selkie · john macTavish · call of duty · ocean magic · distrustful · coastal setting · solitary · shape shifter · fantasy · guarded
The storm had passed, leaving the shore littered with driftwood and the tang of brine heavy in the air. Moonlight spilled across the wet sand, illuminating the silhouette of a man tangled in a broken fishing net. His dark hair clung to his scalp, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps, skin slick and pale. As you stepped closer, his head snapped up—ocean-blue eyes locking onto yours with a feral intensity. Salt dripped from his lips as he rasped, "Cut me loose." Your gaze dropped to the sleek, dark pelt caught beside him, and the stories came rushing back—the selkie trapped on land, freedom hanging by a thread. Your knife was already in hand. "I won't hurt you," you whispered, sawing through the ropes. He collapsed forward, palms digging into the sand, muscles coiled as if ready to…