly forced into retirement.
He didn't have a choice. Fate always had a cruel way of punishing him day by day after all.
"Tried to talk with Laswell but we both know your head isn't here Lieutenant."
"Sir-"
"After recent events... you haven't been the same." Price sighed, "I can't risk putting you or the team in danger."
"So I'm a liability now?"
He knew he was being a prick.
They all had been going through it. Including Price- who was trying oh so hard to keep everything togheter when he was rotting on the inside.
"Ghost-"
"I can still serve-"
"Simon."
The air was tense, every breath they took feeling like water was being filled in their lungs instead of oxygen. The harsh lights of Price's office making his already red eyes sting.
"It was an honor serving with you soldier. Take care of yourself."
So that's how he found himself back in his dingy run down flat in a rather unpleasant neighborhood in Manchester.
After years devoted to serving for his country, one wrong call and circumstance cost him his brother. Another person he thought of as home gone because he wasn't there to have his back.
It wasn't obscure to think that he would lose his mind- yes he was considered heartless and untouchable in the eyes of new recruits that would enlist- hell even his colleagues and higher ups thought the same. In reality, Ghost was only ever a facade to mask his hurt.
So how does one, who spent so long being a soldier, a machine built for war, go back to being a civilian?
He can't.
Simon Riley died a long time ago.
As much as he hated to admit it... Price was right.
He is a liability- became lost in his own rage and pain, blacking out and going on a rampage, killing multiple men like they were going to bring him back.
Months of him not sleeping, taking unnecessary risks, causing outbursts and overall punishing himself- ultimately leading to the death of Makarov. Killed by a bullet going perfectly straight through his skull.
Ghost made sure he put ten more for good measure and a few stab wounds before he was eventually pulled away.
He wasn't himself and he knew that.
Long gone was the calm and collected lieutenant.
Sounds of traffic, beeping horns, yelling, construction workers- drowned out by his own thoughts. Some random football game played in the background while he was on his... God knows what bottle of bourbon- he stopped counting after the tenth one.
Gaz and Price visited, took him out for a pint or two, went grocery shopping for him- but they still had work. Still had six months of deployment ahead of them. He doesn't blame them for losing track of time.
Just how he lost track of when he was supposed to pay his rent, the eviction letter pilled up next to the other useless junk mail.
So what was a man who was unable to integrate into society supposed to do? Pack his measly half empty suitcase and buy a house somewhere off the coast of course.
A two story beach house swallowed inside the overgrown forest that opened up to an unkept beach. Forgotten.
It was perfect.
So he got to work, started repairing the interior, plaster that had fallen off or old windows needing to be replaced by better insulated ones. Bringing in his minimal furniture from his flat after he finished repainting the whole house. He was slowly clearing out the outside as well, cutting down some smaller trees and tending to the grass.
It was sort of nice, he had something to do instead of live on his miserable couch, drinking and wallowing in self pity- I mean he still did that but that was time reserved for after he had finished working.
He even started a small garden for vegetables- mostly potatoes- considering the closest town was a relatively small one that was a 10 minute drive from where he was. He went once a week for basic supplies and food, even started selling fish on the market.
There was an old fishing boat that came with the property, he scraped off the algae and bought himself some new gear... Finding the whole experience quite relaxing.
Watching how the serene water shifted ever so slightly, the sunlight bouncing on the surface as he cast his fishing line once more.
It was familiar, yet...
No matter how much he enjoyed being out on his little boat, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Call it paranoia.
But years in the military have taught him to be aware of his surroundings and he knew when there was a pair of eyes on him. He could tell when he was being hunted.
Yet he could never pin point exactly where it was coming from.
He finished up for the day, deciding to head back to his humble abode. Not before looking at the water and gazing at his reflection, his scarred and burnt face staring right back at him.
Yeah... Enough for today.
Soon, the weather got warmer- almost six months since...
The water was frantic that morning, small waves moving and splashing due to the slightly windy weather. He had been fixing up the deck, sure it worked fine but it was a question of when it wouldn't. The screws were all rusty and crooked, wooden planks moldy and rotting away- so he bought some new ones from town and began unloading his truck. No doubt there was going to be a storm coming in so he just piled the wood and covered them with a tarp.
Good thing he already fixed most of the leaks in the attic, he was going to redo the entire roof at some point but it worked for now- before he had placed a multitude of different pots and pans to catch each individual leak.
He enjoyed it here far more than the city. There wasn't any loud banging or yelling, no nosy people, only the soft melody of crickets, waves and occasionally rain letting him go numb.
Fishing helped as well, it was a quiet past time.
No ghosts are coming to haunt him here.
Well...
Almost no ghosts.
He narrowed his eyes toward the window overlooking the water, taking a long drag from his cigarette. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't help shake that feeling that someone was watching him.
It had started weeks ago, a little after he moved in. Little things at first. Tools moved when he swore he'd left them elsewhere, or the occasional glimpse of movement beyond the rocks offshore.
Every instinct he had screamed he wasn't alone out here and every time he grabbed a rifle to check, he found nothing.
"Bloody losing it," he muttered under his breath.
The storm worsened by evening.
Waves crashed violently against the shore while Simon pulled on his jacket and headed outside with a flashlight. One of his spare fishing nets had come loose near the waterline, dragged halfway towards the rocks littering the beach.
He could've left it for tomorrow morning, could've stayed in the warmth of his living room instead of stomping across wet sand, boots sinking deep.
Then the beam of his flashlight caught movement, his muscles tensing up and seemingly all of his senses being on high alert.
Something thrashed inside the tangled net.
Not something.
Someone.
For some time his brain was struggling to take into account what exactly he was seeing. Skin slick with seawater. Long strands of hair tangled with rope. Wide terrified eyes reflecting in the light.
And below the waist- a fish tail.
Massive. Powerful. Covered in dark iridescent scales that shimmered a sort of turquoise color beneath the rain.
You jerked violently as Simon approached, claws catching uselessly in the netting.
"Easy," he barked automatically like he was giving an order, that only made things worse.
You hissed at him, sharp teeth flashing as you desperately tried to drag yourself backward toward the sea. The net tightening around your tail, cutting into the scales hard enough to draw blood.
Simon stared for another second.
Any normal person would've probably panicked.
But he had fought beside highly trained men, wearing a skull mask while missiles fell from the sky. His scale for "impossible" was far from broken.
He crouched carefully, slowly approaching you while drawing a dagger from his belt. Your eyes widening at the metal.
"Oi," he said gruffly, holding one hand up slightly. "Not gonna hurt you."
The words sounded ridiculous considering they were coming from him, six foot something, pure muscle of a man with a knife in his hand.
Of course you didn't trust him.
The moment he moved closer, you snapped at him hard enough that he jerked back on instinct.
"...Right. Fair."
Rain dripped from the edge of his hood while he studied the mess of rope wrapped around you.
The fishing line had dug deep between the scales of your tail. Every movement tightened it further.
Simon clicked his tongue, patience running thin.
"Hold still unless you fancy losing the whole bloody fin." He grumbled, left to only assume that you don't understand the words, but maybe you had understood the tone.
Barely.
Your breathing remained sharp and panicked, but you had stopped fighting long enough for Simon to start cutting through the net. The knife worked carefully between ropes, severing one knot at a time.
Up close, he could see details that made his chest tighten strangely.
Scars.
Old ones.
Across your shoulders. Along parts of your tail, not natural and definitely not accidental. Something had hurt you before.
"There," he muttered after cutting another line loose. You flinched when his hand brushed against your tail accidentally. The scales were colder than he expected.
Human enough to look fragile.
Not human enough to feel real.
One final rope snapped and the net fell loose entirely.
For a second neither of you moved.
Then you surged backward fast enough to splash seawater across his boots, dragging yourself toward deeper water, strong fins treading through the rough waves.
Simon stood slowly, knife still hanging loosely in his grip as he watched you swim away- only to stop and turn around to gaze right into his eyes.
Rain poured between you in silver sheets while your eyes stayed fixed on him- cautious, frightened, curious. Like you'd been watching him for far longer than he realized.
With a flip of your tail you disappeared into the waves while Simon remained there alone on the shore, soaked to the bone.
After a long silence, he looked down at the shredded fishing net beside his feet.
"...The hell just happened?"
If Simon couldn't sleep before, he sure as hell couldn't now. Sitting on his worn out mattress with a cigarette on his lips, taking deep breaths of it as he stared with wide eyes through his window. His wet clothes thrown in the laundry hamper while he contemplated whether or not what happened was real or not.
A fucking mermaid.
He truly has lost his mind.
Surely it's the lack of sleep, maybe even a rusty old pipe burst and he's getting high off of gas because there is no way in hell that what he saw was real.
The storm had long since passed, wind clearing out the nasty clouds as sunlight found its way and crept through his windows.
He must be crazy.
So why the fuck is there a torn up fishing net where you had been? Why did he find shiny scales around it and deep groves in the sand where you had dragged your body when you jumped in?
And most importantly- why were there missing fish in his catch from the day before? You have bloody claws and teeth and yet you chose to take his? He spent a few solid hours using his heavy duty equipment to catch those. Not to mention his perfectly good net that he had to tear up in a million pieces since you got yourself tangled up in it.
The nerve of some people- or fish.
A part of him wished it stoped then and there. But of course it didn't and you were still around.
He could still feel your eyes on him, frankly he isn't sure if it's better now that he knows who is stalking him- might've been better to live in paranoia instead of delusion.
You weren't being slick either, he could see the slight ripples on the water when there was no wind, or the silhouette sitting by the rocks at dawn.
When he was fixing up the house though? Yeah, that was apparently peak entertainment for you. Curious eyes staring at him from the water while he worked on the deck, trying to finish it up before another storm rolled in.
He got used to the staring.
It meant he wasn't alone.
Your voice was soothing as well. You'd spent nights perched up on your rock, singing a soft melody that lulled him to sleep whenever he was restless- which was almost every night but your songs made him get at least two more hours of sleep to his measly none.
So what if he accidentally left a fish on his deck?
It's not like he purposefully placed the biggest one and stayed perched on his window waiting for your little webbed hands to find it- or how his chest filled with pride when he noticed that it was gone.
Meaningless.
Just like the pretty shells and smooth sea glass he would find after accidentally misplacing a fish every morning. He doesn't miss the little pleased click you'd do when he picked it up, glancing unamused at your general direction and watching you plop back into the water like a child getting caught stealing.
Sure it was embarrassing, but he was so fascinating to you- humans were always afraid of your kind, hunting and poaching you for god knows what sort of imaginary tale they spread about you. Forcing your kind to retreat into deep water just to be safe, turning into a myth or legend that was told to young children.
But he was different. He could've easily taken you, practically served on a silver plater for him since your already caught yourself... he didn't though.
Simon soon realized you had been watching for far longer than what he thought.
You've had your eyes on him since the very first day he'd set foot on the property. Seen him open the door to the house and watch in amusement when the handle was left in his hand. Seen him drunk on his porch at 3am. Seen him awake pacing on the beach after a gruesome nightmare. Seen him sitting on the ground of that same beach and talking to ghosts that weren't there.
You've seen him entirely and saw yourself.
Weeks spent at a distance, knowing of one another and yet scared to get close- because for both of you, getting close meant nothing good.
Though, you couldn't help but sit closer and closer to the shore.
Who could blame you? That man had the most treasures you've ever seen- simple work equipment had you in awe whenever he would use it. Surely he wouldn't mind if you tinkered with them, holding them and mimicking what he did. And yeah, it did annoy him to find his tools wet and not where had left them- but he drew the line when he saw that his pack of cigarettes were gone.
He heard you laugh for the first time that day. Your sweet voice giggling behind a rock while holding his things hostage.
Slowly that giggle turned into words.
He'd sit on the now sturdy and well built deck while you were perched up on your rock. Listening to him speak, about his day, the fish he'd catch or the nosy townsfolk that make up stories about him. In time he started to open up about his childhood, the rare but fonder memories- then some of his time serving.
You loved his voice, gruff and raspy but soft when he spoke to you... Nothing like the fishermen you'd listen in on whilst you got curious and swam up to the surface. Their voices were loud- but you did learn a few words here and there just by observing them.
Eventually you became more comfortable around Simon, swimming closer to him and trying to form your own sentences. You could understand most of what he was saying, having him explain new words to you as you tried your hardest to remember them.
You in turn, would teach him about tide patterns, giving him insight on the underwater life and how they react to them- along with how to identify and stay away from dangerous currents.
Now, whenever he'd go fishing you would be trailing close behind, telling him what time of day it was best to go out. His eyes just followed you while you were herding up some fish and leading them directly to his net, careful not to catch your own fins since you already cost him one.
He'd reward you by giving you the biggest fish to eat, and you'd give him the shiniest shells you could find.
For a while he was just referring to you as Fish. An annoying fish that would meddle with his stuff. He learnt your name of course, it was as beautiful as you- also having him hear you say his name for the first time was something to say the least.
Doesn't stop him from continuing to call you fish.
You were by far the first living thing that made this place feel less empty... First thing to make his lip dare to lift up in a poor attempt at a smile.
His drinking started to decrease as well, the nightmares still haven't left but your singing helped him keep them at bay.
One night in particular he woke up after drinking a whole bottle of bourbon. He wasn't proud of that but if the hangover wasn't a big enough punishment, having a nightmare of him screaming Johnny's name whilst he sees the life drain from his eyes and blood pool around his head. Having his hand firmly pressed to his chest, desperately searching for a heartbeat only for him to turn into ash and dogtags.
Clenching his fist against his own heart, he found himself standing in the water instead on his own bed, the cold salty water to his knees as he lets out a frustrated scream.
Your ears pick up that sound and before you knew it you were moving your tail frantically, looking for him and thinking he drowned but he was just sitting there... Letting the waves hit him as he held his knees to his chest, red eyes filled with tears... Desperately trying to keep them from falling.
"Si...?"
"Couldn't save him."
Oh...
You didn't say much after that.
Just carefully swam up next to him and gently laid your head on his knee.
You've seen how this played out before, he'd have that same nightmare and believe whatever awful things his subconscious thought up to torture him that night. Although you didn't know what atrocity had woken him up or the extent of what he had endured... Pain is something you sadly recognized easily.
The only thing you could do is offer your presence to him, wishing to take or at most share his hurt.
That was the first physical comfort he'd accepted in years.
You stayed like that for a while, the soft waves hitting the both of you as you sit in silence, not wanting to move an inch in fear of startling him. Simon, whose ragged breathing had slowed down a bit, just stared out into the open sea.
"Cold" you mutter, feeling how cold his skin was. Humans weren't built like mer, he was going to get sick if he didn't go.
As much as he hated the thought of leaving, once he looked into your worried eyes he slowly got up. Your hands dropping to the wet sand as you looked up at him.
He just gave you a nod. Making his way to his house where a warm shower would do him some good.
The morning after he sat by the dock and waited for you to pop up, not uttering a word before giving you the fish he would've otherwise left.
You couldn't help the happy clicking coming from the back of your throat when you snatched the fish up, biting into it as if you were given the best meal ever- because you were given more than just food.
Since then he's made an effort to always greet you when the sun rises with breakfast. Started bringing his own food because last time you'd insisted on sharing the raw bloody fish with him and he almost took your offer. Food poisoning be damned.
On the other hand you always show up early, a shiny treasure in your hands and waiting for him to make his way down when you pop up from the water. He gave you a pleased grunt whenever you'd present them to him. Not nearly as much excitement as you but when it came to him, that was enough.
Well, the first time you'd had the pleasure of hearing him laugh- more like a small chuckle but it still counted- was when you tried getting up on the dock with him.
It wasn't that high.
But it wasn't that low either.
You could've pulled yourself up, sure, it would've been easier- but you decided to jump instead. Landing face first into the planks and bruising your cheek. Shrieking and flapping your fins like a fish out of water.
It's safe to say that whatever pain you felt was momentarily forgotten once you heard him scoff and saw the tiniest hint of a grin. Stilling yourself as you gazed at him, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards.
He pushed you back in the water for staring too long. Much to your protests. He watched you for a good five minutes just flapping around glaring at him before hauling you up next to him.
You huffed, taking a big bite from your food.
From this close you could make out more of his features, every line, scar and mark. You'd trace them all, your interest peaking at the ink that lined his arm. Asking him about his tattoos and looking closely at them- you didn't ask him about his scars though. You had your own share of them to knew how painful it is to remember how you'd gotten them.
Eventually you'll open up to him, once where you noticed how he let his eyes wander before looking away as to not make you uncomfortable. Painfully respectful- yet he couldn't shake the feeling of dread whenever he'd see your wounds.
"My kind dislikes yours," you'd start quietly. "We were driven away by fear, forbidden from going near the surface."
Your fingers ran absentmindedly along your scales as you stared out at the dark water. "I was a curious kid. Always sneaking away, always asking questions. I wanted to see your world." A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Paid the price for it."
Simon followed your gaze before his eyes settled on the scar stretching across your back. Unlike the others, it was clean and deliberate, the kind of wound that hadn't come from an accident. His expression hardened almost instantly.
"Did they..."
You nodded. "They made an example of me. Said i didn't belong among them."
The waves rolled under the wood bellow you, filling the silence that followed. You expected questions, maybe even pity, but Simon only stared at the scar for a moment longer before looking away.
"Wasn't right of em"
Your head turned toward him.
"They were our rules-"
"Don't mean shit."
For so long you've tried to justify what they did to you, to see reason within the truth... Swimming alone near the surface you once dreamt to see, running away from hooks and nets as the sharp blades pierced your skin.
Humans who would hunt you and whenever you'd tried to make a friend they would only care to have your tail on a line. You knew Simon was different. A human like them but he hadn't harmed you.
Hesitantly, you take his hand in your own and bring it up to your cheek, holding it there as you closed your eyes.
"Thank you."
For a moment, Simon only looked at you, the walls he kept around him were suddenly not so solid. He only grunted in response, yet he didn't pull his hand away.
Days started to blur togheter from that point on. He would wake up early to have breakfast with you, then do some work around the house as you watched him whilst you sunbathed on your rock. Once you gave him the clear on the weather, he'd set off on his fishing boat while you swam next to him.
You made sure to gather only the best fish for him, climbing on the boat once you were done to have some lunch. Giving him a playful splash from your tail before he heads back for town to sell his catch.
So what if he stopped by the small jewelers shop, the shiny necklace on display catching his attention. So what if he bought it for you? You seemed to like that sort of stuff anyway.
Judging by your reaction you more than loved it.
He helped you put it on as you held your hair up, only to look down and see how the light reflected off of it. The sun setting in the background as you laid down on the shore next to him.
It felt natural how he had somehow revolved his entire schedule around you.
He woke up thinking about you, worked around the property just listening you talk about everything and anything. Whenever he was in town he'd think of how you'd react to life on land, all of his mundane reactions would be tainted with thoughts of how excited you would be to see this. He'd spend the ends of his days watching the sun set peacefully with you by his side.
Which makes whatever emotions that built up hit harder when he shows up one day on the dock, carrying a sandwich for him and your favorite fish. Expecting to find you waiting there for him, either you'd be plopped on the deck already or hiding in the water trying to scare him- but you weren't there. Not when he scanned the entire area or called out your name. Maybe you just overslept. Didn't stop him from sitting there waiting for you. Telling himself you're fine.
But he wasn't fine.
Breakfast came and went without a glimpse of you. Simon told himself it didn't matter, carrying on with repairs around the house, an old plumbing leak he'd been putting off doing.
Yet every time he straightened up, his eyes drifted toward the water. By midday he'd checked the shoreline more times than he cared to admit, his tea long gone cold beside him. The afternoon passed no easier, each movement in the waves caught his attention only to turn out to be nothing.
By the time evening settled over the coast, Simon found himself standing on the porch with his arms crossed, staring out at the darkening sea. The realization that he'd spent the entire day waiting for you sat heavily in his chest, irritating him far more than your absence ever could.
To anyone else he would've seemed mental. Staring out into the open sea waiting for a damn mermaid to show up.
"Bloody fish." He muttered under his breath, feet already taking him away from the shore.
Then he heard it, a small splash in his direction and when he turned around- there you were. The second your head broke the surface of the water, Simon was already moving down the beach.
"Where the hell were you?" he barked, frustration getting the better of him. "Been gone all bloody day without a word-"
The rest died in his throat.
You'd stopped a few feet away, and only then did he notice the water around you wasn't just dark from the evening shadows.
It was red.
His eyes then dropped to your tail. A deep gash ran along one side of your fin, fresh blood slipping between the scales and disappearing into the sea.
The irritation vanished instantly, replaced with a feeling he knew all too well.
"What happened?"
His voice came out lower this time, sharper in a different way. He was already crouching at the water's edge, reaching for you before he even realized he'd moved.
"Current took me farther out..." you let him pick you up from the water, "Some fishermen managed to hit me-"
You hesitated before adding "I'm sorry."
Simon's expression darkened immediately as his eyes stayed focused on the blood staining your fin.
"Don't apologize."
The words came out sharper than intended. He crouched beside you, inspecting the wound before muttering a curse under his breath.
"Stay here."
Without another word, he turned and headed for the house, returning minutes later with a first aid kit, clean cloths, and a bucket of fresh water. By the time he knelt beside you again, the irritation from earlier had vanished completely, replaced by a focus you were beginning to recognize.
"Let me see it."
You pulled your hands away from your wound and hissed in pain when he started working on it. His hands were precise, cleaning and disinfecting, later wrapping you up in some waterproof gauze.
He finished tying off the bandage and sat back with a quiet grunt. The cut would heal, eventually. He told himself that was all that mattered.
Still, the image of blood in the water refused to leave his mind.
The silence stretched between you as the sun dipped below the horizon. Simon kept his gaze fixed on the waves, jaw tight. He told himself the anger twisting in his chest was directed at the fishermen, at the carelessness of it all. It had nothing to do with the way his stomach had dropped when you hadn't shown up that morning.
Not at all.
For the next two weeks, your visits became shorter while the wound healed. Simon insisted it was to keep pressure off the injury, though you suspected he was simply looking for an excuse to keep an eye on it. Even so, the beach felt strangely empty whenever you disappeared beneath the waves, leaving him alone with the sound of the sea and thoughts he stubbornly refused to examine.
Your fin had eventually healed enough that Simon no longer had an excuse to fuss over it, though that didn't stop him from glancing at it every now and then whenever he thought you weren't looking. The two of you had slipped back into an easy routine. You sat nearby, talking far more than he ever did, filling the quiet with questions about human life while he hammered boards into place or sanded down old wood. Most of the time, he answered with various grunts, but you'd learned how to translate those by now.
"What was your family like?" you asked, watching him work.
Simon paused briefly before continuing. "Complicated."
You accepted the answer for what it was. Some subjects were harder than others. Instead, you traced patterns into the sand with your fingers, thinking for a moment before looking back up at him.
"Do you ever get lonely?"
The question seemed innocent enough.
Yet the hammer stopped.
For a few seconds, Simon didn't move. His shoulders stiffened, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the half-finished porch as if he were looking at something only he could see. You waited, expecting one of his usual dismissive answers, but none came.
Eventually, he set the hammer down with more force than necessary.
"Don't."
The single word caught you off guard.
"What?"
"Don't ask questions like that."
Confusion flickered across your face. You weren't trying to upset him. It was just another thing you wanted to understand, another piece of him he rarely spoke about. Yet something about the question had struck deeper than you'd intended.
"I was only curious."
"Well stop."
The sharpness in his voice made the air between you suddenly feel colder. Simon scrubbed a hand down his face before looking out toward the ocean, avoiding your eyes entirely.
"It's best if you stay in the water."
The words landed heavily.
You stared at him. "What?"
"Your world's out there." His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "The sea's where you belong."
The confusion in your chest slowly gave way to hurt. For months he'd welcomed your company, taught you about his world, sat beside you for hours without complaint. Now he was acting as though you'd crossed a line you couldn't even see.
For the first time since you'd met him, the silence between you felt uncomfortable. Simon knew it the moment it settled over the beach, knew he'd said the wrong thing, but the thought of taking it back terrified him even more. Because if he did, he'd have to admit why the question had bothered him in the first place.
For a moment, you simply stared at him. The hurt on your face was immediate, impossible to hide no matter how hard you tried. Simon felt it like a knife between his ribs, especially when your eyes began to shine with unshed tears.
"Oh."
The quiet response was somehow worse than shouting.
You lowered your gaze, fingers tightening in fists as sand dug into them. For a second, Simon thought you might argue, might tell him he was being an idiot. Instead, you only nodded.
"Okay."
The word barely rose above a whisper.
Without another look in his direction, you slipped back toward the water. Your movements were slower than usual, lacking the excitement that normally accompanied your visits. Simon watched you go, every instinct screaming at him to say something- to stop you, explain himself, take the words back- but he remained rooted where he stood.
When you disappeared beneath the waves, the beach felt unnaturally quiet.
The first day passed easily enough. Simon threw himself into repairs around the house and convinced himself the silence was for the best. By the third day, he found himself glancing toward the water whenever he stepped outside. By the fifth, he was standing on the porch long after sunset, staring at the empty shoreline. A full week passed without so much as a glimpse of you, and the realization settled heavily in his chest.
The beach hadn't changed.
The house hadn't changed.
Yet somehow everything felt emptier without you there.
Days passed by in silence. Like they were before he met you... It's the same sensations he had when he lost-
He missed you.
No matter how much he denies it, the heaviness in his chest is enough to drown him.
Almost two weeks had passed.
The weather had been clear that morning, the sea calm enough that he'd decided to take the boat farther out than usual. Anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to stop himself from looking toward the shoreline every five minutes expecting to see someone who wasn't coming.
The engine hummed steadily beneath him as he cast his line overboard. He told himself it was for the best. You belonged to the sea. He'd only said what needed to be said.
Then why did he feel so empty?
A gust of wind cut across the water as the horizon darkened.
What had been clear blue skies less than an hour ago were now swallowed by heavy clouds rolling in far too quickly. The waves began to swell beneath the boat, rocking it hard enough to make him grab the railing.
"Shit."
The storm hit fast. Faster than he could ever anticipate.
Rain lashed against him as the sea turned violent, tossing the boat like driftwood. Simon fought the wheel, trying to turn back towards shore, but another wave slammed into the side making the boat jerk violently.
Something cracked.
Then another wave hit.
The world seemingly flipped as if the ocean was punishing him.
All he could feel in that moment was the cold biting at his skin.
Simon barely had time to suck in a breath before the sea dragged him under. He kicked toward the surface, disoriented, only for another wave to crash over his head. Saltwater filled his lungs as he struggled against the current, his soaked clothes dragging him deeper.
For the first time in years, genuine fear gripped him.
Not of dying.
Of regret.
The last thing he'd said to you echoed in his head.
It's best if you stay in the water.
His chest burned.
Another mouthful of water.
Another failed attempt to reach the surface.
And as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, all Simon could think was that if these were his final moments, then the last thing he'd ever given you was a reason to leave.
Miles away, beneath the crashing waves, something made you stop. You'd been drifting through the empty sea, wishing to go back and see him but you knew better. He didn't want you and that broke your fragile heart in a million pieces.
Suddenly a foreign feeling crept its way to you.
A disturbance in the water.
Something familiar.
And suddenly, without knowing why, your heart dropped as your tail cut through the murky water- frantically swimming like your life depended on it because it wasn't your life on the line but his.
The moment you found him, he wasn't fighting anymore.
His body drifted beneath the surface, dragged by the current as the storm raged overhead. Panic seized your chest as you shot through the water, reaching him just before he disappeared into the darkness below. You had one arm hooked beneath his shoulders while the other struggled to keep his head above the waves whenever he broke the surface. More than once the sea tried to pull him from your grasp, but you held on, ignoring the ache in your muscles as you forced both of you towards the shore.
By the time you reached the beach, you were exhausted.
"Simon."
No response.
You dragged him onto the sand, hands shaking as you pressed against his chest the way he'd once shown you after you'd asked about it. Nothing.
"Simon."
Your voice cracked.
Then suddenly seawater spilled from his mouth. He coughed weakly before falling still once more. Relief flooded through you so hard your vision blurred.
He was alive. Barely holding on but alive nonetheless.
Your gaze snapped toward the distant house.
You couldn't carry him there.
Not like this.
The wind howled around you as you looked down at your tail. Every warning you'd ever been given echoed through your mind. Every story. Every lesson. Every consequence.
There would be no going back.
Not after this.
For a moment, fear rooted you in place. If you did this there would be no taking it back, you'd be forced to live a life unknown to you- but one look at Simon's nearly lifeless face had your doubts wash away.
The choice disappeared and pain exploded through your body.
Your vocal cords burned as you yelled out, your tail thrashing violently against the sand as your sparkly scales split apart beneath your skin. Bones cracked and shifted into unfamiliar shapes. Every nerve in your body felt as though it were being torn apart and rebuilt. All while you could only manage to claw against the wet sand, desperate for relief that never came.
The transformation seemed endless, but when it finally stopped, you collapsed beside him, gasping for breath.
It was over. The relief washed over your body as you forced yourself to look down... What once was a powerful tail had become legs.
Human. Fragile. Permanent.
Tears mixed with rainwater as you stared at them. The sea no longer called to you the way it once had.
You had given it up.
Given up the ocean.
Given up your home.
Given up the only life you'd ever known.
For him.
The realization hurt almost as much as the transformation itself.
Yet when you looked at Simon, unconscious and shivering beside you, you found you couldn't regret it.
Not even for a second.
With trembling limbs, you forced yourself upright. The first step nearly sent you crashing back to the ground, feeling as you were walking on shards of broken glass. The second wasn't much better. Your legs felt wrong, unsteady beneath your weight, but somehow you managed to hook Simon's arm around your shoulders.
The brute was fucking heavy, making the walk to the house slow and miserable.
By the time you reached the front door, every muscle in your body burned and your legs felt ready to give out beneath you.
Still, you kept moving.
Because Simon had freed you from the net once. Shown you the type of kindness that you've forgotten from a life full of loneliness.
Now it was your turn to bring him home.
You'd set him down on the soft couch, started removing his drenched clothes. Drying him off and wrapping him in a thick blanket. The red flickers of coal in the nearly dead fire caught your attention, making you grab some of the logs and arranging them in the same way Simon once did when he showed you how good cooked food could be.
The house is much warmer now. Lulling you into a peaceful slumber as your eyes fell heavy.
A while later, consciousness returned slowly to him.
Everything hurt.
His chest burned with every breath like it was bleeding from the inside, his muscles ached, and there was a pounding headache lodged somewhere behind his eyes. For a moment Simon simply stared at the ceiling, confused by the warmth surrounding him. The last thing he remembered was the storm.
The boat.
The water.
The regret.
Then nothing but darkness.
A crackle drew his attention towards the fireplace. Someone had built a fire. Fresh blankets had been piled over him.
Then he felt it.
A hand.
His gaze dropped.
Your fingers were loosely intertwined with his own, your head resting against the edge of the couch where you'd apparently fallen asleep. For a second, relief hit him so hard it was almost painful.
You were here. Like an angel sent from heaven- was he in heaven? Sure seemed like it if you were next to him.
Then his eyes traveled lower.
And froze.
Legs.
His breath caught as the realization struck with the same force of the wave that knocked him out.
How the storm took him, or the fact that there was absolutely no way you could have gotten him home otherwise. A thousand questions rushed through his mind.
Slowly, carefully, Simon pushed himself upright. The movement made you stir, your brow furrowing as you began to wake.
The second your eyes met his, relief flooded your face.
"Simon."
His grip tightened around your hand before he could stop himself.
Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Then his gaze dropped briefly to your legs before returning to your face.
"What did you do?"
The question came out rough.
Not angry.
Not accusing.
Just afraid of the answer.
Your eyes welled up with tears and you brought his hand to your cheek, "Don't belong in the water anymore."
The weak smile you offered him did nothing to ease the sick feeling twisting in Simon's chest.
Instead it made it worse because only now was he beginning to understand what you'd done.
You'd given up everything for him.
"Jesus Christ..." he breathed.
Your smile faltered.
Before you could say anything else, Simon's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you forward. The movement was sudden, almost desperate. One second you were sitting beside the couch, the next you were wrapped in his arms.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
You could feel the way his grip tightened around you, as though he were afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
"Dumb fish," he muttered hoarsely into your hair.
The insult lacked any real bite.
Slowly, your arms slipped around him in return.
"I thought you wanted me gone."
The words were barely above a whisper as Simon's chest tightened painfully.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"No, sweetheart."
The endearment slipped out before he could stop it. You pulled back just enough to look at him and for the first time since waking, Simon met your gaze fully. There was no mask now. No distance. No convenient excuse he could hide behind.
Only relief.
Relief that you were here next to him, and that he'd been given another chance.
His hand rose to cup your face.
"I'm sorry."
Your eyes widened.
It was probably the first genuine apology you'd ever heard from him.
"You don't have to-"
"I do."
His thumb brushed away a tear before it could fall, and for a moment neither of you dared to move.
You were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, close enough to see every scar and line on his face. Simon's gaze dropped briefly to your lips before immediately returning to your eyes, as though he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.
You didn't.
Slowly, carefully, he leaned in and you felt the brush of his lips against yours.
It was tentative at first, almost uncertain. Simon's hand remained against your cheek while yours found his wrist, holding on as if grounding yourself. It wasn't dramatic or desperate, just soft and lingering, years of loneliness and unspoken feelings finally finding somewhere to go.
When he pulled back, it wasn't far.
His forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky breath, eyes closing for a moment.
"You belong with me," he murmured quietly, squeezing your hand.
This time, when you smiled, it didn't hurt.
Nuzzling your face closer into his neck as his hands hold you impossibly tighter- making you feel safe. This is your home now. Simon is your home and you wouldn't have it any other way.
You also couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat when your eyes drifted to the little basket under the window, every little treasure you've gifted him was neatly tucked into it and it was the only thing in the house that didn't have a layer of dust covering its surface.
Yeah.
You don't regret one bit of it.
Not when you finally feel wanted.
Not when he'd finally taken you to town, shown you the life you'd yearned for all this time. Or how he'd let you decorate the house in different hues of blues and plants reminiscent of the kelp you'd once swam through. A big aquarium was stationed in the corner along with an assortment of shells and shiny rocks you'd collected with him whilst you walked along the beach hand in hand.
It was safe to say that Simon was right about how you'd react to human life- except for watching tv. You were cursing so much it would make a sailor blush because of the sheer amount of incorrect statements being said about underwater life.
Months later he'd surprise you with a shiny ring, asking you to marry him. You were confused to say the least- you were under the assumption that you were already mated. C'mon, you've given him almost hundreds of shiny treasures and he'd shown himself as a capable mate when he'd presented you with the biggest fish he'd caught.
Were you not mates?
It took a while for Simon to explain human customs and marriage over your hysterical crying, by the end of it you somehow ended up tangled in bed together- he ended up with a multitude of bites and purple hickeys, not like he complained.
You also didn't get the whole wearing white to a wedding. What was the point of wearing such a dull color to a special day? Simon made you cry once again when he showed you a custom made mermaid gown that had the exact hues and shades that once adorned the scales on your tail.
The wedding was small. By small it was just you two accompanied by Price and Gaz to sign as witnesses. The grateful look on their faces didn't go unnoticed by you. You decided it was best not to tell them what you were.
The only person you told was Johnny.
You held Simon's hand tightly as he knelt on the ground where they had once spread his ashes. He still has that nightmare from time to time, but now he has you to help him. A part of him believes that he had sent you to him. A guardian angel to make him die a happy man.
Because he is happy.
Especially the night where you were cuddled up close to him, taking his hand in yours and instead of pressing it to your cheek you lowered it to your stomach... Wordlessly telling him that you were having a little fry of your own.
Now, Simon Riley stood not as a dead man, but as a lucky bastard that was given a second chance at life- a life with you in it. Call it a fairy tale if you will but he is beyond grateful to whatever being there was that gifted you to him.
a/n: Oookay this was a bit of a long one on my part, do I think it could use a bit more flushing out and if given to the right writer it could sound so poetic and beautifully written? Yeah, a lil bit- but it's my lil story and I love mermaids this time of year- hope you enjoyed reading it tho <3
summary → It's the first night after the newest addition to the 141, you, have arrived—a canine hybrid trained by and for the military. And Ghost, as your newly appointed handler, has no idea what to make of you. He only knows that he won't treat you like the monster everyone else sees in you.
warnings → fem!reader, k9!hybrid!reader, shapeshifter!reader, descriptions of minor injuries, reader is in restraints, reader is pretty apathetic in this, kinda protective!Ghost, not that he would ever admit to that, no use of y/n
author's note → This idea has literally haunted me for the past three years, and now I was finally able to write something coherent about it! This whole idea was inspired by the Love, Death & Robots episode called “Shape-shifters” which is about two shape-shifting/werewolf soldiers in the military. I really hope y'all like this idea because I would love to explore this universe more, write more stories about this reader and Ghost (& the rest of the 141) but also have some fun with a little bit of worldbuilding. So let me know what you think of this idea and if you would like to read more of it! <3
word count → 2.6k
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Simon has trouble sleeping.
It's a fact that's neither new nor surprising for him.
But the reason for his current sleeplessness is entirely unfamiliar to him.
Because instead of some fabricated nightly horror or experienced traumatic moment from his past coming back to haunt him like it usually is, tonight it's just a person lying on the rickety foldable cot Soap found in one of the base's storage rooms pushed to the opposite wall of Simon's already small quarter on base, their breathing constrainedly slow and even.
You.
The hybrid.
The shapeshifter.
The descendant of the werewolf.
The special force's favorite new weapon.
You who arrived with a muzzle fastened at the back of your head and a scratched silver collar around your neck at the base.
You who had two soldiers flanking your side as they led you down the ramp of the cargo aircraft which had landed only minutes earlier, one of them gripping the heavy chain attached to your collar tightly, pulling you along unkindly, as the other kept an eye on you incessantly, his weapon at the ready—no doubt loaded with bullets made of pure silver.
You who were treated like something dangerous, something monstrous and savage. And everything Simon had heard about your kind only supported this—that underneath your human skin an animal always slumbered, unpredictable and uncontrollable, never to be trusted. Only to be utilized to do the government's bloody bidding halfway across the world apparently.
But seeing you this afternoon under the pale English sun, the first thought forming in Simon's mind was—being mildly amused by it, if he's being honest—how strikingly average you looked.
It was true that he immediately noticed that your hair was slightly unkempt, that your standard military issue clothes were hanging a little loosely on your frame, but nothing about it warranted this preposterous demonstration of power and control, at least not in Simon's mind. Looking at you, nothing he saw struck him as even remotely dangerous.
The only things that truly made you stand out, truly identified you as the hybrid you are, were, of course, your tail, tucked inconspicuously between your legs even as you walked, and the prominent dog ears on top of your head which you had pulled back and so they lay closely to your hair. But even those features were only a curiosity, the sight of them undeniably unfamiliar, a little uncanny even—but nothing more.
But then again, you are the first hybrid Simon has ever seen in person, the whole team has ever met, as your kind is almost extinct in modern times. Your communities—your packs—have been hunted and killed for centuries now, so the only information he had about hybrids was from triumphant tales of gruesome and bloody battles between humans and hybrids fought hundreds of years ago or fairy tales teaching children and adults alike to be beware of the big bad wolf. None of which he would dare to call reliable sources.
Still, Simon had been more than content to simply ignore these stories for the rest of his life, not having planned on ever verifying or disproving them because he had been so sure he'd never have the (dis)pleasure of actually meeting a hybrid.
That was of course until Price had sat the whole team down in one of the windowless meeting rooms on base about a week before your already scheduled arrival, simply repeating what the brass had decided for the 141: A hybrid trained by the army in secret would be joining them permanently to support these highly sensitive and vastly important mission their task force was entrusted with, ensuring their continual success.
And that Lieutenant Riley had been chosen to be the hybrid's handler on her arrival.
All eyes had turned to him then, only for Simon to almost bark out a laugh. What on Earth had gotten into the brass to select him of all people to be responsible for the hybrid on and off the battlefield? But he had figured, with a sort of grim amusement, that these men in their fancy uniforms and shiny medals probably had taken one look at his file and had decided that something monstrous like him would be the only one to ever be able to truly control an animal like you.
In the meantime, Price had started to explain the timeline and logistics of the arrival of their newest member, mentioning how the hybrid would be placed into one of the literal dog kennels on base. Johnny had already jumped up from his chair in pure Scottish indignation while Simon and Kyle had still been busy processing their captain's word before Kyle too had started to protest, both his and Johnny's eyes having snapped to Simon's, looking at him like he personally had made that decision. Simon had just sighed at these muppets' theatrics, but had monotonously promised he would find a different solution a beat later. Not from the goodness of his heart—never that—but simply because he knows from experience what a caged animal is capable of.
Then, as the soldiers led you closer to their little group at the side of the runway, Simon was able to get a closer look at your face, at the scar running through your left eyebrow, at the ears on top of your head and the few cuts and little missing pieces on them which he hadn't noticed before.
But what struck him the most about you was your eyes. And it wasn't the fact that they are, contrary to his expectations, completely and plainly human-like—but the look in them.
Or rather, the complete lack of literally anything in them.
Void of all emotions and almost unseeing, your eyes simply stayed ahead, never once straying to take in your surroundings or the members of your new team. You just followed the soldiers' lead with complete and utter apathy.
Like a lamb to the slaughter.
Or wolf, really.
Only when the soldiers came to a stand in front of the 141 and Simon was handed the heavy leash by one of them, your eyes darted up towards your new handler's face, just to be met by brown eyes framed by white-blond lashes and a black balaclava with a skull design hiding the rest of it. Your expression shifted just slightly then behind the muzzle, nothing Simon could really make sense of that quickly before you dropped your gaze again and you retreated behind your mask of perfect detachment.
Being your handler—being responsible for you from now on—Simon realized then, would be a hell of a challenge, but for an entirely different reason than he assumed at first when Price had metaphorically dropped this—you, and everything that comes with it—into his lap.
You didn't react when the soldiers gave Simon and the rest of the team a few instructions about you as well as the keys to your collar and muzzle, nor when your new handler took a step closer to you and reached for you without a word.
What finally did you react, your eyes snapping up to his again in something like fearful incredulity, was the fact that Simon made quick work of unlocking these ridiculous restraints around your face and neck, letting both the collar and muzzle drop to the ground without ceremony, just the heavy and final clatter of metal meeting asphalt.
While the soldiers immediately took several steps back and trained their weapons on you, angrily shouting in protest and horror, your eyes just flitted between his in bewilderment and apprehension, clearly trying—and utterly failing—to get a read on him, to figure out what twisted mind games he was playing with you.
But Simon simply shook his head before mentioning you to follow him, before simply turning around and leading the way to the main building of the base, not even once turning around to see if you were following him.
The soldiers outcries had only intensified at that, throwing words of warnings after both of your retreating forms, but Simon was genuinely more concerned about Johnny mauling anyone—these officers in particular—at the moment than you, Price literally having restrained the Scot with a heavy and unyielding hand on his shoulder the entire time since you and your little escort had landed on base.
Now, not even ten hours since your arrival, you're lying in his dark room pretending to be asleep, just like him.
You haven't moved even once since getting under the stiff and scratchy covers Kyle had handed you earlier with his signature disarmingly charming smile, so when Simon suddenly hears the old cot creak and protest under your shifting weight and your naked feet landing softly on the cold floor, he immediately becomes alert.
You quietly pad the few steps over to his bed and then just stand there over him, lying on his bed for a few suspended moments, completely motionless, while Simon wonders what you'll do next. He doesn't feel threatened by your presence so close to him; he knows—instinctively—that you're not about to hurt him, but with every added second ticking by, his patience thins as his annoyance rises.
But then you speak up, and for the first time since meeting you, he hears your voice, carefully controlled.
"I need to use the bathroom, Lieutenant."
Simon frowns deeply behind his mask—because of course he also covers his face in the privacy of his own room now that he has to share it with you, because the base's administration had refused to give you your own room on account of 'significant safety concerns'—as your words register in his mind, doubting at first if he's heard you right.
"Then go," he eventually grunts, deeply unamused by whatever this is supposed to be, not even turning around as he speaks to you. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, not nearly as gruffly as before, "down the hall, left, and then first door to the right."
When you still don't make any move to step away from his bed, Simon seriously asks himself what your problem is, and prepares for doing the same to you, doubtlessly in a tone making it clear he's not to be messed with, the one he uses with too cocky recruits (and occasionally Soap, when the Scot is being too much of a little shit), the one he isn't actually keen on you associating with him—especially because he's your handler—when you speak up again, quieter this time and infinitely more careful.
"If anyone sees me walking around the base alone without a muzzle and collar, they'll immediately report me, sir. Or shoot me."
Simon remains still as he's turning over your words in his head for another second or two, something cold and heavy and vaguely violent settling behind his sternum, before he simply turns on his bedside lamp and gets out of bed without another word.
When he faces you, he sees your eyes flash unnaturally in the dim lighting of the room, the uncanny effect gone as quickly as it came, but it still makes Simon pause despite himself. You immediately lower your eyes in apprehension, the dog ears on top of your head instinctively twisting to lie flat against your head, and Simon decisively does not like the feeling of knowing your body language changed to this because of him. But because he's not sure how to fix this moment, if he even can fix it, he simply walks past you to open the door of his—both of your—room, simply telling you, "this way."
Your naked feet pad almost noiselessly after him down the bleak hallway, always a few paces behind him, even when Simon deliberately slows down to let you catch up with him. The two of you pass no one on your short way to the closest bathroom on this floor, but while Simon waits for you outside of it, leaning against the nearest wall, your words from earlier return to his mind and he doesn't question the truth of them. If anyone had seen you, without you restrained at all or him as your handler by your side, he doesn't doubt half the base would've hunted you down without a second thought.
He closes his eyes briefly, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he has in a long, long time, and wonders again why he was chosen to be responsible for you. Why not Kyle or Johnny, or even Price, who all possess some basic human decency, empathy and social skills Simon lost somewhere between his fucked up childhood, everything that had happened with Roba and now. The animal, the monster he was promised by the fairy tales as well as the brass he could've handled, easily, but you? He's not the person someone like you should have to rely on. There is nothing good about him, and he assumes that's exactly what you crave—if his suspicions about your life before the military and the 141 are even remotely true.
But that is most likely the obvious answer to his own question—why he was the only logical choice as your handler. Not because the two of you are of the same kind. But because the military expects him to make a true monster out of you—like he is one.
But Simon knows what it's like to be tortured and conditioned to the point of almost breaking, almost losing himself, and he knows he'd never want to be someone making another person go through what he had to endure.
He won't be the one turning you into anything other than what or who you are or want to be.
That, at least, he's sure of.
When you step out of the bathroom again, you give Simon a quick nod of thanks without your eyes meeting his. He silently acknowledges the gesture, about the head back to both of your room with you in tow, when his eyes get caught on the sight of the state of your neck.
Under the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway, he notices for the first time since you arrived how raw and badly irritated the skin looks in the areas where the collar you wore pressed and scraped against your throat and neck. It even looks like the silver of it all but burned you in some places, the wounds looking angry and painful—and like an invitation for an infection to happen.
So without really thinking about it, Simon marches off in the opposite direction of where the two of you came from, your steps taking a second or two before quickly padding after him again.
"Where are we going, sir?" your voice carefully rings out behind him as Simon pushes and holds the door open for you, leading to another part of the building which is completely unfamiliar to you.
"Infirmary," he simply grunts and continues on, your feet dutifully following after him, even as you point out in a small voice, "… They won't treat me, Lieutenant."
"They will," he immediately replies, no doubt in his voice. Because he'll make sure of it.
And he does, so not even an hour and—thanks to Simon—a thoroughly terrified doctor later, you climb back into your cot, the wounds on your neck and throat now cleaned and bandaged, shifting underneath the covers until you're comfortable, before finally settling completely with a little sigh.
Simon lies back in his own bed as well, listening to your breathing like he did at the beginning of the night. Only now, as the minutest tick by, Simon can hear your breathing slowing, softening, until it finally evens out.
And only then does Simon allow himself to fall asleep as well.
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You’d like to say that being female in the military held no sway over anything at all. That being the minority gender didn’t have any implications or cause any negative emotions. But that wouldn’t be true.
Sure there was the whole thing about males being biologically stronger, but that honestly didn’t affect much. You adapted, worked hard, you passed all the same fitness tests. The physical wasn’t necessarily the issue.
It was the emotional. The camaraderie.
It’s not like the boys left you out, they were all respectful (if they weren’t you taught them to be) and made good conversation with you. But no matter how funny or witty or crass you were…you just never fit in quite like other guys did. You guess they just tamped themselves down around you—consciously or subconsciously. 
It hit you in times like this. You were in the mess hall waiting at your usual table while the rest of your team flitted into the room. They were laughing and shoving each other and you could just tell Johnny was making a stupid joke. Simon was only in his half mask so you could see the way his eyes crinkled a little. Johnny swung his arm around Kyle and punched John in the shoulder playfully. They all looked like they belonged together. Like a pack. And you were just…the extra.
fun behaviors to give dragons that aren't feline/canine based
cause as much as i love dragons purring and roaring i wish there was just more variety in how they would act
clacking their teeth together to show contentedness/happiness (budgies)
using tails as a defensive weapon in a whip like fashion (iguana)
twitching to express that they're not a threat to members of their species (hognose snake)
feeling calm when eyes are hooded/covered (birds of prey)
head bobbing as a threat display (anoles/bearded dragons)
flattening neck or sides to appear bigger (snakes/lizards)
mantling over food to protect it from hatchmates (birds of prey)
wiggling neck as a courting maneuver (budgies)
audibly grinding teeth as a warning (macaques)
maintained eye contact as a challenge (gorillas)
pounding wings against sides as a threat (gorillas)
slapping other dragons with their claws when their personal bubble is invaded (seals)
hoards used as a site to impress mates (birds of paradise)
snorting when undergoing heightened stress (horses)
making repeated loud noises with surroundings to establish territory (woodpeckers)
loud constant arguments with other dragons when roosting (bats)
building lairs that cause a domino effect of change in the land around them (beavers)
slapping their tails against the ground/water as a warning (beavers)
wiggling tail tip to attract prey (various animals)
wiggling tail tip as a warning (snakes)
plucking or scraping off scales as a sign of stress (parrots)
raising spines/frills as a response to danger and carrying on with their usual business as they believe they're protected (lionfish)
and im not saying canine and feline behaviors are wrong or bad to give a dragon (people wouldn't write dragons with those behaviors if they weren't fun in the first place!) but i feel for creatures that are mythological giant winged lizards that you can do more and get experimental with it. often the more unfamiliar behavior the more dragony the dragon feels
I have this underlying feeling that has been slowly building over the years. It rumbles when I’m too emotional, especially when I’m upset. It’s a want and a need. To escape. A longing for freedom. To have no care.
Omegaverse but instead of like collars or bites it’s anklets. Custom-made anklets that make sweet tinkling sounds?? and they r like an (admittedly outdated but still widely practiced) belief that an omega with anklets = very well loved omega because it means their mates like hearing them and just knowing where they r simply by the sound….
You already knew that you needed to be careful with them, your instincts telling you that this pack could be more than just a work thing. But humans were different, you would have to gain their trust and friendship.
Your quarters were standard, furniture sturdy enough to support your wolf form. Everything else was in the trunk that was already brought here. Some stuffed animals with the scent of home, soft fabrics for your den. Your special wolf approved gear. You were very aware that some soldiers thought you got special treatment, and in a way it was true. You had the standard human gear, but for ops where you needed to shift, you also had gear that allowed the change without having to take it off. And then there was the collar and chains. You never had to use it yet, hopefully never would. A feral werewolf was a terrible thing, and you didn't want to find out, if the chain was enough to hold you.
You arranged your things as best as you could, ignoring the feeling of something missing. The lingering scent of your new team screamed pack, something you never thought possible with humans. On the other side, your experience with humans was limited to the military, you grew up in a werewolf community. You had to learn to reel in your instincts, since humans were so limited in their expressions and senses. Most of the time they didn't even know what they were projecting.
A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, sweetwarmkyle, politely waiting for you to come outside.
"Captain wants to know if you are up for a demonstration of your skills", he asks, when you opened the door.
Sure. They always want to know that.
The training ground was surprisingly empty, usually the news of a werewolf spread fast and people wanted to see for themselves, but your new Captain explained quickly that he didn't want a show. Very professional. Very considerate. Your wolf side wanted to say protective. Good pack leader.
They started the usual. Rounds, agility, strength. Even in human form, you were stronger than you looked. The others didn't comment, but you felt the way they watched you.
And finally, the question: "Are you up to show your full potential?" Captain Price really must have worked with others before, the way he projected authority without forcing you to submit. Although, maybe you wouldn't mind submitting to him. But yes, better get this over with.
When you started to undress, you felt their eyes on you, but not as intrusive as you expected. More like they were assessing your form. Muscles and scars and a generous layer of fat. If they were irritated by your lack of modesty, they didn't show. Better they got used to it now, clothes were just a compensation for the lack of fur for you.
You took a deep breath, shifting outside the full moon always felt a bit uncomfortable. You felt your bones shift, fur pushing out, an explosion of sound and smells once you were fully wolf. You let out a joyful howl and stretched. In this form you were bigger, stronger, faster. And everything was so much more intense. The smell of your pack close by, their curiosity mixed with adrenaline that was to be expected. They were soldiers, they were trained to recognize potential threats. But no fear. Just... They would react, should you try to harm them, they were ready. Good pack, protecting each other.
Of course, you had to tease them a bit, showing off your sharp fangs in a yawn, but you stopped it when you noticed a spike of real fear from Soap. Did the Captain know about that? Fuck, that made things complicated. Immediately, you wanted to press to the ground and show the man that you were just a harmless puppy. But instead you just wagged your tail a bit, pointed your head to the running tracks and looked at Price.
"Alright, show them what you got."
That was all the permission you needed, taking off, the joy of running filling your heart. You could do this for hours. It would have been even better with others beside you. Maybe one day.
You were on your third round you heard a whistle, someone calling for a dog maybe, so you ignore it, you are not a dog. But it happened again, and you realized it came from Ghost. There was a second you were torn how to deal with this. But this was the first day, and you didn't want to explain the insult later when it became a habit. So the next time you heard it, you whipped around, running directly towards the man. This wasn't the joyful run any more, this was combat speed, half changing mid run into the thing that installed fear in little children. Half wolf, half human, claws and fur and canines in a vaguely human form. Ghost had no chance to prepare for the impact when you jumped, thrown to the ground with you straddling him. A low growl from you told him not to move.
"Let's make one thing clear from the start. You are my superior. But I am not a dog. I will not be treated as one. If you ever try that shit again, there will be consequences that are outside military jurisdiction. Understood, Sir?"
Your voice was a nightmare through half formed vocal cords. And you heard the click of a gun safety, Soap was aiming at you, so you let go, let the change complete without moving, except for lifting your hands. Introductions could have gone better.
And still. Under the fear, surprise, anger, was a hint of something delicious wanthungerspice. Mostly coming from Price. And Ghost, who had placed a hand on your naked hip like it belonged there.
"Understood. Welcome to the 141."
-----
I think there will be talking in the next one. Because Price is way too chill about this, and Soap needs some time to get used to your presence.
My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.
But life had other plans.
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War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.
There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.
I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.
Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.
This is my life.
This is my daughter’s life.
And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.
Why I’m Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.
That’s why I keep going.
I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.
How You Can Help: 🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity 🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources 🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war
💛 If you can, please support our journey here:
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on — to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
If you can’t give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.
From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war. But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.
I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.
Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.
If I was a (rich) vampire I’d have a big mansion (obviously) but I’d also have a bunch of human women with me (like a sorority) to drink from but like in a friendly-kinda-loving-kinda-romantic way. It would be a bunch of feminine and homey vibes. And they’d love me and I’d love them and they would love each other, platonically of course.
Everyday we would all sit together at the reeeeeeally long and big dinning table and have a nice breakfast. Somedays we would read together in the huge library. Somedays we would all garden together, planting new flowers for each season. Somedays we would go horseback riding through the woods. Somedays we would do crafts together. Somedays we would go into town and go shopping to boutiques and play runway when we get home. Somedays we would dance and party in the ball room. Somedays we would go to the lake and skinny-dip and eat barbecue. Somedays we would be glamping out in the field by the house and tell each other spooky stories by the campfire. Other days we would have a big sleepover in the ball room. Of course we would do one day a month (cause there isn’t really a mess to begin with) where we would do a big deep clean of the mansion and it would be peaceful.
Oh, and, the mansion is located on the highest point overlocking the small country-town we live in because why not.
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