#cod fic

[skinnyazn]

We Can Be Happy

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 2/2 Notes: Why yes I am writing a final Ghost and Jag fic after three years, funnily I wrote my fiancé into existence via these fics, this is ever as much our happy ending as it is Ghost and Jag's, This will be Ghost and Jag's final fic so I hope you guys enjoy and thanks for being a part of this crazy fic writing adventure!

PART ONE | AO3 | MASTERLIST

Everything continued to be a blur. You had no concept of day or night, what was real or in your head. You thought you dreamed of Simon and his rough hands brushing the sweaty hair out of your face, but your eyes were too heavy and you were too cold, and you wanted out, out, out. Your entire soul ached from shivering and the illness, and the dreaded nausea never left you.

When you came-to again, daylight was streaming through the closed blinds. You could make out their shadows on the floor from your viewpoint in the bathtub, and the constant noise of the outside seemed louder than ever. A faint smell of cigarette smoke wafted into the bathroom as you mustered enough strength to dry heave into the toilet again. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and laid back down, closing your eyes.

The sound of heavy footsteps triggered alarms in your brain, but you were so drained you couldn’t even move to get your knife from your bag. Truthfully, you had made peace with dying already but more importantly, you simply couldn’t be fucked.

“If you’re gonna do it, just do it already. Beats this fucking fever,” you rasped into the other room, eyes still closed. The footsteps continued, followed by the sound of straining fabric.

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

You opened your eyes to your Ghost squatted on the floor next to the tub and simply stared at him. He had his mask off, as was now normal with you.

“Is this real?” you tried to focus on him but found it hard.

“Sure is, luv,” he replied in his basso voice.

You wanted to cry for some reason, but didn’t have the energy so you simply stared at the ceiling, eyelids flittering.

“You’re alright, luv, you’re alright,” he said tenderly, brushing the hair from your forehead.

“No Simon, I’m not,” you said hoarsely, “I’m fucked.” Furrowing your brows and closing your eyes, you exhaled. “Can you put out that cigarette?”

“S’already out, Jag.” “Hmm,” you hummed in acknowledgement, before reaching your hand out for his. He took yours in his large one and squeezed lightly. “Thought you were in Pakistan with Soap,” you finally managed.

“I was. Finished up our work two days ago when Price called. Said you hadn’t been checkin’ in.”

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

You sighed. Five and a half days of this shit. It was any wonder you were still alive.

“Got you some meds on my way ‘ere,” Ghost said. “Your fever’s finally breaking, luv.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter. “Had us all a bit worried though.”

Us, you thought. Soap and Gaz were a given but was Price included in that too? you wondered.

“Why didn’t you get some meds?” He moved closer to you.

“I was focused on the mission,” you sighed.

“This fever was serious, Jag. The mission could ‘ave waited.” 

“I agree, Simon. I’ve been thinking that too.” You didn’t mean to come off as cold as you did, but it happened all the same. You hesitated before finishing, “I want out.”

Simon went silent for a long time and simply stared at your hand in his.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this, Simon. All of it,” you finally looked at him again. “These missions. The 141. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want out.”

You studied your lovers face and searched his brown eyes for understanding, but whether it was your fever or his concealment, you were having trouble deciphering what he was thinking. You felt his walls coming up again and you hated it. He let go of your hand.

Leaning his head back against the sink, Ghost stared at the wall as he took it all in. Losing Jag. Losing the one person—the one thing— that made him feel again after becoming the Ghost. You watched his chest seize as he tried to tamp down the waves of panic bubbling up inside of him. You reached back out for his hand, and slowly he gave it back to you. 

“Haven’t you ever wanted a life outside of this?” you asked softly, mustering the energy to turn your body toward him. He couldn’t look at you—couldn’t control the heat that flushed his cheeks. His jaw was so tense. “There’s a whole other life out there. One for us.”

There was a long silence as Ghost continued to contemplate it all. 

“You don’t have to keep going through the horrors, Simon. You’ve put in your time.” Pulling his hand toward your chest, you kissed his forearm and held it there. “We can be happy,” you murmured into his skin, but it came out more of a plea. “We can be free.”

“Free…” he mulled the word over. “Wouldn’t know where to start,” Simon finally said a bit shakily. He looked at you, gaze intense. “What am I without this?”

“Simon,” you said plainly. He blinked. “Not Ghost, just Simon.”

“Hmph,” he grunted. “‘Aven’t been him in a long time, Jag.”

“I see him though,” you responded, “see him right now—” but another wave of nausea took over and you pulled yourself to the toilet to heave. Simon ran his warm hand up and down your back as you tried to throw up anything in your stomach. No such luck though. Defeated, you rested yourself on the rim of the toilet.

“Help me,” you groaned. You heard his rich, deep chuckle that always made your chest tighten a bit in response. 

“You’re alright, luv,” he sighed softly, rubbing your back. Most of the tension from minutes ago dissolving. “I’m ‘ere. Couple more days of this but I think the worst is over.”

“Please,” you begged. You withdrew back to the tub and pulled the blanket over you. Simon ran some cool water over a rag and placed it on your head. 

“Just rest.”

Humming in agreement, you closed your eyes again and tried to shut off your brain. It was surprisingly easy in your current state, and Simon stayed on the floor next to you, lost in his thoughts. 

————————————

A wave of relief washed over you when later in the day Ghost mentioned that Gaz had found another lead to Viraj’s operations. Price had called while you were out saying to pack it up and head back to base. The nausea and fever were also starting to go down, but your body still ached through to your bones and soul, and all you wanted to do was leave this fucking safe-house and city. Ghost had brought back some canned soup and forced you to have a little, which you nearly threw up again, but managed to swallow a few drops. He was incredibly patient and gentle the whole time as he attempted to spoon feed you, and you wondered if anyone in the history of his existence ever got to witness this side of him—this gentle beast of a man. You decided no one had and you felt extremely fortunate that you were.

“Can you help me shower?” you managed, later that night. “I smell so horrible.”

Simon cracked the briefest smile in agreement, then said, “Got to get rid of this… nest first, luv.”

It hurt to laugh but you couldn’t help yourself. “I know. It’s horrid.”

You managed to sit up enough so that Simon could gather the pillow and blankets around you. He helped you out of your clothes (the pants were the most difficult), and turned on the faucet. Even though he was gentle, the feeling of the soapy washcloth was like a steel wire brush on your skin as Simon gave you a makeshift shower. He wiped down your body and washed your hair, being as soft as he could. You kept your eyes closed as he cupped water over your head to rinse the suds away. You brushed your teeth in the tub too, which revived a little piece of your soul. When he finished, he pressed his lips onto your forehead and you let the weight of you lean into his kiss. 

“Think you’re ready for the actual bed? There’s a bowl next to it, just in case.”

“Try my best,” you sighed, managing to stand as Simon wrapped you in a towel. He easily carried you over to the small bed and positioned you with just enough room for him to fit on it too. You felt so tired, yet miles better in his big arms. You closed your eyes and breathed in tandem with your colossus next to you.

“I can hear you thinking,” you said after a while, eyes still closed. Simon simply grunted in agreement.

You heard his lips part a few times, but then he finally said, “What would we do?”

Half-lidded, you stared at the beautiful man. Took in all the scars on his face, his blonde hair; it had grown out a little since the last time you saw him.

“What would make you happy?”

He pondered the question for a while before finally replying, “Somethin’ with dogs.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm,” he hummed and looked at you. 

A smile spread across your face. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Yeah,” and a crack of a smile broke on his face too.

He turned to you, and stroked your hair softly. Despite the ache of your body, you felt completely at peace like this. You wanted it to last forever.

“And where would you like to live?”

“Hmm,” Simon wondered. “Someplace sunny.”

“I think we can manage that.” You closed your eyes again and let the exhaustion seep in. Before you fell asleep, you murmured, “I love you, Simon.”

You felt his lips on your forehead again. 

“I love you too.”

——————————

THREE MONTHS LATER

——————————

The sound of birds chirping filled the air around your new house. It was a simple thing, but on a large plot of land with lots of trees and even a small creak nearby. Dozens of dogs were running around in the field, barking and playing, and you sat back in your chair, watching Simon through your sunglasses. He was pacing around aimlessly, with Soap and Gaz on the phone. Although he had a falling out with Price when he left (and if Simon took it hard he didn’t show you much), it was nice that the boys still wanted to keep in touch.

“Can’t say I miss it,” Simon said.

“Mate, you’re tellin’ me that you don’t miss a sausage roll? Bangers and mash?” Gaz asked over speakerphone.

“Nope, eatin’ pretty good here,” he replied, shooting a glance in your direction.

“Where’s your patriotism,” Gaz joked, despondently. 

“Truly. Cunt leaves for a few months and it’s ‘oh, I’ve got better things to do than get shot at and eat great food from the SAS's finest mess hall’,” Soap chimed in.

“Anyway, I‘ve got to go. Jag’s in a sun dress and needs all my undivided attention.”

The boys groaned in unison on the other end of the phone.

“Christ alive,” Soap laughed. “Try not to scare the neighbors with how loud you get.”

“Don’t ‘ave neighbors.”

“Fine! The dogs then!”

But Simon just hung up the phone and made his way back to you. He knelt down and started kissing up your bare legs. 

“Think the heat is gettin’ to me, luv.”

“Is that right?” You said, running your fingers through his much blonder hair now.

“Mmmhmm,” he hummed between your thighs, breathing in the scent of you.

“Well, we surely must do something about that,” you teased, as he deftly hooked his arms under your thighs and hoisted you up around his torso. He started carrying you back into the house, and all you could do was giggle into his needy kisses. You really liked this new life. ------

AAAA thank you guys so much for reading and journeying along on this amazing journey with me. I was inspired a bit by Evil Price from the latest COD trailer, so that's why he and ghost had a falling out at the end. @deadbranch @solidly-indulgent @aalxrose @dotcie @thepowers-kat-be

[witchacoocoo]

cod writers rewired my brain.

if i hear someone calling me 'lovie', i'll roll over and show my belly.

[teethcreatures]

Roach, who attached a little flag to his antenas during pride month bcs he knows the entire team is gay or some sort of not cis/straight, but are too traumatized/emotionaly stunted/weird about it so the little critter just runs around with the flags on his antenas like a walking intervention. He just wants them all to accept themselves.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 31: Simon's Predicament

Summary: He knows you're going to ask.

Pairing: Simon & Reader

Word Count: 1,837 words

Warnings: Simon's inner turmoil, mention of blood, mention of violence, some violent imagery but nothing very descriptive, angst

A/N: Okay we're getting into the super angsty sad extras now (since we're in that part of the story) so sorry but not really y'all asked for the angst

MASTERLIST

He knows you're going to ask. As soon as the doctor confirms your status, he knows you'll ask. You'll face your fear, your uncertainty out of desperation to avoid what's coming. Your only option because he knows John won't make it. Almost five weeks of radio silence...he's not even sure the message will get to him in time. 

That's going to be a disruption later when he does get that message. The whole pack is going to feel it. The anger, the self hatred, the guilt. It'll be worse when he gets back to you. 

They all knew this was a very real situation, a risk of the job. It was inevitable that it would happen. They were all prepared for it, even the doctor didn't seem surprised by this new development. 

It happening so soon, though...

It's more than coincidence. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. They've all been thinking it. Malicious or intentional, it's planned. They all knew things would happen, limits would be tested, you'd be stretched to your emotional limit for the sake of finding out just how much you could handle. 

You're losing it, though. Whether or not the cameras were intentional to draw a reaction, to see what you would do, to see how they would react, he hopes whoever was watching got what they wanted. 

The thought of you being watched for months, someone looking in on your private moments had a chill running down his spine. Whoever was behind that camera, watching and reporting...if he ever gets his hands on them...

Maybe that was the idea, though. Test how far they could infringe in the pack's lives before they'd retaliate. 

Everything is a test and they will never know the true purpose. 

It makes him burn hot with rage.

He hates it, how you're treated, how you're looked over, how you're not taken into consideration as more than a purpose, not even seen as a human being. 

If you were an equal in their eyes, they wouldn't have put you in this in the first place. 

He hates himself for not seeing it sooner. He hates you for not telling them right away. He hates everyone including himself for not making you feel like you could trust them enough to tell them. 

He's angry that your space was invaded. He's angry at you for not telling them, for allowing them, allowing him to have those intimate moments while being under surveillance. 

If you're willing to hide this, what else are you willing to hide?

He can't be too mad at you, not while you're in this position. Your alpha is gone, has been for weeks and you're alone aside from him and Johnny. If he was a better alpha, a better man, he might have opened himself up, allowed that vulnerability to care for you and support you in the way you need. 

He did open up and look what happened. 

He can't trust you, not totally anymore. Price doesn't suspect you of anything, doesn't think you're involved or know more than they do. Simon can't help but be suspicious. It's his nature. 

He should have stuck to his beliefs. Don't trust anyone. 

He shouldn't have let you worm your way in with those soft eyes and gentle smiles. Your sweet demeanor and playful attitude. How easily he'd fallen into your trap and how easily it had been sprung. 

He knows you're going to ask. It's brave of you, asking this of him now after everything. You're doing it out of necessity, out of fear and trepidation of your other option. He doesn't understand it. He wasn't even aware sedation was used on omegas until you. He had never needed to know, so he had never bothered to know. It can't be that bad, probably easier than toughing through it or taking an alphas knot over and over for a week straight. 

He'd destroy you. 

Rip you in half, leave you with bloody marks and bruises, permanent injuries he'd have to face and explain to Price. 

He can't. 

He can't be like his father. 

He's waiting, waiting for you to ask, for you to broach the subject, ask him outright. You want to. You're afraid of the other option and so you're facing the shame and uncertainty to ask him. 

He already knows what his answer will be. 

“Simon?” Your voice wavers. He can see how tense you are, like a coil about to spring right through the ceiling from the pressure.  

He can see you from his peripheral, hair soaked and dripping onto your shirt. You didn't even bother to dry it. It's one of Johnny’s shirts you're wearing, one of the few shirts that's not military issued. 

He knows this is the moment, keeping his gaze on his phone while he works up the courage to look at you, to face you down and hold himself steady as you present this predicament to him. 

He lets out a grunt in response, looking up finally. You're nervous, the hesitation clear on your face and body language. You're just as unsure as him, facing down this barrier you've never pushed against and he's never allowed down. It's asking a lot, but you've never needed to face this barrier before. You've always had Price. 

“Can I...ask you something?” You say, shifting nervously on your feet. You're delaying it, trying to work up the courage. He wishes you'd just ask, be straightforward and throw it in his face so he can bat it away like an annoying fly. 

He pockets his phone before standing, staring down at you. Sometimes he forgets his own size, just how large and imposing he is. You always seem to remind him of that, tiny in the way omegas usually are. He remembers how you had felt in his arms, how perfectly you fit into his hold. His alpha had been happy, content in the way he could wrap himself around you. 

“What?” He says, losing his patience and resolve very quickly. He needs you to say it before he loses his nerve and does something he regrets. 

You're hesitating, gulping down your nerves as you stare at him. You're scared, maybe because you know just as well as him how this will go. You know what to expect but you're asking in hope the answer will be different. 

“Will...” You clear your throat. “Will you help me through my heat?” 

The words have a visceral feeling to them as they reach his ears. He knew it was coming, yet hearing it nearly has him spiraling. Yes and no flash through his head like a slot machine, and he waits to see what it will land on. Yes, some deep part of him wants to. That instinct to take care of an omega, that desire to listen to you whine pathetically, begging him to stuff you full of his knot. He wants to see you in that vulnerable state, entirely dependent on him to help you. 

Blood on the carpet, streaks on the tile. 

No. He can’t. He can’t risk that. He’ll lose control, just like he did during your first time with him. It’ll be worse than that, completely lost to his instincts in his rut. You won’t care in the moment, you won’t call out in pain because you won’t even feel it. Neither of you will realize until it’s too late, until he has to complain why Price is coming back to a mangled, broken omega. He’ll hate himself, and he’ll hate Simon for breaking what’s his. You are Price’s. You belong to him. It’s not Simon’s place to do this, to offer this to you. 

He can’t. 

Even if you need it, even if you’re desperate, he can’t. He won’t. 

You shy away from him as he stares down at you, making up his mind. You’re regretting it, you’re regretting your boldness, the bravery you had forced yourself into to do this, to ask this of him. You’ve made a mistake and now you’re paying for it. 

“No.” 

The word sounds harsh on his tongue as he stares down at you. You flinch despite the fact you were probably expecting it. It rings in the room, heavy in the air as it hovers over you. Your face falls as you lose the ability to hide your emotions, not that you were doing a good job of that anyway. He hates it, the churning in his chest as your eyes begin to glisten with tears. 

“I can’t.” He takes a step back, then another, trying to soften the blow he had just dealt you. It’s not fair of him, but he knows he’s not capable of it. “I can’t.” 

He can’t risk it. He doesn’t want to risk it, risk you. 

Your fingers lace together in front of you, squeezing so hard it almost looks painful. You’re fighting the emotions, the embarrassment of what you had just risked by asking him. You’re thinking he hates you, he’s doing it because he doesn’t want anything to do with you after your betrayal. You’re not wrong, not entirely. He’s still angry, but that’s not why he’s said no. 

“Oh.” 

It’s simple, but just as heavy as his ‘no’ had been. It bites at his skin, clawing its way into his heart. Johnny is coming down the hallway, his scent flooding into the sudden sour smell that has taken over the room with both of your turmoils. He’ll know. Even if Simon doesn’t tell him, he’ll know. 

Simon will tell him. Simon will explain himself as much as he can. Johnny understands but that won’t lessen the blow, the anger he’ll feel for doing this to you. Johnny loves you, Johnny cares so deeply about you. This will hurt both of you, and it’ll be Simon's fault. 

Johnny’s presence is like a breath of fresh air, breaking the heaviness that has settled between the two of you. Johnny can sense it, looking from you to him and then back. Always perceptive he knows something has transpired, and he can likely guess. It’s not going to take a genius to guess. He’ll worry about you first, take care of you in your obvious emotional state. Simon is glad. You need it more than he does right now. 

“Ready for bed?” Johnny asks cautiously, almost like he’s worried one of you might snap from the tense energy in the air. The comfort and care is instinctual to him, second nature as he stares at you, ready to step between you and his alpha should he strike. 

He won’t be stopping Simon. He’ll be protecting you. 

“Yeah.” Your voice shakes, biting into Simon’s chest, sinking into the hole already forming there. 

He watches as you scurry from his room and into Johnny’s open arms. Simon’s glad you have Johnny. He’s glad you have Johnny’s comfort, Johnny’s support. You deserve it, the things that he will never be able to offer you. 

[cntloup]

which one??? (both x fem reader) 👀

price (spicy🔥/fluffy🌸/mixed🤷🏻‍♀️/you're a brat but not typical brattaming)

zoro (fluffy fluff🌸☁️/lil spicy maybe🔥/he's being a goofy goober)

Voting ended onJun 2

[soaps-mohawk]

Apocynthion

Part 1

Summary: Omegas are rare, something to be cherished and guarded, kept away from the world. You knew better than to wander alone. Now you must pay the price for your recklessness.

Pairing: John Price x reader, eventual Poly 141 x reader

Word Count:

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, alternate universe, non-military 141, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, shapeshifters, reader has white hair for plot but otherwise is ambiguous, kidnapping, injuries, blood and slight gore, hints of violence against reader, forced nudity, vulnerability, manipulation, indirect threats of rape, sexual assault/non-consensual touching, weaponized shame and humiliation, mild language, oh and angst

A/N: Well, I'm doing it. No promises on what this might become but worth a shot. Please, please heed the warnings as this is probably the tamest chapter out of all of them.

MASTERLIST

The water in the white tub is tinged pink from blood. It’s warm, almost too warm. Your skin tingles, prickling with the heat. You can’t say anything.

The shock is still rendering you useless.

Fingers bite into your arms, squeezing tight across your chest, almost as if you might hide it from sight. Nudity is not something to be ashamed of in your culture, but now it feels almost violating to have one of them looking at you.

Your eyes are locked on your knees in the water, the claw foot tub just deep enough for the water to cover the joints. One of them is swollen, the right leg already dark with bruising. Your ankle is just as bad, and between the joints teeth marks leak red into the water. It stings and throbs but no words leave your lips.

There’s a slow drip of blood, sliding over your lips to your chin before it plops quietly into the water. It’s a steady stream from your nose, has been since it hit the floor.

Screaming, body flailing in a weak attempt at breaking free. Nails rake across skin, the smell of blood. Falling headfirst, face smashing into the wood. A crack, blood seeping. Stunned, unable to see.

A hiss leaves your lips as the rag is pressed against your nose. Broken, you think. Ragged nails bite into the skin of your arms, chipped and broken.

Hands on ankles, dragging. Nails digging into wood grain. Pulling, pulling. A pop. More pain.

“Sorry.” His soft voice reaches your ears over the screaming in your head. His hand is gentle, dabbing softly at the inflamed cartilage. Beta, you think, the only ones capable of such a gentle touch. His words are just as soft, but there’s still an edge to them.

Are you? You think bitterly.

The blood slows its dripping, already healing. The rag passes over your mouth and chin, wiping away the rest of the blood. It’s dropped with a wet plop into the pile, the white stained pink with your blood. A fresh one is dipped into the water, already taking on a pinkish hue thanks to the bloody water.

He doesn’t hold back as he presses the rag against the wound on your shoulder. You whimper, jerking away from him, but his hand grips tightly, keeping you still. It burns, the pressure against the raw, open wound. It’s steadily seeping blood, staining your white hair pink.

Struggling, weight pushing, hot breath. The sharp burn of breaking skin, the deep ache of teeth sinking into muscle. Screaming, blood pouring.

“Took a chunk out.” He says, applying pressure to the aching wound. “Must’ve hurt.”

If you’d had the energy, you might have said something. Now you can’t even manage a glare. You’re nothing but a shell, being bathed by a stranger in a strange house, watching the bath water turn pink with your blood.

The wash cloth dabs at the mutilated skin, tears blurring your vision in pain from the pressure against such an injury. It’ll heal, just like the rest, leaving a scar in its wake.

A scar that represents the finality of your situation.

Tears slide down your cheeks, dripping into the water as he finishes, pulling the plug. Slowly the water starts to drop, gurgling as it’s sucked down into the drain. There’s a pink line on the side of the tub, stained by your blood. It’ll be easily cleaned, just as easily as you were. Evidence wiped away leaving a blank slate in its wake.

A towel is draped over your head, blocking out the world for just a moment. Just a quick moment where you can forget everything that’s happened and imagine yourself back somewhere safe.

***

The fire is warm, logs cracking as they burn. The side of your body, the side facing the fire is hot but you refuse to move. Your leg has been propped up on a folded blanket, elevated to help the swelling. A white fur pelt has been draped over you, giving you a modicum of modesty among prying eyes.

Your broken nails have been trimmed, blunted down to almost nubs. You can’t hurt yourself, you can’t hurt them. Your face no longer hurts, but there’s an intense throbbing in your shoulder, matching in time with the throbbing of your knee.

You’re not going anywhere. Not in this state.

Not that you’d really try. Not with them sitting right there.

Two of them. They’re sitting there, scarily still as they watch you. You refuse to look at them, to acknowledge them. Acknowledging opens too many doors, doors you’d prefer remained closed.

That’s not your choice anymore.

Instead you lay there, listening to the thumping of your heart, feeling the pulsing aches in your body in time with that steady ba-bump. Ba-bump. Slow, even breaths to keep yourself from showing any fear. You’re not sure you have any left to show. You’ve gone numb inside, your brain a blank space to push the trauma aside for now. It’ll come back later, but for now, there’s nothing.

You’re not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

The two on the couch stiffen a bit, the first movement you’ve seen from them since they sat on the couch. You can feel the shift, your breath hitching as the strong scent of alpha fills the air. It’s the volatile one, the big one with tattoos. He moves to stand behind the couch, between the two betas sitting there watching you. They know how helpless you are. They left you in the care of betas. His sharp eyes fall to you, piercing through your skin like he’s trying to see the muscle beneath.

Goosebumps prickle your skin under his gaze, your eyes still glued to the wood beams on the ceiling. You won’t look at him, you won’t give him that satisfaction. The last act of defiance you can manage in such a vulnerable state. Left that way on purpose to make you feel weaker, smaller, more helpless.

You’ve felt what those hands can do, the destruction they’re capable of bringing. Guiltless, soulless, merciless.

The executioner.

The three of them turn their heads, seamless and consecutive as they glance at the hallway behind you. You don’t need to see yourself. You already know.

You refuse to lower your gaze, refuse to move as he approaches, footsteps heavy on the creaky wood. Tension brews in the air, suffocating like the heat starting to prickle painfully under your skin. You’re too hot under the fur but you won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you move, exposing yourself to their eyes more than you already have been.

The creaking wood gets closer and closer to you. You can almost feel the floor shifting, rocking with every step. They’re not stealthy, instead meant for brute force. Big and heavy and relentless.

The floor cracks beside you, nearly making you jump. Your hands close into fists under the blanket, fingers clenching into your palms. A hand closes around your jaw, forcing your head down and to the side.

The grizzled face comes into view, thick beard peppered with grey. Bright, icy eyes stare into your soul, seeping past the front of indifference you’ve put up. The attempt at being strong and defiant against them. His eyes gaze into yours, boring holes in your skull as he forces his way past your defenses. A battle of wills and you have little will left. Not with him around.

His eyes leave yours to rove your face, burning a trail across your skin.

“You’re healing well.” His voice rumbles in the quiet, paired with a cracking of a log in the fireplace. It makes you flinch, pushing against his fingers which offer no give. Steel limbs holding you in place.

Those limbs let up, a big paw of a hand sliding down your throat. Your breath freezes in your lungs, body tense as his hand pushes the soft fur down slightly until his hand rests against your chest. He can feel the racing of your heart against his palm, the rush of blood through your limbs, the throbbing pain in your knee and shoulder. You’d wish this pain, this discomfort on him if only to bring him to your level, lower him on his pedestal just a bit.

You could only be so lucky.

“Bit warm under there.” He murmurs, fingers curling around the edge of the fur blanket.

The protest dies on your tongue as he rips the fur from you, shame heating your body as you’re suddenly exposed to the room, naked and vulnerable. It’s not like they haven’t seen you already, but this is so different. Here they can look, they can criticize.

He sits back on his heel, dragging his eyes across your body. Goosebumps prickle at your skin under his gaze, muscles flexing as you tense. You dare not move, hide yourself from his gaze. There would be no use in fighting, no matter how much your brain screams at you to retaliate.

The inhale catches in your throat as his palm comes to rest flat against your stomach, fingers dimpling the skin as he tags weight into the press of his hand against you. It’s possessive, tagging you like a fresh kill. He sits there, staring down at you with his hand pressed against your womb. It’s silent in the room, the three others watching the exchange curiously with rapt attention. Waiting, seeking the answer to the question of what’s going to happen next.

He’s dismantling you, breaking down those last few barriers of self control. He wants you angry and humiliated, broken down and malleable. You’re waiting, clinging to those last few shreds of sanity, hands still curled into fists as you prepare yourself for what’s going to happen next. What his next move will be. He’s the one in control, he’s the one they’re all looking to for direction.

He could do it now, while you’re in a weakened state. Invoke that right, partake of that offensive ritual. Strip you of the last of your decency, your resolve, your humanity. You’re trembling under his hand, breaths shallow as you wait, you anticipate.

You’re helpless, completely helpless. 

He removes his hand, resting it on his bent knee. He rocks back onto his heels, pushing himself up to stand. You shift for the first time, sweat making the blanket under your back soggy. 

“What?” You ask, your resolve beginning to come back now that the direct threat is gone. Anger is starting to bubble inside of you, the last bit of your honor still intact. “Not going to rape me in front of them? Not going to let them take turns?”

A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth, his chest shaking in a chuckle. “Not yet.” 

The words strike a chord of fear in you despite your attempts to remain indifferent. Not yet. He would sink so low as to partake in such a ritual. He's already taken you, stripped you of your freedoms and your pride. He's dangerous, they all are, and they've made sure you know that.

***

“C’mon lass. Don’ make me do it.”

The one with the god-awful hair is speaking to you. You had decided not to take him seriously because who in their right mind has a mohawk willingly? Deep down you know you should take him seriously. Big, stocky, meant for power not speed. You might have thought him an alpha, if it wasn’t for the playful glint in his eye. He doesn’t hold himself like an alpha, no domineering scent overpowering your senses.

His scent is surprisingly soft. You’re getting a strong whiff of it with your close proximity.

He’s pulled you up so you’re sitting, the fur pooled at your waist. He’s trying to get you up, but you’re trying your best to make it as hard as possible. You could probably get up on your own if you had to, even with one and a half usable legs. You’re being stubborn on purpose. Not out of hope he’d give up and let you lay there, but instead you do it in your weak attempts at defiance. They probably find it amusing, but to you it’s the only shreds of your hope and sanity you have left.

The situation hasn’t quite registered yet. It still feels very surreal. Despite the painful reminders your injuries conjure up, there’s still a delightful cloudiness in your brain when you think about your new reality. It still feels temporary, like your parents will walk through the door at any moment to take you back to your home, your pack.

You’re not stuck in this nightmare, you’re just waiting for the moment when it all gets revealed as some kind of sick joke.

It’s not a joke. It’s very real.

The hand groping your chest brings you back into that nightmarish reality.

“Stop.” You say firmly, trying to bat his hand away where it squeezes your bare breast.

He doesn’t stop, not like you expected him to. Instead he grips you harder, his fingers pinching your nipple. You swing at him, hitting his bare chest but it doesn’t phase him in the slightest.

“Stop!” You shriek, and he finally does let go, only to catch your hands.

He grips both of your wrists in one of his hands, the other closing around your jaw, cheeks squished as he holds your face. That playful glint has been replaced by an intensity in his gaze, the back of your neck prickling as the sense of danger rolls through you.

“Yer our omega.” He grits out through his teeth, baring them at you. “I can damn well touch ye if I please.”

“Ease up, Johnny.” The rough voice of the big alpha cuts through the tension.

Johnny.

It’s the first of their names you’ve heard. It fits him, you have to admit. You wonder what the others’ names are. They won’t come easily, you don’t think. They’re not likely to do a meet and greet with you.

“I don’t want no sniffling bird at the table.” The big alpha says, continuing on his path into the kitchen.

Johnny releases you slowly, lowering his hands. Your chest is heaving from the adrenaline that had coursed through your body. Your poor adrenal glands are probably exhausted and it’s not even dark outside yet. There’s tears in your eyes, but the words of the big alpha come back to you. The last thing you want to do is anger him. Your knee throbs as a reminder as to why.

“Can I get a shirt?” You ask quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself. The fire is hot against your back and you know as soon as you’re away from it you’ll be cold.

“No.” Johnny says before tugging the blanket off you completely.

Tears prick behind your eyes, tears of shame as you’re lifted off the floor and into his arms. You refuse to look at him, refuse to hold on as he begins to move, carrying you from the living area over to the table.

The light is on above the table, casting a bright, warm glow around the nook. You’re placed in a chair on the far side of the table facing the door. The way out so close, but yet so far. There’s no way you could get out. You can’t run, not in this state.

It feels so cruel.

The others join you, the other beta and the big alpha bringing steaming bowls of soup to the table. They’re all still bare chested, clad in only bottoms of varying sorts. The big alpha sports jeans, the other beta having chosen sweatpants. Johnny wears a pair of basketball shorts, and the head alpha sports a pair of cargo pants. You can’t help but wonder if they’re wearing them simply for your comfort, if they’d otherwise be walking around naked.

No, they wouldn’t have given you such a comfort.

If nudity was the norm for them, they wouldn’t have stopped it on your behalf.

The don’t seem to hold the same care for you, though.

The wood of the chair is cold against your skin that had been heated by the fire under the fur. It has your nipples pebbling, your arms still crossed in front of your body as a bowl of soup is placed in front of you. It’s brothy, and you can see various vegetables floating in it. There’s a biscuit on the side, butter and jam placed on the table.

You watch them sit, the big alpha taking the lone seat on the right side of the table, the two betas taking the chairs on the left, Johnny sitting closer to you. The head alpha takes the seat at the head of the table, directly across from you. It’s a purposeful placement. Second alpha to the right, the beta closest to the alpha on the left, the omega across at the other end of the table. Positions based on rank of power.

You doubt you’ll be allowed such power in this pack.

“Something wrong?” The head alpha says, and you quickly realize you’ve been staring. You’re tired, your brain exhausted from fighting. It’s purposeful. It’s all so purposeful. Put you through the ringer until you’re exhausted and forced to submit.

“I’m cold.” You say quietly, arms still wrapped around yourself as you hunch in the chair, trying to give yourself some modicum of modesty.

“Soup’ll fix that.” He says simply, picking up his spoon.

The others follow, the clinking of silverware starting to fill the quiet cabin. You continue to stare at the soup, your eyes filling with tears. You’re not hungry, but you know they’ll force feed you if you don’t eat. It’ll only heighten the shame already burning through you. You feel violated, embarrassed, vulnerable. The worst part is none of them seem to even care. Not one of them seem bothered by this treatment of you.

There truly is no mercy to be found here.

You pick up your spoon, one arm still across your chest as you stir the soup. Chunks of meat kick up to the surface. You wonder if they grow and hunt themselves, or if they go into town for food. You’ve never seen them in town, but then again, you never get to go to town often. Too many eyes, too many possibilities. You were to be hidden away, kept secret and protected.

Now look at you.

You try not to cry as you lift a spoonful of soup to your mouth. I don’t want no sniffling bird at the table, the big one had said. You don’t want to test him, scared of what he might do. Instead you shove the emotions down, focusing on the soup. You are hungry. You can feel the beginning pangs deep in your stomach as the savory scent of the soup fills your nose. You haven’t eaten since this morning.

How long ago that feels now.

The soup is good. Decent flavor. The biscuit is a bit dry, but that’s what the soup is for. It’s quiet at the table, though, no conversation to drown out the sound of silverware and chewing. You wonder if that’s normal, or if no one really knows what to say in this situation. They all eat, none of them looking at each other. None of them look at you either. It’s a small relief.

Your hand is shaking by the time you finish your soup. Nerves are still eating away at you, your brain still hypervigilant of the danger you’re in. You’re sitting with an unknown pack in an unknown place, injured and frightened. You can’t overpower them, you can’t even outrun them. They had proven that. They’re bigger, stronger, faster than you. You’re just an omega, forced to be at their mercy.

You wrap your arms around yourself again, trying to seem as small as possible in your seat. All you want to do is lay down and sleep but you’re too aware, too afraid. You don’t want to know what kinds of things they might do to you as you sleep. Nothing would stop them anyway, but the prospect of you being unaware has your skin crawling.

You’re shaking as you sit there, wrapped in your own arms. Your knee is throbbing from the position it’s been forced into. You can’t wait for that to heal. It’s a nuisance and it’s inhibiting your ability to run. If you’re going to escape and get back home, you need to be able to sneak around and run when you get the chance.

You don’t know when that chance will be.

You’re not sure it will ever come. You’d have to get past all four of them, which you doubt they’ll make an easy task for you. One of them will always be hovering, always near the door. A window is a possibility, but you haven’t seen much else of the house besides this main area. There have to be windows you could possibly climb out of if you can just get a moment alone.

You don’t know when that will be either.

First you need your knee to heal. Then you’ll deal with creating an escape plan.

Sweat is beading on your forehead from the deep throbbing in your knee. You try to shift, straightening it as best you can even as the edge of the chair bites into the back of your leg uncomfortably. You’d love to lay back down, but you’re not sure what their next move will be, what their plan is.

The head alpha is staring at you, no doubt having sensed your discomfort. He doesn’t say anything, his elbows resting on the table as he watches you. Maybe he’s waiting, testing how strong your resolve is, how far he can push you before you break. You refuse to give in that easily, refuse to let him win. It’s what he wants, your full submission. You’re not going to give him that pleasure.

Your skin prickles as his gaze darkens, his eyes trailing down your front to where your breasts peak out above the table. The urge to cover yourself is strong, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t give him any satisfaction.

You’re going to make this as hard for him as possible.

“We’re going to lay down some ground rules.” He finally says, breaking the tense silence around the table. All eyes flicker to him, waiting, ready to obey. “You’re not to leave this house.” He says, staring pointedly at you. “The world is a dangerous place for an omega. You never know who’s lurking out in the woods.”

He’s taunting you.

“We’re nowhere near civilization, and I won’t have you getting lost in the woods.”

You doubt he’d let you go far enough to even touch the door, much less pass through it.

“You’re part of this pack now, so you’re going to pitch in.” He continues. “I know you have skills. Cooking, cleaning, mending. You do your part, we won’t have any problems.”

He speaks as if you’re going to be here forever. Well, in his mind you are.

“You’re the lowest rank in this pack. You’re here to serve. My boys ask something of you, you do it.” He says. You ignore Johnny’s smirk. “There’s punishment for making trouble. I’d hate to have to enforce that upon you.”

No you wouldn’t.

“This is your home now.” He says. “The sooner you accept that, the easier this all will be.”

You doubt it.

Your gaze leaves his as Johnny stands, your eyes flickering to watch him as he starts to gather bowls. He does so wordlessly, the other beta standing to join him. The meeting is adjourned, the conversation over. He takes your empty bowl, the spoon clacking as he drops it inside before taking it from in front of you. Your eyes flicker back to the alpha, his eyes still on you. You feel more exposed now without the safety of the bowl before you. How strange that such a little thing could offer so much security.

The other alpha pushes his chair back before standing. You can’t stop your gaze from lifting to stare at his hulking form. He’s not any taller than the head alpha, but he seems bigger. He carries himself differently, with more power. If you hadn’t known, you would have assumed he was the head alpha just by looks.

The head alpha stands as well, looming over the table. You lower your gaze to the wood in front of you, not wanting to stare at him as he slowly approaches you, stalking towards you like a predator hunting his prey. You suppose you are his prey. He hunted you down like you were.

How stupid you were going so far into the woods.

Tears prick your eyes as his hands slip under you, arms looping under your knees and around your shoulders. He lifts you easily, hoisting you up into his grasp. He doesn’t even seem to struggle with your weight, a show of power. How easily he can control you. If he can’t break you mentally, he will break you physically. His words had bordered on that threat, the double meaning not lost on you.

He had proven that to you already.

He lays you back down in front of the fire, head pillowed on the cushion, his hands propping your knee back up on the stack of pillows and blankets. That hand drags slowly down your thigh, rough skin catching on yours. A worker’s hands. He pauses for a moment, big hand gripping your thigh before he removes it, grabbing the white fur and draping it back over you.

****

It’s the head alpha that carries you to bed. You hadn’t slept any, even as the night crawled on. It’s late, the moon already up and drifting through the sky. How you wish you could see her, beg her to fix this, to take you away from this nightmare. Instead you’re met with a small window above the bed reflecting the light fixture on the ceiling in the inky blackness.

You’re laid down on the bed gently. Wood framed, hand-made you think. The mattress is soft, the pillows fluffy. Feathers, you think. He’s nice enough to tuck one under your knee, moving the blankets down out of the way. The white fur has come with you, draped over your form as you lay there on the bed. You wish you were home, you wish you were being tucked in and kissed by your mother. You were too old for that but she still insisted. You’re her baby, her only child.

Does she think you’re dead​?

They’ll be looking for you. All night they’ll search. Maybe they’ll find the blood, maybe they’ll assume the worst. Or maybe they’ll know. Maybe they’ll come looking. Maybe you won’t have to escape at all.

The alpha moves away from the bed, heading towards a door on the far wall. It opens, a light switching on inside. A bathroom. He doesn’t close the door as he goes in, your eyes floating to the ceiling as you listen to him. Running water, a toothbrush, a stream of piss into the toilet, the light switch flicking as he comes back out. Your eyes dart to him before quickly jumping back to the ceiling.

He’s nude.

It’s not unusual, but this feels different. It’s intentional. Degrading.

You continue to stare up at the ceiling as he approaches the bed, cock swinging between his legs. If you had the strength you would have stared at him, fighting that dominance he’s engaging by presenting himself in such a state. He’s testing you, showing you where the boundaries lie. There are little boundaries between the two of you. You’ve been claimed, a shackle of ownership placed around your throat where his teeth dug into your skin and tore out a chunk. You’ll wear that shackle for the rest of your life, a constant reminder of who you belong to, who you answer to.

He turns on the lamp beside the bed before turning off the overhead light, bathing the room in the soft glow of the yellow light bulb.

Tears prickle your eyes as he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Your leg twitches as his hands touch your skin, pressing against your bruised and throbbing knee. You hiss, your eyes squeezing closed at the pain as he pushes lightly against the swollen joint.

“It’ll be healed by tomorrow night.” He says, releasing your leg to lay against the pillow again.

You keep your gaze up, fighting tears as he settles onto the bed next to you with a sigh. He pulls the blankets up, covering you with them before he settles on his side facing you. He’s staring at you but you’re not brave enough to stare back. All that strength you held at the dinner table is gone, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. You’re too afraid to sleep, laying next to a stranger. A stranger who attacked you, forced you to be his mate, forced you here into his home, into his pack.

Why did you stray so far from home?

His fingers close around your jaw, forcing your head to the side. A tear slides down your cheek as you stare at him, his eyes lidded. “You’ll be happy here.”

It’s not a question, not even a suggestion. He’s telling you what you’re going to feel. You’ll be happy here because you have no choice. This is your home, your family now. These men who stole you away and forced you to be one of them, these men whose hands only know violence.

The rough grips on your body, hands pinching and twisting and breaking, teeth sinking in deep, ripping and tearing you apart.

His thumb wipes the tear that slides down our cheek. Such a soft, tender caress compared to what you know he’s capable of. He stares deep into your eyes, digging, searching, reaching in to find your very soul tucked safely away. That’s one thing he can never have. He can take your body and your mind, but he can’t touch your soul, no matter how hard he tries.

He pulls your head forward, leaning close to you. Your breath hitches, your heart racing hard in your chest. There’s a moment of stillness before he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. It’s shockingly soft and gentle, a small peck of the lips, but it does nothing to quell the fear rising in you. How contradicting his actions are. The tight grip on your jaw keeping you in place, the soft almost tender press of his lips.

Danger! Your mind screams. He’s dangerous and he’s only further proving it right now.

He pulls back, holding you there for a moment before he releases you. He rolls over onto his back, laying there in the bed next to you. In bed with a stranger, wounded and claimed. Not an ideal situation, and certainly not how you expected your night to end. You want to be back home, back in your bed, back safe with your parents. You’ll never see them again.

More tears cascade down your cheeks as you lay there, the reality of your situation hitting you.

“Can I ask you something?” You speak quietly, your voice trembling.

“Hm?” He hums, already half asleep.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

He’s silent for a moment, and you’re worried he might have fallen asleep already. Instead he speaks, giving you his name in the darkness.

“John.”

[soaps-mohawk]

The Beach, Part 3

Summary: After an emotional parting with your merman, you find yourself desperate for something...meanwhile someone is trying to get your attention.

Pairing: Gaz x reader

Word Count: 2,526 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, p in v sex, teratophilia, merman!Kyle, kissing, nonhuman biology, emotions, slight angst, language

A/N: Just in time for the end of mermay!! I told y'all I was thinking about merman Kyle again...

MASTERLIST | Part 1 | Part 2

The first shell appears a week after your confession. Life had kept you from the beach, from your merman. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a bit of hesitation as well. Despite your desire to see him no matter what, that fear that he won’t show up keeps niggling in the back of your mind. You want to see him again, but what if that feeling isn’t mutual?

Then the shells start arriving.

You nearly step on the first, not expecting it to be sitting right on your welcome mat first thing in the morning. A big conch shell, colored in shades of pink and yellow. A glance both ways down the street gives no hint as to where it came from. None of the neighbors have them either.

With a shrug you set it on the table near the door before heading to work, leaving the mystery of the shell of circle in the back of your mind.

Another is waiting the next day.

A conus shell this time, cream speckled with black spots.

The thoughts circle at the forefront of your mind this time. Once is coincidence, twice screams intention. Someone is gifting you shells. You can’t think of any admirers. You’re not particularly close with any of your neighbors either.

Maybe you should have invested in that doorbell camera.

As the days pass, more and more shells appear, every morning a new one waiting for you on your doorstep. You’re getting quite the collection on your table. Still, you have no idea who’s leaving them for you. The temptation has been there to get up early, or pull an all-nighter to try and catch who might be responsible. Get a glimpse of your secret admirer. You wouldn’t act on it, instead it’s curiosity that drives this desire. Your heart already belongs to someone.

Guilt eats away at you. It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve gone to the beach. Does he think you’ve abandoned him? That you’ve lost interest? That you’re too scared to face him after your confession?

This weekend. This weekend you’ll go and finally face him.

****

The air is cooler than you’d prefer as your make your way down the beach. Despite this, warmth tingles in your belly in anticipation. There’s not as many people on the beach this early in the day, even for a weekend. Most were probably still in bed. You would be too, if you weren’t desperate to finally see your merman. Nerves twist low in your belly, but the warmth pooling there quickly shoves them aside.

He’s going to come.

You pick a spot, stripping yourself of your clothes before stepping into the water. It’s cool, goosebumps rising on your skin but you push the discomfort aside, sitting yourself in the sand.

The minutes it takes drag on forever. Those nerves are back, every wave sending your stomach clenching, your heart thudding. He’s not coming. Over and over your mind whispers it. You’ve ruined it, the one good thing in your life. You shouldn’t have told him, you should have suffered in silence.

But then a bulge appears in the water, speeding fast towards the shore through the waves. Familiar purple scales break through the water, a smile tugging at your lips as your merman pulls himself right up to you, so close you can feel his breath on your face.

“Hi,” you breathe, your heart pounding for a different reason.

He doesn’t say anything, but you don’t expect him to. His hands sink into the sand on either side of you, your thighs parting to allow his body close.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long,” you say, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “I’ve been busy with life and work.” You’re tempted to tell him of the shells, but it’s not like he could give you advice or his opinion. “I’ve missed you.”

He blinks at you, tilting his face into your hand. His slick skin glides against yours as he practically nuzzles you. Did he miss you too? Did your time away give him a moment to consider what you told him last time, time to mull over your confession? Does he feel the same way?

He leans forward, your arms wrapping around his neck as he presses his lips to yours. Sharp teeth graze your skin, careful not to press too hard and draw blood. He tastes briny as you part your lips, letting him in fully. Salty like the sea, but there’s another taste further below the brine, something distinctly him.

His arms wrap around you, flipping your positions. His tail splashes in the water as he settles below you, gills flaring as he breathes. Reluctantly you pull away from his lips, sitting yourself up over him.

“I meant it, you know,” you say quietly, trailing your fingers down his chest. He stares up at you, hands coming to rest on your hips. “What I said before. I don’t know if you understood, or if you even have a concept of love among merpeople.”

One of his hands slides up your side to your back, pulling you back down to hips lips. No talking, he seems to say, or perhaps it’s his way of saying yes. It only leaves you more confused as you kiss him, hands pressed against his chest.

You can feel him poking through his slit, the hard tip of his cock dragging against your folds. You slip a hand down between your bodies, teasing his tip with your fingers. He bucks in the water, splashing it up around your legs as his teeth scrape against your lip. He’s careful enough not to draw blood, but the skin feels raw. It makes you feel alive.

You pull away from him, shifting yourself so you can palm at his slit, coaxing his cock free. You wrap your fingers around the slick appendage, stroking him slowly. He’s hot and hard in your hand, his hips canting up against you. His nails dig into your thighs, stinging a bit but you pay it no mind, letting him guide you up over his cock.

A moan escapes your lips as your head falls back, your body stretching around his cock. You haven’t touched yourself in those two weeks, trying to avoid dulling any sensations you might miss in these moments. The ridges of his cock drag along your walls, your thighs squeezing tight around his hips at the pleasurable sensation.

“Fuck, you’ve ruined me.” You moan, pressing down until you’re seated fully against his hips. His cock presses deep inside of you, your pussy fluttering around him. “I’ll never feel satisfied by anything but this again.”

For half a second something flashes across his face, something you might have missed had you not known him as well as you do. Pride, maybe? Satisfaction? Something else?

The thrust of his hips upward distracts you from that train of thought, your thighs tensing as he presses his cock deeper into you. Message received.

You begin to move, rocking your hips as you brace yourself on his stomach. You can feel the muscle beneath his thick skin, hard beneath your hands as you use him for leverage. His own hands hold your hips, guiding your movements. The drag of his cock has your head tipping back, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. There’s nothing like this feeling, and there’s nothing that will ever be able to take its place.

His fingers flex against your skin as you bounce on his cock, the water lapping at your skin. You hadn’t paid attention to the tide charts this morning, far too eager to see your merman again.

Once more, those thoughts are driven from your mind as he thrusts his hips upward, meeting your movements almost desperately. Has he been neglecting himself as well? Does he truly only come for you and no one else?

That thought has satisfaction burning deep inside of you.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, nails digging into his skin as pleasure flows through you, your orgasm quickly approaching. “’M not going to last much longer.”

His fingers dig harder into your skin, his claws leaving marks. He doesn’t care and neither do you, far too focused on chasing your pleasure as you squeeze around his cock. His own back arches in the water, gills flaring as he ruts up into you, pulling you down hard against him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whine, thighs clamping around him as pleasure rushes over you like a wave, your body jolting.

You slip a hand between you, frantically rubbing your clit as he thrusts hard into you, his tail splashing in the water behind you. His head falls back, exposing his throat as he drives his hips up into you one last time. Your own orgasm rockets through you, your body clamping down around him. You shake above him, eye screwed shut in pleasure.

Suddenly he moves, your eyes flashing open as you suddenly find yourself face to face with him. He sits in the water, chest pressed against yours. His arms come around you, holding you close against him. You stare up into his eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze as he holds you there, still inside you, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

For a moment you think he might take off into the water with you, stealing you away where no one will find you. You can only hold your breath for so long, but you would enjoy those last few moments with him. You’d drown for him, if it meant you got your answer, if you knew for sure what you’ve been hoping deep down.

Instead he tilts his head down, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. It’s so tender, so sweet, so different from the usual lust-driven kisses he bestows upon you. You cup his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw, holding him against you as long as he is willing to stay.

The water is up to your waist by the time he finally pulls away, his tail floating with every wave that breaks around your bodies. “If there was a way…” you murmur, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “I would do it gladly.”

He stares down at you for a long moment, those dark eyes focused on your face. He looks like he’s considering something, thinking deeply.

He bends down to kiss you one last time before he moves, depositing you in the sand. He stares at you long and hard for a moment before he turns, disappearing back under the waves.

You sit there for a long moment, thinking over the interaction. What was going on inside his head? What did he seem to be thinking about so intently? Those emotions that flickered across his face...what about them?

The water is tickling the underside of your breasts when you finally move, rising on shaking legs as you make for your now damp clothes. The tide had reached them, soaking the fabric but you don’t care. You’re far too focused on what just transpired, what this means for the future with your merman.

****

It’s two days later and you’re still thinking about your merman. The thoughts refuse to leave, refuse to let you rest. Something happened, but just what...you’re not sure. It’s eating you alive, and the thought was there to skip work and head for the beach, just to try and pry some kind of answer from him that you could understand. But you have bills to pay, so you drag yourself off to your job.

There haven’t been any shells since your trip to the beach, something that leaves you feeling a bit disappointed. Had your admirer followed you and watched you with your merman, getting the hint that there was no interest for any human lover in your life? The thought of someone purposefully watching you has embarrassment flushing through your mind. No one on the beach cared because you were all there for the same reason. But someone outside...someone unfamiliar...someone lacking that purpose watching? It leaves a sick feeling twisting in your stomach.

You return home after work, settling back into your routine. You’ll go back to the beach this weekend, meet with your merman, try to coax something out of him, something you might understand. If nothing else, you’ll try to read what his actions might mean. He held you in his arms, even if just for a moment. He did it by his own volition, held there not by you and your words, but by his own choice.

There was something he wanted to say to you, but he had no way of doing it.

That’s what your mind settles on.

It’s dark out when you hear it, the quiet creak of your gate. It draws you to the window, a quick peak out showing a dark figure lumbering up to your door. They’re stumbling and swaying, almost as if they’re drunk. Great. Just what you need.

You pick up your phone, ready to call the police to handle it, but something stops you as you watch them approach. Your porch light flicks on as they near, their hand shooting up to try and block the bright light. Heat floods your face as you realize it’s a man. A very naked man.

You lose sight of him as he steps up to the door, something thudding against it. You stand in the hallway, biting your lip. You shouldn’t open the door. You should call the police and then lock yourself in your bedroom, let them handle a naked drunk man.

Yet...something tickles in the back of your mind, something that has you wrapping your fingers around the door handle.

You unlock the door before cracking it open, finding the man leaning against your door frame. He’s handsome, in the golden light. Dark skin, tightly coiled curls buzzed near his head. He holds something in his hand, lifting it slowly like it’s taking a great effort to move his body.

A shell.

He’s holding a shell.

He holds it out to you, pressing it into the gap between the door. It’s a conch, not unlike the first one that had appeared on your doorstep. Is this your admirer? Is this the man that’s been leaving shells every morning for you to find? A village drunk leaving you little trinkets in hope you’ll notice him?

“Oh,” you say stupidly, taking the shell from his hand. “Thank you.” You look back at his face. “Are you alright? Can I call someone for you?”

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes still focused on your face. His gaze is intense, like he’s trying to see through you, or perhaps communicate with you. You stare back, eyes tracing the smooth skin, unmarred except for a small scar on his cheek. His eyes are dark, almost black in the shadows. They look familiar the more you stare at him. He looks more and more familiar as you take him in.

You stare hard into his eyes, realization suddenly dawning on you.

“Oh my god.”

[ghostlynat-blog]

Pulses & Puzzles

Summary: When a young analyst stumbles upon an unusual discrepancy in military records, her curiosity leads her into a web of danger. As she delves deeper, anonymous threats begin to surface. Concerned but undeterred, she reports her findings, prompting her superiors to place her in a dedicated task force. Now, they must uncover the extent of the conspiracy and expose the shadowy figures behind it. (Ghost x OC - Slow Burn)

Ch. 1 - Down The Rabbit Hole

The office glowed amber beneath the late afternoon sun pouring through the windows. Fingers tapped across a keyboard with practiced speed, though the woman behind them kept squinting against the glare reflecting off her monitor.

Around her, analysts and tech specialists worked in a steady hum of conversation and clicking keys, but Aelia still felt out of place among them. Maybe it was ego. Maybe it was anxiety. Probably both.

She knew she was capable of more than this.

With a tired sigh, she rubbed at her eyes and leaned closer to the screen again. Rows of numbers blurred together until one finally snagged her attention.

Wrong.

Subtly wrong, but enough to make her pause.

Her fingers moved faster now, opening directories and cross-referencing files. The anomaly unraveled into a trail of hidden documents—buried correspondence, encrypted reports, names tied to military operations that definitely shouldn’t have been connected to black-market activity.

“Aelia!”

She nearly jumped.

The files vanished as she minimized the screen in one quick motion. “Yeah?” She asked, looking up. “What’s up, Star?”

Star stood beside her desk with an amused smile. “I’ve asked you like three times if you wanna grab coffee.”

Aelia blinked, disoriented for half a second before reality settled back in. “Oh. Right, sorry.” She pushed her chair back with a sheepish grimace. “I got distracted.”

“I noticed.” Star laughed softly. “Come on. Give your eyes a break before you go blind.”

Aelia spared one last glance toward the hidden files before locking her computer and following her down the hall.

The walk to the mess hall was quiet at first. Aelia kept her hands shoved into the sleeves of her sweater, gaze lowered as soldiers and staff moved around them in waves of chatter and noise.

“Hey, Star?”

“Hm?”

“I know I’ve only been here a few months, but…”

Star groaned dramatically. “You’re already bored?”

Aelia looked up, startled. “No, I—”

Star laughed. “Let me guess. Two months in and you’ve already solved everything interesting they’ve given you?”

Aelia accepted the coffee handed to her by the barista before following Star to an empty table. “You make it sound awful when you say it like that.”

“Is it inaccurate?”

Aelia huffed into her cup. “I just thought joining military intelligence would be… harder.” She shrugged. “They assigned me to a team of top analysts for a specific case and I—”

“You solved it alone in two days,” Star finished. “Yeah. I remember. I signed off on it.”

Aelia winced. “I swear I’m not trying to sound arrogant.”

“You kinda are.”

A reluctant smile tugged at Aelia’s mouth.

Star nudged her shoulder. “Relax, blondie. You’ll get your challenge eventually.”

A moment later, Star’s phone buzzed. She checked it and sighed. “And unfortunately, duty calls. Sorry, kid.”

Aelia waved her off and stayed behind for a minute, watching the constant motion of the room around her. Soldiers in uniform grabbing lunch. Analysts chatting in clusters. Off-duty personnel drifting in and out.

Normal. At least, it looked normal.

Eventually, she returned to the lab, settling back into her chair and unlocking her computer.

Then she froze.

The file was gone. Every trace of it.

Aelia frowned and searched through the directories again, fingers moving quicker with each passing second.

Nothing. No hidden folder. No access trail. No cache remnants.

But she knew what she saw.

She leaned back slowly, unease prickling beneath her skin. Had someone removed it remotely? While she was gone?

Her gaze flicked around the office before returning to the screen. The original program ID still sat in the search history.

Carefully, she scribbled the information onto a sticky note. Then she stood.

There might be another way to find it.

~~~

The archives room smelled like dust and old paper.

Aelia locked the door behind her and stood still for a moment, listening to the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Rows upon rows of labeled boxes towered around her in neat columns, untouched for what looked like years.

She checked the sticky note again.

Rev. 12-7.

“Come on…” She muttered under her breath, scanning labels as she moved between shelves.

Most of the files were organized alphabetically, though whoever designed the system clearly hated humanity. It took nearly twenty minutes before she finally found the correct section buried beneath a layer of dust thick enough to leave streaks across her fingertips.

R.

She tugged the box free and carried it to a nearby table.

Inside sat a single thick file labeled REV.

Aelia frowned. “That can’t be good.”

The second she opened it, dust exploded into the air hard enough to make her cough. She waved it away and began flipping through pages. Disciplinary reports. Licensing violations. Psychological evaluations. Incident summaries with entire paragraphs blacked out.

Every document referenced the same employee, though the name had been aggressively redacted throughout the file—as if someone wanted to erase the person entirely while still preserving the damage they caused.

One report finally caught her attention.

TERMINATED FOR INHUMANE PRACTICES.

Aelia’s brows lifted. “Well, that’s comforting.” She snorted as she kept reading.

Failure to follow containment protocol. Unauthorized experimentation. Endangerment of personnel. Whatever this person had been involved in, it had gone far beyond misconduct. The language alone practically screamed cover-up.

Then a photograph slipped loose from between the papers. Aelia picked it up carefully.

A mugshot.

The face was blurred almost beyond recognition, but the inmate number on the front of the uniform remained visible.

1-2-7.

Aelia sat up straighter. “Bingo.” She flipped the photograph over. A smaller Polaroid had been stapled to the back.

Three figures stood side by side, their faces scratched and distorted by deliberate damage to the image. The figure in the center wore the same inmate number.

Aelia stared at it for a long moment. Something about this felt wrong in a way she couldn’t explain yet. Bigger than corruption. Bigger than a buried disciplinary case.

Her instincts prickled. Someone had deleted those files fast. Someone important.

Slowly, she closed the folder and slid it back into the box before pausing.

Then, after a brief glance toward the locked door, she pulled the file back out.

“That’s probably a terrible idea,” she whispered to herself.

She tucked it beneath her sweater anyway.

~~~

The drive home felt longer than usual.

By the time Aelia stepped through the front door, tension had settled deep between her shoulders.

She tossed her purse onto the counter and headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing the half-finished bottle of wine from the fridge before disappearing upstairs.

Her bedroom glowed dimly beneath the light of her laptop screen. The file landed beside it with a heavy thud. Aelia sat cross-legged against the headboard and stared at it for a moment before opening her computer programs.

Questions swarmed her mind faster than she could process them. Who deleted the files? Why bury the records so deeply? Who was inmate 127?

And why did she feel like she’d just stumbled into something dangerous?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then she sighed. “Nope. We are absolutely not doing this again.”

Unfortunately, she was already opening the programs anyway.

Aelia had spent years building a skillset she wasn’t supposed to have. Before military intelligence, before stable paychecks and government databases, there had been forums buried deep beneath the surface web and clients willing to pay obscene amounts of money for information security—or information theft.

She’d done both. Not proudly. But survival rarely cares about morality.

Most of her work had stayed relatively harmless: encrypted transfers, digital laundering, breaking into offshore gambling systems for quick payouts. Other jobs had drifted into murkier territory she preferred not to revisit.

But she’d wanted normal. Or at least something close to it. So, she erased that old version of herself. And yet, here she was again, bypassing military-grade firewalls with a glass of cheap wine beside her laptop.

Old habits.

The irony almost made her laugh.

Lines of code reflected in her blue eyes as she worked. Security systems folded one after another beneath her hands. It didn’t take long before she found the same buried files again. Only this time, she dug deeper.

TF-141.

Aelia frowned softly at the screen.“And what exactly are you people?” More files opened.

Mission reports. Operational summaries. Fragments of intelligence documents.

Everything heavily classified. Everything anonymous. Call signs appeared instead of names.

Ghost. Soap. Gaz. Price.

Aelia leaned closer.

The organization surrounding them was absurdly airtight. Whoever they were, they’d gone to extreme lengths to erase personal identifiers entirely.

But one profile stood apart.

L.

Just the single letter.

And sitting directly beneath it—The mugshot. Same blurred face. Same inmate number.

Aelia exhaled slowly, mind racing as connections tangled together faster than she could sort through them. Whoever L was, they were tied directly to TF-141.

And apparently important enough for someone to panic when she found out.

A sudden thud downstairs shattered the silence.

Aelia froze.

Another noise followed a few seconds later.

Her eyes darted toward the clock.

8:14 PM.

Her boyfriend wasn’t supposed to be home until after eleven.

Every muscle in her body tightened. Slowly, she reached over and shut her laptop halfway before standing. Her bedroom suddenly felt far too quiet.

Another thump echoed downstairs.

Aelia crossed to the closet and grabbed the nearest thing she could use as a weapon—a rugby stick shoved beside old storage boxes.

“This is how horror movies start,” she muttered. Carefully, she stepped into the hallway.

The house creaked beneath her feet as she descended the stairs one agonizing step at a time. Her grip tightened around the hockey stick. Front door still locked. No broken windows. No alarm.

But movement flickered somewhere near the kitchen.

Aelia turned sharply—

“Aelia?”

She screamed.

The rugby stick nearly connected with skull before he jerked backward with a startled curse. “Shite!” He shouted.

“Oh my God—” Aelia clutched her chest, breathing hard. “Derek, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Behind him, another figure wandered out of the kitchen holding a beer. Sam. Derek’s best friend. Of course. Aelia groaned, lowering the rugby stick. “I thought someone broke in.”

Derek laughed breathlessly while prying the weapon from her hands. “You almost killed me.”

“You snuck up behind me!”

“So you were about to beat me to death with sports equipment?!”

Sam snorted into his beer. Derek ruffled her hair affectionately. “You alright, babe?”

Aelia exhaled hard and nodded. “Yeah. Just distracted.”

“You’re jumpy as hell.”

“You try hearing mysterious noises while home alone.”

“Fair point.”

Derek wandered back into the kitchen while explaining the early return from work. Rain had shut everything down faster than expected. Sam lifted his beer slightly. “Storm’s getting bad outside. Might wanna close the window in here.”

Aelia frowned. “What window? I didn’t open—”

Sam pointed toward the living room.

Confusion twisted in her stomach immediately. She crossed the room slowly. One of the windows stood partially open, curtains shifting softly in the evening wind.

Aelia stared at it. She hadn’t opened it. And she knew Derek hadn’t either.

Without a word, she shut the window and locked it firmly. Something cold settled in her chest.

~~~

The next morning, exhaustion clung to Aelia like static.

She brushed through her blonde curls while hastily applying eyeliner and such. Her laptop disappeared into her bag, but the stolen file remained hidden beneath her bed.

Too risky to carry.

Downstairs, Derek and Sam were passed out on the couch, surrounded by empty beer bottles and the frozen remains of an unfinished video game match.

Aelia stepped around them quietly and headed for the door.

Then stopped cold.

Her car tires were slashed. Deep grooves carved along the side of her car caught the morning sunlight.

“What the hell..?” She approached slowly, pulse quickening.

Nothing inside the car appeared stolen. No shattered windows. No sign of forced entry. Just deliberate damage.

A warning.

Aelia swallowed hard. The open window from last night flashed through her mind immediately.

Someone had been in the house.

She hurried back inside, grabbed Derek’s spare keys, and shook him awake long enough to explain she’d be borrowing his car today. Half asleep, he mumbled permission before collapsing back onto the couch.

The entire drive to work felt wrong. Every car behind her stayed behind too long. Every red light lasted forever.

By the time she parked in the parking garage, anxiety sat heavy in her stomach. Still, she forced herself forward.

Normal. Act normal.

The office buzzed with its usual morning routine as she slipped into her chair and powered on her computer.

Before she could even log in fully, Star appeared beside her desk wearing an expression that immediately set off alarms.

“Aelia,” she said carefully. “I just got a call for you.”

Aelia looked up slowly. “From who?”

She hesitated. “Kate Laswell.”

The blood drained from Aelia’s face.

Well.

That was probably bad. Really bad.

Without another word, she grabbed her bag and headed for the hallway.

Each step toward Laswell’s office made her stomach twist tighter. By the time she reached the door, her heartbeat was loud enough to drown out rational thought entirely.

They know.

The realization hit before she even knocked.

A moment later, the door opened.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a beard and a boonie hat stood waiting on the other side. Sharp blue eyes sized her up instantly. He stepped aside silently. Aelia walked in. The door clicked shut behind her.

Laswell sat behind her desk, flipping through a folder thick enough to make Aelia’s pulse spike instantly.

Her file. Obviously.

Aelia lowered herself carefully into the chair across from the desk while the man in the hat remained near the door, arms crossed over his chest like a guard dog waiting for permission to bite someone.

The silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Intentional.

Finally, Laswell closed the folder and looked up.

“Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Andino?”

Aelia swallowed once. “I have a few guesses.”

“That’s reassuring,” the man near the door muttered dryly.

Laswell ignored him. “You stole classified government property.” Her tone stayed calm, though somehow that made it worse. “Then you illegally accessed restricted military systems from your home network.”

Aelia kept her expression neutral despite the tightness in her chest.

“Treason is the official word for that,” Laswell added.

The room fell quiet again.

Aelia glanced briefly toward the man by the door before looking back at Laswell. “If you were actually planning to charge me,” she said carefully, “I wouldn’t be sitting in this office.”

The man scoffed softly. Laswell leaned back in her chair, studying her. “Confident.”

“Logical.” Aelia forced herself not to fidget. “You didn’t call military police,” she continued. “You called me here personally. Which means either you want answers…” Her eyes flicked toward the folder. “Or you need something.”

The man near the door finally pushed away from the wall. “And how exactly do you figure that?” He asked, voice rough.

Aelia met his stare evenly despite the fact that he looked more than capable of snapping her in half.

“Because your systems are supposed to be airtight,” she replied. “If someone breached them that easily, you’d want to bury it quietly.” She nodded toward the folder again. “So you ran background checks on everyone with access until you found the idiot with a cybercrime history.”

“Charming,” he muttered.

“You found my old records,” Aelia continued. “You know exactly what I’m capable of. Which means you also know I’m telling the truth when I say somebody worked very hard to erase those files.”

For the first time, something unreadable flickered across Laswell’s face.

Bingo.

Aelia leaned forward slightly. “That wasn’t normal classified information,” she said quietly. “Somebody panicked when I found it.”

The room went still.

The bearded man exchanged a glance with Laswell. Small. Quick. But enough. Aelia saw it. And suddenly, the nerves twisting in her stomach transformed into certainty.

“Oh shit,” she breathed softly. “It’s a cold case.”

Neither of them answered. Which was answer enough.

Aelia sat back slowly, adrenaline buzzing beneath her skin now. “You’ve been trying to find whoever’s connected to inmate 127.”

The man folded his arms again. “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions.”

“Am I wrong?”

Silence.

Aelia almost smiled.

Laswell finally sighed and closed the folder completely. “You crossed several lines, Ms. Andino.”

“Yeah,” Aelia admitted. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“That depends on how much trouble I’m actually in.”

The man barked out a short laugh despite himself, quickly covering it with a cough.

Laswell pinched the bridge of her nose like she already regretted everything about this conversation.

Then Aelia made the mistake of speaking again.

“You need me.”

The room went quiet.

The man stared at her like she’d just lost her mind. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Aelia said. Her pulse was pounding now, but she forced confidence into her voice anyway. “You’ve had this case buried for years, haven’t you? Whoever these people are, they know how to disappear.” She gestured lightly toward the folder. “You need someone who thinks like they do.”

“And that someone is you?” He asked skeptically.

Aelia shrugged once. “I found your hidden files in under a day.”

That shut him up for approximately three seconds. “Cocky little thing, aren’t you?” He finally muttered.

“Efficient little thing.”

Laswell looked between the two of them with the exhausted expression of a mother watching a fight start between siblings. Finally, she exhaled heavily.

“She’s not wrong.”

The man turned toward her immediately. “Laswell—”

“She got farther in one night than some analysts have in months.”

Aelia blinked. Months? Jesus, what had she stumbled into?

Laswell fixed her with a level stare. “That does not excuse what you did.”

“No ma’am.”

“But…” Laswell paused. “You may be useful.”

A slow grin threatened to spread across Aelia’s face.

The man noticed immediately. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, kid.”

Too late. Aelia was absolutely pleased with herself.

Laswell stood and gathered the folder into her hands. “As of tomorrow morning, you’ll be reassigned.”

Aelia straightened instantly. “Reassigned?”

The man sighed dramatically as if it physically pained him. “Congratulations. You’re our problem now.”

Despite herself, Aelia laughed once under her breath.

The man pointed toward her before opening the office door. “And for the love of God, stop stealing classified files.”

“No promises.”

“Andino,”

“Kidding,” she said quickly, though the grin remained.

He shook his head under his breath before stepping into the hallway.

Aelia rose from her chair more slowly, adrenaline and excitement crashing together inside her chest. A new assignment. A new team.

An actual challenge.

As she moved toward the door, Laswell spoke again. “One more thing.”

Aelia paused.

Laswell’s expression sharpened slightly. “Whatever curiosity got you into this mess?” She said carefully. “Learn when to stop digging.”

Aelia thought about the open window. The slashed tires. The feeling of being watched.

Then she thought about the blurred mugshot labeled 127. About TF-141. About L.

And despite the warning settling heavy in the room—

Curiosity won anyway.

“I’ll try,” she said.

Laswell looked unconvinced.

Because honestly?

So was Aelia.

~ End of Chapter One ~

(Cool, pilot episode down, haha. Thoughts?)

[Chapter 1], [Chapter 2], [Chapter 3], [Chapter 4],