Men In Uniform

you didn't, but the guilt that gnawed at your throat nearly became too much to bare.

your hand drifted eerily close to the handle as you heard his pleas through your door.

the only thing that made you come back to reality was the pounding of a broom stick on the floor beneath, shouting for the man to shut the fuck up.

that was some days ago, but now, instead of feeling pity or guilt, you’re starting to feel just plain creeped out.

scared he might act on impulse and break into your apartment in the depths of the night.

you're sleeping has taken a plummet, even with a knife by your bed, nothing seems to coax you into relaxation.

that is, until you have the brilliant idea to go next door to your tall, scary, military neighbor, who goes by simon.

you don't know his last name; hell you barely knew his first.

the only reason you knew it was because you heard some girl he brought home moan it through your thin connecting walls.

you felt guilty as you pulled out your small vibrator, goading your sweet release as you heard him groan and curse with every harsh thrust.

even the guilt that swirled in your stomach couldn’t take away the guttural effects he was having on your body, even from so far away.

you ducked your head, avoiding his gaze from then on, until one day, while having trouble unlocking your apartment door, he trudged to your door after examining you for a moment, gently scooting you away and fixing it right before your eyes.

you claimed he was a magician.

he chuckled, deep and gruff, before his name fell off his tongue in greeting, making your thighs clench together.

you hurriedly introduced yourself, before rushing into your apartment, shutting the door behind you, and sinking onto the ground with a deep sigh and hot skin.

pathetic, really.

but, he didn't mind.

he thought you were cute—odd but cute—and you brought him cookies the next day as a thank you, so how could he think ill of you?

so if anyone could help you, it was simon.

“hey, neighbor,” you greet him when he opens the door. he is wearing a simple black long sleeve shirt and dark cargo pants.

he nods towards you. “hello.”

you smile brightly at him, somewhat forgetting your dilemma.

he tilts his head to the side, quipping a brow. “any particular reason you’re here?” he asks, voice rough as always.

you rock on your heels, fidgeting with your fingers. “i need your help.”

he leans against the doorframe. “go on.”

“i’m sure you’ve heard that guy that comes around,” you start, watching his squinted eyes.

“who hasn’t? that bastard is always here,” he says gruffly.

“he’s my ex,” you admit, cringing.

simon stiffens, eyes opening wider slightly.

“he’s, uh… become an issue. he won’t leave me alone, and i’m scared he’s going to break into my apartment while i’m sleeping,” you say, shaking your head, the tension in your voice evident.

“he’s not going to do that,” he shrugs.

your eyes widen at his dismissal, feeling slightly hurt. “how do you know?”

he turns to grab a backpack off a hook beside him. “because i’ll be there. won’t let him through the door,” he casually mutters as he steps out of his apartment, closing it behind him.

you feel a flutter in your stomach at his taking on the role of your protector so quickly—no enticement necessary.

“i really appreciate it, simon.” your voice is full of gratitude.

“don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, heading towards your door. “key?” he asks, reaching for your painted key hanging around your neck.

you hurriedly lean forward, mind completely fogging at the endearment.

his lip quips as he tugs the key up and over your head to unlock the door.

once he unlocks the door, he pushes the door wide open, stepping aside for you to go in first.

“and they say chivalry is dead,” you can’t help but joke as you slip in, a teasing glint in your eye.

he matches your humorous smile with one of his own. “do they? hadn’t heard that,” he murmurs, closing the door as he steps in.

you spin your head away from his gaze, opting to stare at a lonesome flower pot with a dumb grin on your face.

the next two hours are spent lazing until you find yourself on the cushion right next to simon on the couch as he occasionally glanced at the door, while you picked and prodded at reality show stars on the television screen.

But you and simon both stiffen when you hear the familiar hard knock on the front door, followed by a strained male voice pleading.

you look at simon who's already stalking over to the door; you uncross your legs and walk behind him.

with annoyance, simon pulls open the door, and you see your ex’s face whiten and his body sag at the sight. “can we help you?” simon gruffs, cocking a brow at his pathetic demeanor.

your ex stammers, stumbling over his words as he looks between you and simon. “who the fuck are you?” your ex demands, though not daring to try and overpower simon because simon easily has fifty pounds and eight inches over him.

simon crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging bigger as he does so. “you should lose this address,” he urges, voice so gruff and commanding it sends shivers down your spine. “i don’t take too kindly to guys stalking my girlfriend,” he says with an ease that makes you lick your drying lips.

“girlfriend?” your ex chokes out, unable to comprehend what he is hearing.

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” simon almost sounds disinterested.

your ex’s eyes wander to you. “you're dating this guy?” he almost sounds hurt.

you shift under his gaze, feeling awkward.

“don't talk to her. talk to me,” simon interjected, feeling your unease.

“you can’t—you aren’t dating,” your ex begins, narrowing his eyes. “you’re just doing this to make me jealous, aren’t you?” there is venom behind his words that pisses simon off.

simon’s lips flatline, and just as you go to speak, simon turns his head, hand coming to cup your jaw to kiss you deeply, possessively.

your ex releases a short breath as the sight.

simon’s tongue moves across to skim your teeth, making you whine into his mouth, as his fingers tangle in your hair for deeper contact.

you shallow a whimper of protest as simon pulls back, enjoying the sight of your ex so shell shocked.

simon tilts his head forward, looking into his eyes intently. “this is my girl, and if i find out you’ve been botherin’ her, i’ll make you a dead man. you hear me?” his voice is so lethal it makes you squirm, but in a completely different way than your ex.

your ex’s eyes look like saucers as he nods his head fervently.

“good choice. now leave,” simon instructs.

without another word, your ex spins on his heels, looking like a hurt lamb as he leaves the complex.

simon lets out a dry laugh as he shuts the door behind him.

“thank you,” you murmur.

he gives you a brief smile, gesturing for you to sit back on the couch. you both go back to lazing around, now watching some cooking show you put on.

later that night, he insisted on setting up shop in your living room for the night… or just the next two!

it’s really not a big deal.

he just wouldn’t be able to continue on if something happened to his cute neighbor!

that’s all.

you’re so sweet and still shaken up by the interaction that you let him stay the night.

…and the next one.

…and the one after that.

you’re starting to think he never really counted on staying just one night.

you don’t say anything, but after the second week passes and simon is still around, you find yourself reeling as you start to see his socks and shirts tucked nicely in your drawers.

his coffee mug now kisses yours in the cabinet, and some magnets of the countries he’s visited cling to the fridge.

there isn’t a crevice in your apartment that simon hasn’t explored, or left a piece of himself in.

you should have known better than to invite simon into the same place he had fantasized about for the past six months.

the very place where he listened to your sweet moans, so loud, so tempting.

every. single. night.

he kicked his friends out of his place every time he heard your vibrator start up, so that they couldn’t listen to your breathy whines and so he could sneak away to his room, where your thin walls meet, to tug away at his cock imagining it was you stroking him until he came all over his hand and sheets.

such a sweet girl, you are.

letting a dog into your home to roam free, unaware of the way he watched you with a slobbering tongue and a primal hunger.

He'd been the one to teach you to look past the glamour to follow the ley lines and fairy paths - the Sight had run in your family for generations, a benevolent gift from a good turn one of your ancestors had done for the fair folk in the old country, or so he’d said. It was important to keep to the paths when dealing with the little folk. They thrived in the in-between spaces, waiting for some poor mortal to stray from safety into their waiting hands. They were beautiful, wonderful, awful creatures, and one had to be careful when dealing with the fae as they weren’t bound by mortal laws or customs. 

“Mind yourself well in those spaces, little one - keep your feet firmly on the path, or you might become another sad ending in a story for too curious children.”

“I’m always careful, Grandpa,” you’d promised. “I always stay on the path like you taught me!” 

He’d peered down at you then, wrinkled face solemn and more serious than you’d ever seen it, “I hope so, my dear, I truly hope so.” 

You were 11 when he died, and life at home became nearly unbearable. Shouts and arguments plagued your waking hours, and you took every opportunity you could to slip into the wood behind your house to follow the fairy paths to the rings where you could watch the elves dance. They were charming creatures, only as tall as your knee with ruddy red cheeks, pointy green and blue caps, and mischievous grins. They were quick, almost faster than your eye could track, and you loved them with all your heart. You did your best to stay hidden, to remain unnoticed in the foliage, but they always seemed to find you within seconds of your arrival in their thicket. 

“Come dance with us, pretty mortal! Come and dance with us and we will take you to a place you will never know pain or suffering. You will only know the joy of the dance, the sweet taste of summer ripe fruits, and you will be young, beautiful, and free forever!” 

“I can’t,” you cried. “I must stay on the path or I’ll be lost!” 

The elves laughed at you, shaking their heads at your silliness, and danced on. Suit yourself, their laughter seemed to say. 

Each night when you returned home, you would watch out your window waiting for the first star to rise. Every night you pleaded with it, begging the star to whisk you away from your mortal life and to take you to Tìr nan Òg, the Land of Youth. 

But every night the star refused you. “No, dear child,” it murmured, caressing the tear tracks on your cheeks with its soft glow. “You will have to find another to take you to that place for I cannot. You will have to find the one that can carry you across the sea to that shining shore.” 

You wept bitter tears every time the star refused you, your grief and longing thick in your throat. By the time you turned 12, you had decided to ignore the cold stars with their deaf ears. You allowed your Sight to drop away, willing yourself to believe the glamour and ignoring the shining dew-drop-lined trails between the toadstools. You would have to forget the charming little folk in the woods, unlearn all of your grandfather’s lessons - it was time for you to put aside your childish fairy games and look toward the future. You were a big girl now, it was time to act like it. 

So, you traded fairy rings for school books, first stars for first loves, and you grew. You graduated high school and attended university, moved out of your parents’ home, and became a woman ready to take on the world. You were young, strong, and untouchable, full to the brim with unearned confidence - you were clever enough to make your own way. The little girl that had dreamt of elves and the land of eternal youth was long gone, and it had been years since you’d pretended to believe your grandfather’s fairytales. The day after your college graduation, you boarded a plane for the first time in your life on a flight that would take you across the ocean to the place your grandfather would have called “the old country”. Your mother believed the trip had been inspired by the recent popularity of a certain book series, which was partially true. But if you were completely honest with yourself, there was something deeper calling you, a drumbeat pulling you along towards those remote shores.

Be careful in in-between spaces, stick to the path, or you might get lost. 

You arrived in the old country on a dreary Sunday afternoon -“dreich” the locals called it as they made their way down the cobbled streets, collars turned up against the fine mist that chilled you to the bone. This place was nothing like the land where you’d grown up; the green here was deeper, richer, and full of an almost supernatural beauty. The land was old, centuries of history suffused into every blade of grass and stone, full of a power you couldn't ignore. It had been years since you’d been able to see past the gauzy overlay the glamour created, your unconscious mind steering you away from the shining glimmers of the fair folk, but a few hours in this place has you questioning your sanity. Bright flashes of silver flashed brightly on the sidewalk, shimmering in and out of view and you'd catch sight of little figures dancing just outside your line of sight. The harder you tried to pretend they didn't exist, the more they plagued you. 

By the end of the fourth day, you’d given up trying to ignore the bright phosphenes drifting in the corners of your vision or the shining tracks of ley lines that covered nearly every inch of this place. The radiant paths of the little people were visible to you once again.

It was overwhelming, this new world you’d discovered (well, rediscovered). In a little under a week, your senses had shifted enough to throw the cosmos into a frenzy, the world tilting precisely enough to be thoroughly disorienting. If you’d had the presence of mind to write it down, you’d have likened it to a kaleidoscope that was constantly shifting, repeating fractals of color and movement always on the edge of your vision. 

You could tell you were worrying the old woman who owned the B&B where you were staying, a cousin of a cousin named Lorna who’d given you an almost unreasonable discount on your stay. Her eyes tracked your constant twitching worriedly and she crossed herself every time you fought the urge to whip around whenever you sensed movement in the corners of the room. On the seventh day of your stay, she’d cornered you after breakfast and pressed a cup of tea into your shaking hands, insisting kindly, but firmly, that you come with her to see the village priest. 

“He’ll get ye sorted, lass. Just a wee bit o’ bad luck, that’s a’ it. Ye come wi’ me tae see the Father an’ he’ll take care o’ everything.” 

You agreed because, well, of course you did. You couldn’t refuse your hostess who’d been so generous thus far, and, if nothing else, it would put her mind at ease. In the worst case, it would be a waste of your time and in the best case, it might make the apparitions stop. So, you allowed yourself to be bundled up into the gray woolen sweater she thrust at you and joined her on the short walk to the local parish. 

As you walked, you forced your eyes to slide past the glistening wisps of… something on the ground - better to pretend it wasn’t there rather than make your hostess worry more. You were so focused on trying not to see the little paths that you almost didn’t notice you’d arrived at the little stone church on the edge of the village. You did, however, notice the abrupt absence of darting figures or nearly translucent fairy paths as soon as you entered the churchyard. You huffed a strangled sigh of relief at the sudden respite. Maybe the priest would let you stay in the church for the rest of your trip? 

“Ye wait here, ma dear. Ah’ll gae in an’ tell the guid Father we’re here. He’ll let us ken what’s what.” Lorna patted your hand gently and turned, quickly making her way through the dark wooden doors into the small church. 

The churchyard was sparse, lined with a wrought iron fence and a small graveyard packed with crumbling headstones off to one side. It was like something out of a film or an old photograph, certainly older than any of the buildings in your hometown. And the view! The church was seated on the top of a small cliff looking out onto the sea below - it was one of the most incredible landscapes you’d ever seen. You’d grown up in a landlocked place far away from any significant body of water, but you’d always loved the idea of the ocean. You let your mind wander as you gazed out at the waves crashing on the white rocks at the base of the cliff and watched the circling sea birds drifting through the air high above the small beach below. 

As you studied the world beneath you, movement caught your attention - there was something in the water by the rocks. If you’d remembered your grandfather’s stories, remembered the power of the in-between, the moments right before your fate is sealed, you might have hesitated before moving to the back of the churchyard and slipping through the hole in the fence that was just your size. But the sea has a way of binding even the strongest mortals to its will, and you moved without thinking, slipping through the hole and moving closer to the cliff edge to try and get a better view of the thing bobbing in the water. 

Even from this great distance, you could hear the music of the waves against the stones, could smell the seaweed and brine, all of it blending into the perfect siren song beckoning you down to the beach. As you inhaled the salt air, you turned just enough to notice the small dirt path leading down to the shoreline. You needed to get down there, to see what exactly was in the water. Your feet moved with a mind of their own as you padded towards the trail and began to pick your way carefully, each step carrying you closer to whatever was down there. The hypnotic sound of the waves crashed in your ears, louder and louder with each step, the sea itself seeming to whisper your name as you made your way toward the beach.  

Come to me. The wind carried the words to you and twisted them through your hair, curling them around the tips of your ears and into the darkest depths of your mind. Come see what I have here for you.

Perhaps if you’d grown up in this wild place you’d have been able to resist the tidal hymn, might have recognized the sheer power of this in-between place where the salt and sand meet, but your body continued down, down, down the path until you reached the point where it abruptly ended, vanishin into the spume. Down here on the beach, face to face with the splendor of the sea, you suddenly understood with perfect clarity why sailors devoted their lives to this place, why poets and musicians spent years trying to describe this majesty. 

You were certain you could spend the rest of your life here and never grow tired of watching the light dancing on the water, the way the sunlight shimmered golden across the small swells. You looked towards the small outcropping of gray rocks where you’d seen the movement from the clifftop - the water was an inky black there, eddies swirling the detritus round and round. Were you imagining it or was there a figure out there? As you peered out into the wine-dark sea, the call came again. 

Almost, you’re almost there! Come, come out to the rock to meet your destiny! 

The wind picked up, the swell nearly lapping at the toes of your sneakers. You raised your foot, preparing to step down into the tide and- 

“LASS!”  

Lorna’s voice was sharp as she called down to you. The reverie was broken - what were you even doing here? You couldn’t quite remember why you’d come down to the beach in the first place. 

“Coming!” You took one last look out at the sea before turning on your heel and scrambling back up the little path as fast as your feet would take you. 

Behind you, bobbing just atop the rollers making their way to shore, a pair of deep blue eyes carefully tracked your receding figure as you made your way back up to the churchyard. 

“You’re pullin’ me leg, aren’t ya? 'E told ya to get an exorcist, did ‘e?” The bartender, a pretty dark-haired man about your age who’d told you to call him Gaz, gaped at you incredulously.  

“I wish. He told me I was probably haunted and said he’d make some calls to the big parish in Aberdeen about an exorcist. Told me to say the rosary every night until he was able to get someone to come up here.” 

You let out an exasperated groan, half tempted to lay your head down on the sticky bar top and opting for your crossed arms instead. It had been an awful day - rather than the prayers or the blessing you’d been expecting, the local priest had seemed panicked when Lorna had told him about the “symptoms” you’d developed since arriving. You were hardly able to get a word in edgewise with the two of them nattering on about the possibility of demonic possession, too worried about the dark powers to listen to anything you might have to say. You left the church well into the midafternoon with a splitting headache and a desperate need for a drink. 

“I wish I could’ve told them they were wrong, but who knows,” you sighed, lifting your head from your arms to slot your chin into your palm as you looked up at Gaz. “An exorcist seems like overkill, right?” 

A deep voice cut in from behind you, “It’s nae demon - the wee folk must’ve set their sights on ye, hen.” 

You jolted in your seat, elbow nearly knocking your pint of cider over as you whirled on your stool to face the stranger at your back. You inhaled, ready with a curse only to be met with a pair of the bluest eyes you’d ever seen framed by long, dark lashes and a heavy-set brow. The stranger was almost unbelievably attractive with a strong (if a bit crooked) nose, a smattering of stubble across his cheeks, a messy brunette mohawk, and a jawline that could have been carved by the gods themselves. His pretty pink mouth was twisted up into a grin that quickly morphed into a concerned frown as you began coughing. 

“You awright, hen? Have a wee drink o' yer cider now - there's a good lassie.” The man leaned uncomfortably close, his broad chest almost brushing yours as he reached around you to grab your drink off the bar. He ignored your raised hand ready to take the glass and instead held it up to your lips, murmuring lowly in what you assumed was an attempt at a reassuring tone. 

“Wee sips, dinnae rush.” 

You reached up to grip his wrist as he pressed the glass against your mouth, absentmindedly parting your lips to allow the cool liquid to slip into your waiting throat. His eyes flitted down to watch you swallow, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he let out a shaky chuckle. 

“Ye awright now, hen? Need any more?” His hot gaze was fixated on your lips as he spoke, pupils dilating as his eyes bore into a drop of cider that had slipped out of the corner of your mouth. 

“Easy now, dinnae want tae waste any o’ Gazzy boy’s hard work. It’s a proper labour o’ love servin’ pints in a joint like this.” 

He stepped back, lowering the pint glass and grabbing a cocktail napkin from the stack on the bar to hand to you, but you got the distinct impression he’d have preferred to lap up the trail of liquid instead. It was creepy and it really should have been more disconcerting than arousing, but the way he stared at you…  If he'd been less attractive, his behavior would have put you on edge, set warning bells off in your head, but you couldn’t hear tocsin ring out over the sound of your own stuttering breaths. 

He was still firmly planted in your space, close enough you could smell the scent of fresh air and brine clinging to him. His skin was warm and solid beneath your fingers, his pulse thudding against the hollow in his wrist where your thumb rested, nestled beneath a smattering of dark hair. You weren’t the only one affected by the proximity, and his reactions sparked something molten in your lower belly.  

“Am I disturbin' summat?” Gaz’s voice pulled you back to reality - you were in a bar, letting a stranger, albeit a very hot stranger, get entirely too familiar like a fucking lunatic.

You dropped the man’s hand as if it were a burning poker, shifting back in your seat to give yourself some more room and turning slightly to face Gaz behind the bar. “Sorry!” 

He chuckled, “Ain't botherin' me, love. Old Soap 'ere tends to have a bit of a bad effect on the birds.” 

The man, Soap, scowled, “Ah resent tha’. Ah wis jist helpin’ the poor lassie oot – she wis nearly chokin’ tae death!” 

You held your hands up, palms facing the two men in supplication, “Hey, it’s fine. He, er, Soap was just helping me,” you swiveled back to the mohawked man, “Right?” 

He beamed at you, a wide smile that showed off twin dimples and straight white teeth, “Aye, yer bang on, hen. Ah was lendin' a hand tae a lassie in a bit o' distress is all.” He stuck his tongue out at Gaz before shifting his attention back to you, “Bonnie lassies like yeh dinnae need tae call me Soap. Ye can call me Johnny, eh?” 

You flushed crimson as he winked, heat radiating off your skin as you stuttered, “Well, thank you, Johnny.” 

If it were possible, his grin got wider, a slight predatory look passing over his face for a moment before he schooled his features back into a friendly smile and extending a hand, “Ah didnae catch yer name, lass. Can ah get it fae ye?” 

As you looked down at his outstretched hand, you caught a split-second glimmer of something that looked like a golden chain wrapping around his wrist. 

Ignore it, nothing tae see here.

The voice in your mind was so reasonable, so self-assured - of course there was nothing there! You were just tired, your mind playing tricks after the afternoon with the priest. Everything was fine, you were perfectly safe. 

You slipped your hand into his and gave your name, his fingers gripping yours a touch too tightly as you shook hands. “Bonnie name for a bonnie lass. Wha's brought ye tae this bit o' the planet?”

Johnny spent the rest of the evening at the bar, alternating between poking fun at Gaz and chatting with you, a firm hand resting on your knee as his pinky played with the fraying edges of the holes in your jeans. The brush of his finger against the soft skin above your knee left a trail of goosebumps in its wake, a rush of heat racing up your veins to pool in between your legs. You half wished his hand would slip higher, that he would take mercy and touch the center of you, his nimble fingers toying with the place already dripping for him as he called you a “good lass” again in his deep brogue. 

Unfortunately, he kept his touch polite, never straying much past your knee. You felt like a dog in heat, nearly ready to drop to all fours and stick your tongue out to beg for whatever scraps of attention Johnny was willing to give. You’d have been ashamed if the pints of cider hadn’t made the world soft and hazy, your inhibitions lowered just enough to allow you to enjoy his attention without embarrassment. As the night wore on, you found yourself squirming in your seat, legs pressing together to try and get the bubble of arousal in your gut to subside. You thought Johnny might have noticed your desperate movements once or twice - he smirked to himself every time you shifted, fingers trailing a maddening spiral along your bare skin. 

In spite of your distraction, you found yourself thoroughly enjoying your time with Johnny and Gaz. They were clearly close, both of them taking every opportunity to mercilessly rib the other, telling stories about their lives in the small village. Gaz, you learned, was originally from Birmingham, and had lived there with his adoptive mothers most of his life. He was the eldest son, one of three, and had moved up to Scotland a few years back after a particularly difficult heartbreak. 

Johnny, by contrast, had spent his summers along the coast since he was young, spending the majority of his time helping his father with his fishing business. His parents separated when he was still small, and he split his time traveling between the remote village and Glasgow where his mother and sisters lived. He was the second oldest and the only boy amongst six sisters who'd all bullied him relentlessly, or so he said. You had the feeling he was significantly less innocent than he would like to lead you to believe. 

Several hours passed in the blink of an eye, the alcohol you’d consumed dulling the passage of time, and it surprised you when Gaz announced last call. You stumbled to your feet, a little dizzy after sitting for so long, and prepared to make your way out into the darkness and back to the B&B. 

Johnny’s warm hand slid up your back, steadying you. “Where ye stayin', hen? Ah'll walk ye hame. Ma maw’d skin me alive if ah et a lassie walk anywhere by hersel' at night.” 

He paused, his eyes sharpening and lips twisting into that same predatory smile he’d had when asking your name, before leaning down to whisper into your ear, “An' besides, ye never ken whit kind o' creatures are oot an' aboot. Aye, wan o’ the fair folk might fancy keepin’ a bonnie thing like yersel' for themsel’s an’ whisk ye awa'.” 

His teeth nipped the shell of your ear, hot breath cascading down your neck, “Ah ken ah’d like tae keep ye.”

Gaz threw the two of you a disgusted look as he wiped down the bar top, “Oi! Get a room, ya div! Better yet, clear off outta my pub so I can get the doors shut.”

Your cheeks instantly burst into flame, a deep red flush running from the tips of your ears down to your chest. You peeked around Johnny’s shoulder, sheepishly making eye contact with the bartender as you were guided out the door, “Sorry, Gaz!” 

He simply laughed, waving the two of you off as you made your way out into the clear crisp night. As you began to walk, you glanced up at the stars filling the night sky. Was your cold star somewhere out there?  

“Whit’s on yer mind, lass?” You could barely make out Johnny’s profile in the dark, but you could tell he was focused wholly on you. You squirmed - was he this intense in the pub? 

“Nothing really. Just looking at the stars.”

His head tipped back to gaze up at the constellations high above. “Y'cannae beat the stars out here, there's loads mair than ye'd catch in the city. D'ye like stargazin'?” 

“No”. Your voice was flat, jaw clenched slightly as you twisted the hem of your sweater. “I always imagined the stars would be cold, unfeeling things. They never really interested me.” 

You took a beat, smoothing out the wrinkles you’d created before turning to Johnny. “I think I’d better be getting home.” You winced, “Lorna’s set up another appointment with the local priest tomorrow morning.” 

Johnny’s rich laugh rang out in the darkness, and he tugged your hand up to rest in the crook of his arm as the two of you began to walk again. “Ye dinnae sound too keen.”

You sighed, pressing yourself a bit closer to soak up his warmth. The night was clear but absolutely freezing, and he was a human furnace leaking heat. “I’m not, but I can’t just say no. Lorna’s been so kind to me, I wouldn’t want to upset her.” 

“Whit if ah ask her tae give ye a day aff? Ah've known her for years - ah'll promise tae keep an eye on ye while we go tae see the sights. She'll no be worried, an' ye'll get a dead handsome tour guide.” His warm fingers squeezed yours reassuringly. 

“Ah'll make sure tae get ye hame afore dinner, awright?” 

You’d arrived at the front door of the B&B, and Johnny gently untangled your arm from his, stepping close as he cupped your chin, lips almost brushing yours.

“Whit dae ye say, Bonnie? D'ye fancy spendin' the day wi' me?” 

Your heart beat a frantic staccato rhythm in your chest, and you were sure he could hear the pounding if he’d dipped his head a little lower. This was dangerous - you’d promise him anything he wanted to get him to move those last few centimeters and connect your lips. 

His hand shifted to cup the base of your skull, his nose grazing your cheek. “Say ye will, hen. Just say 'aye' an' ah’ll gie ye what ye need.” 

Your arms twined around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft hairs and barely getting out a shaky “OK” before his mouth was on you. Kissing Johnny was like trying to hold a tidal wave in the palm of your hand - his passion was overwhelming, all-consuming, and it threatened to pull you under into his hungry maw. Lust raged like a hurricane in your chest as he pressed you between his muscular body and the hardwood of the door frame. 

His lips traced a scalding path from your mouth, across your cheeks, down your neck and back up as he mouthed at your jaw, biting down gently. Your core went molten at the scrape of his teeth, your blood filled with a million bursting champagne bubbles. Johnny growled, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your sweater to paw at your middle - you’d have marks from his fingerprints in the morning.  

“Ah've been dyin’ tae dae this all night. Ye havnae a clue how long ah've been waitin' fur this, hen.” His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back and leaning in to huff the patch of skin at the base of your throat. 

“Ah can smell how much ye want me, how perfect we’d be together.”

You could tell you’d be raw from his stubble in the morning, his scruff burning pleasantly as he took another deep inhale before biting down hard on the juncture between your shoulder and neck. 

“Johnny! Ouch!” The pain tore through the lust filled fog in your mind, abruptly and harshly centering you in your body. You shoved him, hard, hand flying up to your neck to cover the sensitive skin. 

“What the hell?” 

“Sorry, hen.” Johnny leaned back, not looking very sorry at all in your opinion. “A couldnae stop maself.Yer lips were so sweet, ah had tae take a wee bite o’ ye tae see if the rest was sugar too.”

“That really hurt!” You whined, rubbing at the place he’d bitten, checking for blood. Luckily, he hadn’t broken the skin. 

“Here, ah’ll kiss it better fer ye,” and he dove for the base of your neck again. 

You grabbed his jaw in your hands scant inches from your skin, shaking his head back and forth firmly, “Oh no you don’t - down boy!”  

He growled playfully and nipped at your fingers, chuckling, “If ye're tryin' tae calm me doon, ye're doin' the exact opposite, hen.” 

“What’s happenin’ here, then?" The porch light flickered on as the front door whipped open and Lorna stepped out pulling a pink fuzzy bathrobe tight around her, scowling at Johnny. 

You extricated yourself from Johnny’s grasp, looking apologetically at the old woman,  “Sorry, Lorna. Johnny was walking me home from the pub. Were we too loud?” 

Lorna ignored your apology, turning instead to face the man at your side, “John MacTavish, is that you?”  

Johnny straightened, snapping to attention. “Aye, ma'am, that's me. Pardon fer disturbin ye, it’ll no happen again.” 

The old lady sniffed, “Make sure it disnae.” 

She whirled to face you, “"An where hae ye been aw evenin? Did ye forget we hae a meetin wi' Father in the mornin?” 

“Aye, about that, would ye mind if ah took her oot fer a wee tour o’ the area tomorrow? The lassie said she’s no had much chance tae get oot the village, an’ a thought it’d be nice tae show her the sights.” Johnny's back was ramrod straight, his voice polite if a bit clipped - apparently you weren't the only one disappointed at Lorna's interruption. 

She looked skeptical. “You'll stay by her side the whole time?” 

“Ah won’t let her oot o’ ma sight. Nothin’ else’ll touch a hair oan her heid.” 

She peered at him strangely for a moment before a look of understanding washed over her, her glare softening into something more apprehensive. “Ach, weel, if that's the case, a day oot couldnae hurt.” 

Lorna pulled her dressing gown tight around her waist and pivoted to head back into the cottage, stopping short to address you. “Ah'll be lockin' up in 10 minutes. Ye’d best get yersel' inside afore ah turn the key. Might be a good idea tae phone yer mum - ah'm sure she’d want tae hear fae ye.” 

She patted you on the shoulder and continued inside, muttering something that sounded like “Poor lass” as she closed the door.

It was silent for a beat as you listened to Lorna’s retreating footsteps. “That was weird. She’s been after me for at least three days to go see the priest.”

Johnny winked, his charming smile back in place. “What can ah say? Ah canny help tha’ got a way wi’ the women.” 

You moved to smack his shoulder, but he caught your hand in one graceful sweep and brought it to his lips for a kiss. Smooth fucker.

“Sleep well, hen. Ah'll be here tae claim ye bright an' early in the mornin'.” 

The light from the porch spilled over your back and something shifted - for a split second, his eyes weren’t right, the light reflecting back at you, the eyeshine red as if you’d been looking into animal eyes rather than a man’s. You ripped your hand from his grip and stumbled back, falling onto your bottom as you tripped on the step up into the cottage. Something wasn’t right with Johnny. The klaxons blared to life in your mind as you noticed three shimmering golden chains looped around his right wrist leading to three matching loops on your left. 

Shhh, yer safe, hen. It’s just a wee trick o’ the light. 

The voice soothed you again, the same way it had at the bar. It was right, you’d been confused; of course he was human, his eyes perfectly normal. You’d had a lot to drink at the pub, you must be drunk. You looked down at your empty wrist - no gold chains anywhere in sight. Johnny leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“See ye in the mornin', Bonnie.” 

By the time you looked up, he was gone, vanished into the dark. 

That night, you dreamt of the little rocky beach by the church, the waves churning as you made your way down the dirt path to the shore. Someone was waiting for you. As you got closer, you saw your grandfather standing in the surf, the foam rushing around his shins as he turned to stare sorrowfully at you. You screamed for him and began to run, not paying any attention to the path below your feet. As the tips of your toes left the edge of the trail, your grandfather disappeared, replaced by a giant wave cresting over your head. As the wave crashed down, you were pulled under, a riptide sweeping you off your feet and far from shore as the world went black. 

Johnny arrived at the front door of the B&B shortly after breakfast the following morning. He’d waited for you on the porch, his voice a low buzz as he talked with Lorna about something while he waited for you to finish getting ready. When you finally emerged dressed in outdoor clothes ready for a day filled with trekking, he’d blinded you with one of his dazzling smiles as he held out a hand.

“Yer a sight fur sore eyes, eh? Ready tae go, hen?” 

You reached to take his outstretched hand but stopped short, hesitating. Lorna stood just behind you in the doorway, arms jammed tight to her sides as she chewed her bottom lip. She looked inexplicably guilty for some reason, her face pinched tight with anxiety and fear - it set a wave of solicitude roiling deep in your gut. 

“Ye dinnae need tae go wi' him if ye dinnae want, lassie. Ye can stаy rіght here if ye choose.” 

“Lorna! You know the rules.” Johnny glowered at the older woman, frown lines arching like lightning across his handsome face. 

Better to get underway before they started picking at each other - you took his hand and stepped down off the porch. 

“It’s ok! I’ll be back later tonight, and I’ll see you then.” You smiled and waved back at the old woman in the doorway as Johnny looped an arm around your waist and tugged you towards the car waiting in the drive. She didn’t wave back. 

“Wonder what’s got her knickers in a twist this morning… Maybe she didn’t sleep well?” 

Johnny opened the car door for you and ushered you inside, leaning over to buckle the seatbelt once you’d gotten yourself situated. “Ach, dinnae pay her any heed - she’s been a right miserable thing since she was a wain.”  

His scent filled your nostrils, the clean perfume of fresh air and sea salt, and a shiver ran down your spine. You wondered what his skin would taste like if you licked a stripe up his neck, if he’d laugh if you buried your teeth in the muscle in the junction of his neck like he’d done to you the night before. The heady vision played in your mind’s eye, your breath racing as you imagined the way the tang of brine would flood your tongue if you took him in your mouth, how his smell would surround you as you savored him. Would he groan as you sucked him down to the base, trace the outline of himself in your throat as he spilled into your stomach?  

He peered up at you from under his long lashes, nostrils flaring.  He sensed the shift in your mood and seemed to consider for a moment, his pupils dilating before he shook his head and gave you a small rueful smile, straightening up out of the car.  

“None o' that now. We’ll no see a thing if ye wind me up an’ we've got a packed schedule to keep!” 

You pouted, arms crossed and lips pursed as he shut the door with a cackle and jogged around to the driver’s side. Hopefully, his schedule would allow at least one more makeout session before the day was over. Johnny slung himself into the driver’s seat and started the car, fast-paced rock music floating out of the speakers as he shifted into first gear. 

“Let’s go an’ see what we can find today, hen.” 

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of sightseeing. Unfortunately, there were no clandestine kisses, but you didn’t have much free time to focus on your disappointment.  As promised, Johnny was an excellent tour guide, providing a detailed history of every place you visited, telling you tales of the people that had lived up and down the coast for centuries - the lairds that had lived in the crumbling castles, the viking raiders that had plundered the land, the common folk who’d weathered it all. He regaled you with story after story, each one so intricate and descriptive it was if he’d witnessed it himself.

The final stop on the agenda was a hidden beach just west of the village, a secret cove Johnny said he’d discovered when he was still a pup. To get to the little inlet, you’d had to clamber over a low stone wall and tramp a bit over a half-mile through a field of tall grass until you came to a winding deer trail that led right up to the water. You’d arrived on the beach worse for wear, panting and sweaty, but it had been worth it in the end - the scenery here was unmatched, the tall hills converging to form a semi-circle inlet of white sand and shimmering water. 

The cove was warmer than the field, the hill protecting the little beach from gusts that blew across the high ground. The sand had been a welcome surprise - almost every other beach you’d seen since arriving had been covered in stones. The water was calm and a lovely shade of crystal blue that almost perfectly matched the color of Johnny’s eyes. He’d raced ahead of you when you’d started down the trail, and you could see him now, sitting on a soft-looking gray blanket a ways away on the sand and waving furiously at you. 

“C'mon, hen! It's the perfect temps fur a swim!”

A peculiar feeling washed over you as you looked down at him, your grandfather’s face flashing through your mind as you lifted your foot and prepared to step down off the trail onto the beach. 

Mind yourself well in those spaces, little one - keep your feet firmly on the path, or you might become another sad ending. 

The sound of your foot hitting the sand was jarring, louder than you’d expected, and more like the turn of a key in a lock than a soft crunch. The air around you crackled, static shock racing down your arms, making the hair stand on end for a split second before dissipating into nothingness. You paused, standing stock still for a moment to make sure nothing was amiss. The air was still and calm again, electricity gone somewhere back into the atmosphere, so you shucked off your shoes and socks and made your way over to Johnny who was sitting on the blanket, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Let’s go, Bonnie! Ah’m ready fur a dip!” 

He didn’t wait for you to reply, impatiently yanking his shirt up over his head and tossing it over his shoulder before trying to frantically unbutton his trousers as fast as possible. You sucked in a very audible breath, nearly hyperventilating at the sight of his muscular chest, your eyes tracing the trail of dark hair leading to a thatch of nearly black curls peeking out from his now open fly. You were suddenly very aware of the seam of your jeans pressing up between your legs, the friction adding to the heat rapidly building in your core. 

You let out an embarrassing squeak, and Johnny’s head whipped to face you. He grinned wildly up at you from his place on the ground, reaching for you and grabbing onto your hips, kneading your flesh and watching the fat dimple under his firm grip. 

“Can ye get yer own clothes aff or dae ye need a bit o' help?” 

His deft fingers slid across the waistband of your jeans to toy with the brass button just below your navel, his warm breath tickling the tender skin of your stomach. 

“Ah'd be mair than happy tae be o’ assistance, hen.” 

Your reply died in your throat and you stuttered incoherently as he pressed a scorching kiss to your clothed mound. His tongue laved at the thick fabric as he worked your fly open, strong hands tugging your jeans and underwear down in one fell swoop to pool at your feet before gripping your hips and lifting you out of the pile of clothes. He swept the offending articles of clothing aside and hauled you close, arms locking around your waist so he could bury his nose in your coarse pubic hair. He inhaled deeply, his breath drawing your musky scent down into his lungs and letting out a pornographic moan, his eyes rolling back into his head and cheeks flushing a dark ruby. He pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your mons and gazed up at you reverently. 

“Gie’s a wee taste, hen. A'm keen tae find oot which o’ yer lips are sweeter.” 

A guttural gasp tore its way up your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he lightly ran a finger up your weeping slit, fireworks bursting to life beneath your closed lids. His tongue followed quickly behind his finger, worming its way in and tracing a spine-tingling path from your dripping hole to your clit. He used his fingers to pull back the hood to trace spirals all over the tender flesh beneath. The rush of sensations threatened to overwhelm you as tears quickly gathered on your lash line, and you fought to open your eyes and beg for mercy. 

“Please slow down, Johnny! It’s too much.” 

“Sensitive?” he chuckled a little meanly, flicking your clit one more time before pulling you down to lay on your back in front of him, legs spread wide around his middle. “Sorry, hen. Ah’ll be nice.”

He dropped to his belly, his shoulders forcing your legs to open even wider as he spread your lower lips, and you flinched as he let a glob of spit drip onto your swollen clit. 

“Ah'm pure starvin', Bonnie, so cheers in advance fur the meal.”

He didn’t waste any more time, diving in to devour you, his tongue lapping at the slick spilling out of your fluttering hole. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you wailed as he sucked your clit into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing the most sensitive part of you. You gripped onto his mohawk for dear life, desperately trying to maintain your connection to reality as he worked you over, one thick fingers bullying its way into your tight cunt. 

“A've got ma work cut oot fur me - she’s shakin’ like a leaf, but ah’ll be nice tae her, dinna worry.” 

All thoughts ceased as a second finger joined the first and he pressed up, the pads of his fingers scraping against a spongy spot deep inside you and sending you hurtling over the precipice of a violent orgasm. The muscles in your legs spasmed, locking around his head, your hands fisting in his hair and you felt Johnny moan into your cunt, face pressed against your pubic bone. 

You slowly relaxed as you came back down to earth, releasing his hair from your death grip and letting your legs drop back down to either side of his head. Johnny flexed his fingers, and you became abruptly aware of their presence still inside of you. 

“Tha’ juicy little kitty’s worth every bit o’ the debt incurred, hen. Ah need tae see ye do that on ma dick next - ah wan’ tae see yer face when ah take ye apart.” 

You lifted yourself to rest on your elbows, looking down at him as he withdrew his fingers and examined them before shoving them in his mouth and lapping up the strings of arousal that coated his digits. Your hips shifted, your pelvis slowly inching away from him as you tried and failed to catch your breath.

“I don’t think I can go again so soon. Maybe we should take a break?” 

A feral glow lit up his eyes and he barred his teeth at you in a crude approximation of a smile, surging up your body and using his body weight to pin you back to the ground. “That’ sounds like quitter’s talk, hen. Ah’m sure ye can take whatever ah give ye like a good lass, aye?” 

He rolled his hips, the hot length of him pressing up through his trousers to rest against your slick sex. “We need tae get the rest o' these clothes aff, and then we can get oan wi' the good part. Do ye like this shirt much?”

You stared at him in confusion, faltering a moment before replying apprehensively, “Not really?” 

“Brilliant!” Without any further ado, he grabbed your shirt collar and pulled, the material easily ripping in half and leaving you naked before him. 

“Johnny!” 

He ignored your startled squawk, his eyes fixated on your bare breasts as your nipples stiffened in the light breeze. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, yer a bonnie sight, aren't ye?” He tugged his trousers down just enough to let his cock spring free, fisting it a few times before pressing the thick tip to your slit and smearing his precum over your sensitive clit, making you jump. “Are ye gonnae be a good girl and let me fuck ye, hen? Gonnae let me make yer kitty purr?” 

His cock prodded your weeping hole, and he slid in without much resistance, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. He let out a pained groan, his forehead dropping down to rest against yours. 

“Ye feel amazin’, so hot and wet, practically drippin’ fur me. Ah kent ye’d be perfect as soon as ah saw ye, that ye'd feel like heaven wrapped ‘round me.”

He leaned back until just his tip was left inside you, watching with wild eyes as you mewled beneath him, squirming as your cunt tried desperately to pull him back in. 

“Say ah can have ye. Tell me yer mine and ah’ll give ye everything ye’ve ever wanted.” His voice was low, rasping as he spoke, the deep tone fueling your desperation. 

“Johnny,” you whined, wrapping your legs around his thick waist and attempting to hump him. You'd never thought you'd be the type to beg for cock, but your pride was fading fast and found yourself whimpering for him as you humped the air. 

“I need you!” 

He tutted quietly, tongue clicking against his teeth, chiding, “That’s no what ah want tae hear. Tell me you belong tae me, that ye’ll stay with me forever.” 

His words should have been a red flag, but lust had thrown a crimson tinge over the world around you. You were focused entirely on the empty ache inside of you, the burning need roiling in your belly. 

“I’m yours, Johnny. I belong to you - I’ll say whatever you want, just please fuck me!” 

He huffed out a breathy chuckle, “Nae need to beg - ah already promised tae give ye what ye want.” 

And he was back on you in an instant, thrusting up into you and setting a blistering pace. It was all you could do to sink your nails into his shoulders and hold on as he rode you, his balls slapping against your ass and his breath washing across your face in gasps.

“Ah'm no lettin’ ye go, hen. Yer mine now - my kind don't usually mate fur life, but yer gonnae be the exception.” 

A warning chime prickled in the back of your mind but was quickly forgotten as Johnny thrust up and hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. He growled as you clenched around him, shifting his hips so he could target that soft spot more easily.

“First thing ah'm gonna dae is fill you up wi’ my cum, suff this bonnie kitty full until ah'm dripping out o’ ye. Ah'll keep fillin ye up till ye're all round wi' ma pups, my mark oan yer neck. Ah'll keep ye fat an’ happy in mah den, Bonnie.”

The idea of him spilling inside you, pumping load after load in you until it took was overwhelming. You imagined him holding your legs open, cooing condescendingly down at you as he forced you to take him while you cried from overstimulation, tears cascading onto the sheets as he made you fall apart over and over. 

You moaned wantonly, the world narrowing until all you felt was Johnny: his arms around you, his weight pinning you down, his cock stretching you perfectly. Conscious thought fell away, and all that was left was his name on your lips as you chanted prayers to your new god.  

“Johnny! Please, please, please!” 

He reached down between your slick bodies to thumb your clit. “Ah’ve got ye, jist let go.” 

Your pleasure crested, the gratification washing over you as you shattered there in his arms. Waves of euphoria buoyed you along, your breasts pressing up into his chest as your cunt clamped down on his dick. Your mind was hazy in the aftermath, your body loose-limbed as you settled back into your skin. You looked up into Johnny's sweet face, his brow furrowed in concentration as he did his best to prolong your pleasure. 

It was your turn to make him fall apart. You wanted to hear what kinds of sounds he'd make as he spilled into you. You cupped his cheek and he turned to press a kiss to your palm, his eyes desperate. 

It was your turn to have mercy - you smiled sweetly up at him before pulling him down for a kiss, whispering in his ear, “You can cum, Johnny. I want to feel you inside me.” 

It was all the permission he needed - he gave one more harsh thrusts before biting down on the same spot he'd targeted the night before. His teeth clamped down hard, and you felt the skin give way as blood trickled down to pool the blanket below. Unlike the previous night, his bite didn't hurt - it felt correct somehow, the perfect ending. 

He released you to lap up some of the blood on your skin before pushing his own neck towards you and ordering you to, “Bite.”

You did, your teeth sinking into his flesh and the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth. He groaned, more pleasure than pain, and you released him to swipe an arm across your face, a trail of his blood left behind on your forearm. He pulled you to him for a bruising kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, the combined taste of blood and arousal thick in the back of your throat. 

He stayed on top of you for a moment, his entire weight pressing into you before he rolled off to the side to lay on his back next to you. 

“That was amazin’, hen. Ah cannae believe ah’ve got such a bonnie wife - ma mates are never gonnae believe ah managed tae snag the perfect lassie. They're all gonnae be pure jealous!” 

Fear sluiced down your spine like ice water. Wife? What the fuck was he talking about? 

“We’re not married, Johnny.” 

“Course we are. Ye agreed tae it a few minutes ago.” 

He rolled on an elbow to grin at you. “Or did ye no remember nuthin’ but ma dick? Knew ah was good, Bonnie, but ah didnae think ah could cause amnesia!” 

Dread was thick in the air around you, suffocating you as you began to hyperventilate. “I don’t understand - what are you talking about?” 

Stick to the path, or you might get lost.

Johnny frowned, his voice calm and low as if he was speaking to a frightened animal. “Ye said ye'd be mine, that ye’d stay wi' me forever. Ye cannae renege oan a deal wi' the fae, I’m afraid. It’s jist no how it works.” 

The color drained from your face as you looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. The glamour was so obvious to you now, the silvery threads of fae magic swirling thickly around him. He was still beautiful, but it was something foreign, more angular than any human would ever be. How could you have been so blind? 

Your grandfather’s voice boomed in your mind.

Mind yourself well in those spaces, little one. In-betweens have strange powers over fate.  

Everything fell into focus; the beach, the crackle of electricity when you’d stepped off the path, this place where the sea met the shore was an in-between. You turned to stare over your shoulder at the little trail at the edge of the cove - it shone in the fading sunlight, the tell-tale silver sparkle of a fairy path. You’d damned yourself as soon as your feet had touched the sand. 

“You tricked me.” 

Johnny snorted unkindly. “Tricked ye? Hardly. Ah’ve no lied a single time – Ah told ye the fae were keepin' an eye on ye, jist didnae say which one. Ye were the one who put yersel’ in debt. Ah didnae force ye tae thank me or gie me yer name. Ye did that all by yerself.” 

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look into his eyes as he continued, “Ah didnae make ye leave the path or say ye’d be mine. Sure, ah might've made a few suggestions here and there tae get ye tae loosen up, but ye had loads o’ chances tae tell me tae piss off.” 

He smirked at you and pinched your cheek before leaning back on his hanches. “Ye practically threw yerself at me, Sweetheart. Wis ah supposed tae say no?” 

You stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified, lips trembling in terror, “What are you?” 

“Ah’m a Selkie!” He puffed up his chest and proudly gestured to the blanket beneath you, “This is ma seal skin. Only the best resting place fur ma wife!” 

Your fingers traced the skin, rubbing the soft fur beneath your fingers in an attempt to calm down as you stared at the… man? creature? In front of you. “What happens now? I’m still human. I’ll die long before you will.” 

Johnny pulled you into his lap, your head tucked under his chin to rest against his chest - you could hear his heartbeat thudding under your ear. 

“Ah dinnae ken whit ye’ve heard aboot selkies, but we’re shapeshifters. If we have tae come oan land, we peel aff our skin and look jist like ye humans, ken? An’ when we want tae head back hame, we slap our skins back oan an’ turn intae seals!” 

You shuddered - it didn’t sound like a pleasant experience, removing your skin to change forms. 

“Most humans hear tales of fishermen after our females fur wives. There’s a load o’ stories aboot that, but they seem tae forget there’s selkie males as well - we tak wives too, jist like yer human men.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and stroked your hair, rocking you gently back and forth trying to sooth you. 

“Wi' the right conditions, we can turn our wives intae selkies, so ye dinnae need tae worry about being human much longer.” 

He tipped your head up until you were staring into his eyes, stroking your cheeks possessively. “Don’t worry if it doesnae take this time - we’ll try as many times as we need tae until we get it right, Bonnie. Ye did promise me forever.”

He kissed you, lips soft against yours before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Aye, it’s funny, but ah never thought a gift ah gave one of yer kind would come back tae me like this. Just shows ye the fae always end up winning in the end.” 

John Price

Sweat clings to John’s back, causing his camo to stick to his skin. It’s bloody hot in the safehouse. The stand fan on the table only pushes the air around.

He’s not alone. The rest of Task Force 141 along with Colonel Vargas, Sergeant Major Parra, and several Los Vaqueros linger in recline, waiting for you to emerge from behind the three-panel partition.

“You nearly done?” he calls out, striding toward the panel.

There is a muted mutter, and then you emerge. “You couldn’t find something longer?” you complain, pulling on the hem of the sequin body dress.

Fucking hell.

This is a far cry from fatigues and uniforms. The body dress hugs every dip and curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. Your hair is done, makeup flawless, and fuck—there were breasts under there all this time.

Blood rushes to his dick, and John discreetly adjusts himself. It’s a terrible fucking reaction to be having, especially for a subordinate. But you’re gorgeous, and John is just a man.

“Eyes up here, captain,” you tease, snapping at him like he’s a dog.

You’re enjoying this far too much.

John clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Get in the damn vehicle.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny smooths the front of his tuxedo and puts on an air of authority. Tonight, he’s parading around under the guise of hired security. His only job is to walk, to stand, to observe, and to listen. But he’s not alone. Somewhere, you’re lingering amongst the gala attendees. Johnny knows this, yet he hasn’t spotted you.

“How do I look?”

Your voice startles him, drawing his attention away from the crowd. The only word that comes to mind is stunning. Johnny has only ever seen you in uniform or dressed down in workout attire. This is elegance made real, and his mouth waters as he gazes over every scrumptious inch of you.

“Like a flaky scotch pie,” blurts Johnny.

You laugh. “A what?”

Johnny clears his throat. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, sergeant,” you murmur, glancing down demurely.

That one movement ruins him. By the end of the night, if you’re not going home with him, he’s utterly failed. To hells with the fucking mission. He needs you naked and on your back. Heels on.

“Keep an eye on me, yeah?” you croon, tossing a wink his way.

“Ever your guardian, lass,” he whispers as you disappear into the crowd.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Jealousy is a fickle creature. Simon hardly knows the flavor. It’s bitter. Acrid. A subtle coating that ruins everything around him. The two of you are on a mission but his focus is utterly obliterated. It’s a fucking stupid reaction, and Simon doesn’t understand where it’s come from. There is no reason for him to feel this way about you. You’re a teammate. Nothing more.

Yet he’s furious—wanting to slice off the hand of the man touching you. He squeezes your bare thigh and laughs with a lecherous air. You flutter your eyelashes and place your hand on the man’s chest. It’s feigned affection. Simon knows this. But it doesn’t change how he feels.

Before the two of you left the safehouse, you walked out in a barely there dress and pencil thin heels. With hair and makeup done, you were transformed, and Simon was transfixed. It took all his self-control not to reach out and touch you during the transfer—to draw you into his lap and make you beg for him.

Simon swallows down the rabid urge.

It’s fake. Fucking fake.

Just a few hours, and Simon can make a move.

He can make you want him.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Post-mission drinks always cut the stress, tearing away at the remaining bits of spiderweb-thin tension. Kyle sits at the high-top table with a pint in front of him, the remnants of the foamy head clinging to the sides of the glass. Johnny is perched on a stool next to him and Simon sits across, his gaze on the rugby match playing on the television. Price is playing pool with Laswell and Nikolai in the corner, the three of them engaged in animated conversation. And you? You’re nowhere. Haven’t even arrived.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Your breathy voice is a soft caress; a tone Kyle has never heard from you before. With a turn of his head, Kyle’s gaze falls upon a stunning woman. He’s seen you in uniform and fatigues, even fucking working out clothes, but never in a dress, and never with your hair done and makeup immaculate. You’re certainly posh. A fucking diamond.

“S’all right, love,” he replies automatically.

Love. As if you’re something more to him.

Your eyebrows rise in surprise, and Kyle silently swears. It’s a slip up, but he can play it cool. Always does.

Firefighter!Simon who, miraculously, has the night off. He decides to stay in the hospital until you wake: thinking it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to make sure your friends or family were made aware of the devastating fire. But when you finally blink awake and Simon asks all his questions, he’s stumped when you hit him with a ‘I don’t have any family’. Simon can’t stop himself from blurting out ‘You c’n stay with me. If you want.’

It takes a full day for you to be cleared before Firefighter!Simon picks you up from the hospital to take you to his (more than) humble abode. He finds that you quickly find happiness in the kitchen, but are more than disappointed to see he has barely anything to cook or bake with. “A damn shame” you say. With the remaining daylight hours, Simon finds himself driving you to a little supermarket in the corner of the city he hadn’t had the time to be explore. You insist on buying everything, telling Simon (a man who you really knew nothing about) it was the least you could do since he saved you from homelessness. And dying.

The rest of your first day in your temporary home with Firefighter!Simon is spent cooking. You whip up a marvelous pasta dish with hearty meatballs that almost make drool seep from Simon’s lips. He sits at the island watching you move around his space like you’d been there millions of times, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his gut similar to fondness. Since picking you up some new clothes, Simon had learned a little bit more about you than Simon thought healthy. It was unfortunate enough for him to have been unable to get laid in over three months, but it was even more unfortunate that he had such a pretty bird in his apartment making him food and insisting on being near him when he sure as hell couldn’t make a move on her.

Firefighter!Simon who gets comfortable in his routine with you. On the days he’s not at work at assfuck 0200, he’s up making a simple breakfast for you and him before rhe day starts. You’ll eat and concerse a little awkwardly but that wont stop you from asking all about how he slept and if his buddies wanted more of those monster cookies you’d made to thank them for saving you and your fellow tenants. Simon had to relay many praises of your work in the kitchen, only ommiting the details and sly jokes about how ‘Simon’s girl’ was already taking care of the family. You’d go to work by bus or train- depending on how you felt- and then come home and make dinner or reheat leftovers. If Simon was at work, you’d laze on the couch in the main room and watch television and read. If Simon wasn’t at work, you’d bring the softest blanket from the room Simon had placed you in and watch a movie. More often than not, you would scoot closer and closer to Simon before falling asleep against him. When you woke up, you were in your bed- undoubtedly carried by Simon. Oh well. Its what friends do.

Firefighter!Simon who sees you as a friend. It’s basing your third week in his home and he feel comfortable around you. You’re good at reading his silence- the set of his shoulders and the future of his brow say enough- and he can’t be more thankful of that. For someone so new to his life, you seem to know exactly when to let a comfortable silence fall between you and when to start chattering about them things that come to your mind. But when you are the silent, short-tempered, and fatigued one, Simon is more than scared to get in your way. “Needa talk?” He offers, sliding you a cup of steaming coffee when you level a glare at the mug that had irritated you at such an inconveniently early hour. You heave a sigh and your head crumbles down into your arms. “I’m a mess, Si,” you tell him. Though your voice is muffled, Simon hears the shakiness in your throat trying to escape. He rounds the corner of island and places a large palm on your back in his attempt to comfort you. You are wrapping your arms around his neck and buring your face into the frail fabric of Simon’s shirt before he even knows what’s happening. And- as avoidant as Simon is to physical touch that doesn’t occur during work hours or when you fall asleep on him or when you slid your hand in his gloved hand during The Ambulance Ride- Simon didn’t mind your arms and warmth around him. When you started shaking in his arms was when Simon had to clench his jaw. It pained him that it pained you- and he didn’t even know what was ailing you! Simon tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that he was giving you the best comfort he could offer.

A day later you wake up to a crime scene in your underwear in the middle of the night so you decide to take a midnight trip to the convenience store a literal block away without letting Firefighter!Simon know. I mean, hey, he needs sleep and you were not going to wake him up to let him know you would be gone for a total of five minutes! But when you were on your way back to his house, you noticed someone following you. As you turned right for the third consecutive block, you finally fumbled for your phone.