#mermaid!reader

MERMAID!READER ... who gets taken in by Clark and taught the ways of the human world. He shows her how to use silverware, explains what cars are, and patiently holds her hand when the sounds of the city overwhelm her. He never once asks where she came from, just lets her discover things at her own pace — though he does have to stop you from trying to eat the decorative soaps twice.

MERMAID!READER ... who finds that if she gets splashed by water, she only has about fifteen seconds before her shimmery tail shoots out, scales glittering like crushed gemstones. The first time it happens in his apartment, she knocks over a lamp in her panic. Clark just calmly helps her dry until she can transform back, never mentioning the broken glass he swept up afterward.

MERMAID!READER ... who falls deeply for Clark and finds that he's falling for her enchantments as well. She doesn't mean to weave magic into her laughter, and definitely doesn't realize her voice carries the pull of the tide when she says his name. But he's caught in her anyway, drowning willingly, and when she shyly admits she's never felt this way about a human before, he kisses her like he's been holding his breath underwater for months.

MERMAID!READER ... who loves to drag Clark to the pool or beach any chance she gets. Clark has to remind her that others can't see her with her tail, his hands catching her waist just as she's about to dive into the water. He ends up taking her somewhere more secluded instead. Usually a hidden cove he found on Superman patrol, or a private lake in Kansas, where she can swim freely while he watches from the shore with a soft, helpless smile.

MERMAID!READER ... who has a strong appetite for seafood. It's all she eats really—raw oysters, salmon, tuna, crab legs she cracks open with disturbing efficiency. Clark is more than happy to indulge her diet, learning to prepare a dozen different kinds of fish just to see the way her eyes light up. He pretends not to notice when she gets a little too enthusiastic about the live lobster tank at the grocery store.

MERMAID!READER ... who has the most angelic voice he's ever heard. She hums while she cooks, sings softly when she thinks he's asleep, and sometimes, when the moon is right, she calls to the ocean from his balcony.

MERMAID!READER ... who gets affected by full moons and finds herself drawn to her grotto each time, but Clark helps restrain the pull that often has her acting loopy.

MERMAID!READER ... who is about as close to being drunk as it gets when the full moon is out. She talks about silly things—whether fish dream, what clouds taste like, if Clark would still love her if she turned into a sea cucumber. She has a habit of trying to run away, usually toward the nearest body of water, which means Clark has to scoop her up mid-sprint more than once. She's clumsy, knocking into furniture and tangling her feet, but she's also ridiculously adorable, pressing cold hands to his face and telling him he has "very nice bone structure" with absolute seriousness. He falls in love with her a little more every time.

MERMAID!READER ... who discovers that Clark has superpowers that make him not human too. She loves to watch him fly and sprint and giggles that melodic sound every time he indulges her with his powers.

MERMAID!READER ... who also discovers that Clark's x-ray vision works on her transformation. He doesn't tell her at first — he doesn't know how to explain that he can see the way her bones shift, the way her spine lengthens, the way her legs fuse into something impossibly elegant. But once, when she accidentally spilled water on herself and ended up changing in front of him, he made a choked-up sound. She catches him staring, pupils blown wide, and realizes he's been watching her inside. She should be unnerved. Instead, she pulls him closer, lets him trace the lines of her scales with his fingers while she transforms slowly now, deliberately, giving him something no other creature has ever seen.

MERMAID!READER ... who cries actual pearls when Clark has to leave for any Justice League mission that takes him away during her moon cycle. He finds her curled in the bathtub—his tub, the one she's claimed as her own—with tiny iridescent spheres scattered across the porcelain, her shoulders shaking. Clark's used to this by now, and he always strips down, climbs in behind her, and holds her through the worst of it. She presses the pearls into his palm one by one, still sniffling, and tells him they're protection. “Wear them,” you whisper. "Come back to me and don't be long." He keeps them in his suit from that day forward, and every time he takes a hit, he thinks he feels them warm against his chest.

MERMAID!READER ... whose first time with Clark happens at their private cove spot under the moonlight, the tide creeping closer with every wave. He laid her back on the blanket, the moon painting her silver, and worshipped every inch of her like she was something sacred. When he finally pushed inside, slow and careful, she gasped and her legs trembled, and for a moment she thought she'd transform, but Clark held her through it, forehead pressed to hers, whispering how beautiful she was, how perfect. She came apart beneath him with a sound that made the waves crash harder against the shore.

MERMAID!READER ... who likes to ride Clark's thigh when your too sensitive for anything else. She crawls into his lap, and presses her slick cunt against the hard muscle of his thigh. He watches her with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, his hands gentle on her hips as she rocks against him, chasing something slower this time. She likes that he lets her set the pace. Likes that he doesn't rush her even when his cock is straining against his stomach. When she finally comes, shaking and quiet, she buries her face in his neck and murmurs something in Old Mer that she refuses to translate. He figures it out later anyway. It means mine.

MERMAID!READER ... who begs Clark to take her from behind while she's fully transformed, her tail splayed across the wet rocks of their cove. She's always careful on land, but here she can let go. He pushes into her slowly, his hands braced on either side of her hips, and watches the way her scales ripple with each thrust, shimmering. Her voice echoes off the cove walls, high and melodic, and when she comes, the water around them surges, waves crashing against the entrance. Clark follows seconds later, buried so deep he feels like he might never find his way out. 

MERMAID!READER ... who learns that her voice has other uses besides singing. The first time Clark goes down on her, she's a mess of incoherent sounds, gasps, whimpers, broken little moans that seem to make the room vibrate. But when he finds that spot inside her with his tongue, a true siren's keen tears from her throat, high and clear and carrying. Clark freezes, looking up at her with wide eyes, his lips slick. “Did you just—” She claps a hand over her mouth, face burning. “Sorry. I'm sorry. I can't always—” He grins, slow and devastating, and dips his head back down. “Do it again,” he murmurs against her, and she absolutely does.

He hated humans and forbade any mer in the pod from interacting with them unless it was to kill them. Your father despised Gwi Ma and broke the rules, venturing to the surface to see what humans were like for himself. He found that humans weren’t bad—like mers, there were ones that were nice, ones that were horrible, and ones that fell between the two.

Then he heard the voice of your mother one night, a voice more beautiful than even the most enchanting of mers had drawn him in until he laid eyes on her. And she took his breath away as he gazed upon her under the moon and starlit sky, the reflection of the celestial bodies glimmering around him. He was gone for her from that moment on.

He would visit her whenever he could, spending more and more time at the surface until Gwi Ma inevitably noticed. Enraged at his rebellion, Gwi Ma tried to kill your father, but your father was a formidable mer himself. Coming to a draw, both weakened, your father left the pod, taking those who wanted to leave with him and creating his own pod.

The pod made their home in the deeper parts of the sea just a few miles from the shore of your mom’s home so he could see her as often as he could. Just a few years later, you and your sister were born—the first half human, half mers in existence to your knowledge.

Rumi took more after your mom with a more human appearance while you took more after your dad. Rumi had a purple and white coloring that faded into human toned coloring, her patterns a beautiful, light iridescence. Meanwhile, your fins were frilly red with hints of purple and white at the edges that transitioned into a rich violet body. Traveling upwards, your skin tone was a lighter purple tint like lavender while your patterns were a dark purple like your tail. Your mer abilities were stronger than Rumi’s but Rumi had an easier time pretending to be human in her human form and it was easier for her to learn the human language according to your parents.

Despite you both being physical opposites, you and Rumi were inseparable. One day, when your father’s time came to an end, the both of you would become the matriarchs of the pod—as long as that was what you both still wanted anyways. The two of you brought a balance to each other that even now some of the mers in the pod came to the two of you to settle small issues.

Secretly though, you couldn’t help but find yourself lonely even when you were in a group of people. You got along with all the mers in the pod but you didn’t quite fit in with them and when you spent time around humans that weren’t your mom, you couldn’t help but scratch at your patterns because it felt like they were staring. (They were actually just awestruck by your beauty and how your patterns elevated that but you didn’t know that and staring is still staring so you felt self conscious.)

And recently, it felt like Rumi and you had this distance between the two of you as she spent more time on land or at the surface with your mom or exploring human culture. You thought human culture was cool too and loved learning about it but you weren’t as interested in it as Rumi was. You much preferred exploring the sea floor or hiking away from dense human populations when you were above water.

That day was a day where Rumi had gone to the city and your dad was spending time with your mom so you were left to your own devices as you wandered the sea floor, lazily looking for interesting shells, rocks, or coral.

As you did, you began to hum and then softly began to sing—one thing you and your sister both shared was a love for singing that you got from your mom.

“I've been watchin' you for some time~ Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes~ Burning cities and napalm skies~ Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes~ Your ocean eyes~”

Unknown to you though, your voice carried away by the currents to five male mers, their frills standing at attention as your song reached them.

Not too far away, an eccentric pod of male lionfish mers had ventured into your dad’s territory by accident. It was a strange coincidence that none of the mers had any blood relations with each other though they were each a lionfish mer with similar purple and magenta coloring.

However, the pod was unique in that it was made up of mers that had left or been exiled from their original pods, eventually coming together under the bond of shared circumstances and friendship. The pod didn’t necessarily have a patriarch though there was a leader of the group that they looked to for final say, but they all aided in decisions.

“No fair~ You really know how to make me cry~ When you gimme those ocean eyes~ I'm scared~ I've never fallen from quite this high~ Fallin' into your ocean eyes~ Those ocean eyes~”

For a few years now, the five had traveled across the seas together, never having an aim or a purpose besides avoiding humans after an especially bad run in with them.

And now, your voice reached them and it was the most hypnotic sound they had ever heard—familiar in their hearts like the sound of the waves lapping against rocks, lovely like the nights they floated to the surface to watch the stars and the moon move across the sky, awe inspiring like swimming along the vast creatures that were a pod of whales, and so very very precious to them like the single time they had seen snow.

Jinu was the first to turn and begin swimming and the others followed close behind in search of the source of the singing.

“I've been walkin' through a world gone blind~ Can't stop thinkin' of your diamond mind~ Careful creature made friends with time~ He left her lonely with a diamond mind~ And those ocean eyes~”

Jinu, Kwan, Chungae, Hyeon, and Jum didn’t know who or what they were swimming towards, all they knew was that they needed to find the source of the song. Their instincts screamed for it. Their souls ached for it. It was almost frightening, the intensity of which they needed to find it.

“No fair~ You really know how to make me cry~ When you gimme those ocean eyes~ I'm scared~ I've never fallen from quite this high~ Fallin' into your ocean eyes~ Those ocean eyes~”

You stopped and settled in the sand, pulling your finds out of your woven bag one by one to look them over before you decided to call it a day. Your claws clicked against them, carefully etching little designs into them as you pleased.

“Da, da-da, da-da~ Da-da-da, da, da~ Da, da, da, da, da-da-da-da~ Mm~ Mm~ Mm~”

The song was almost coming to an end and the boys could feel it, time slipping through their fingers like dry sand. They pushed their tails faster and harder, their spines laid flush to their bodies so they could cut through the water easily.

“No fair~ You really know how to make me cry~ When you gimme those ocean eyes~ I'm scared~ I've never fallen from quite this high~ Fallin' into your ocean eyes~ Those ocean eyes~”

And there you were. The most beautiful creature they had ever seen.

At the same time, your instincts flared, telling you that you were being watched—but it was almost a gentle flare like it was your sister or dad, nothing like the sharp flares that warned of violent or predatory intent. You looked up, your frills flared around your face as you scanned your surroundings. Then you saw them.

You blinked at them, curious, and tilted your head. One of them copied the motion, tilting his head in the same way that made you giggle lightly. Their spines stood at attention in interest at the sweet sound.

“Hello,” You clicked at them. “What brings you to this region?”

“We heard your ethereal song and were drawn in,” the mer with black hair clicked in response. The five of them floated closer, slowly circling you so they could see your every angle, but you didn’t feel intimidated or scared. No, instead you felt comfortable with them, save even.

When you processed the mer’s words, your breath hitched the slightest bit. Your dad had told you and your sister how he met your mom, of course. It was how all mer’s in your bloodline had found their mates, a phenomenon that was known as a siren song, taken from the human myths of sirens.

A mer is typically capable of enchanting their voice to affect humans but only a mate can hear another mer’s siren song when a mer’s voice is so enchanting, so beautiful that you can’t help but follow it to its source. Which is what made your parents so unique since a mer had never heard a siren song from a human.

Back to the present, you cleared your throat, clicking slowly to them, “And… you know what that means, don’t you?” Your face felt warm.

The youngest looking, a male with teal or mint hair, chirped curiously, “What does it mean?”

You couldn’t help but blanch. Had their original pods really never told them about mates or the siren song? Or had they just been too young to really remember? You shook your head, “It means that you five are my mates and I’m yours.”

Oh, they shuddered.

They liked the sound of that.

Suddenly, the one with light purple hair had his arms around your waist, “You’re ours then?”

The one with magenta hair gave an excited roguish grin, grabbing your hand and beginning to tug you away, “Let’s go then!” Already ready to whisk you away.

“Hey—wait!” You chirped, flicking your tail to propel you out of their arms and put a little bit of space between you and them. “You guys can’t just take me away from my pod! I have a family here and I’m not just leaving them! Besides, my dad is the patriarch so you guys have to present yourselves to him! Don’t you know that?”

Sheepishly, the five rubbed at their necks, scratched at their faces, and looked away from your annoyed gaze awkwardly. The one with light pink hair smiled apologetically, “It’s been a while…” He chirped quietly.

You shook your head in amusement because of course you would get the five feral mers as your mates. “Come on, we can chat on the way. I’m (Y/n) by the way.”

“I’m Jinu,” the black haired mer introduced himself, scooping your bag up to carry it for you without another word.

The magenta haired mer subtly flexed his muscles, his arm muscles and well defined abs more prominent, “I’m Kwan.”

The light pink haired mer flicked his hair out of his face with a soft smile, preening slightly, “I’m Chungae. It’s a pleasure to meet you~”

“I’m Jum,” the youngest mer with the mint colored hair gave a small smile, offering you a piece of sea glass that had been twined in his hair. He made a mental note to find out your favorite foods so he could find them for you.

“Hyeon,” the mer with purple hair that hung in his face told you simply, reaching out to interlock your fingers together, his thumb tracing the back of your hand curiously.

You smiled, “It’s nice to meet you guys.”

A/N: I thought about making them different types of mers, like Kwan would be a shark, maybe Hyeon would be an octopus, and Jum would be a jellyfish, but it felt too complicated and I liked the irony of them being lionfish.

Outtakes:

You: *living your best life, peacefully singing and collected shinies*

Saja Boys: *swimming like their lives depend on it as they home in on your song*

…

Yong (Dad): *looking at you and your five new strays* “You went out to get shells.”

You: *nods* “Yes.”

Yong: “And somehow you come back with five feral mates.”

You: *nods again* “Yes.”

Yong: *takes a deep breath*

Yong: *strained* “Okay then…”

…

Rumi: “Here, I brought this back from the city for when you need to distract or entertain them.”

Rumi: *hands you a laser pointer*

You: *turns it on* “Uhm, thanks Rumi but I don’t think this is gonna—“

Saja Boys: *eyes dilated, following the dot, pounce at it only to crash into each other and crawl over each other to try and get it*

You: “…”

You: “Y’know what, thanks.”

…

Inspiration for your’s and the Saja Boys’ mer forms:

The docks always smelled like rust and salt and something a little more dangerous underneath. It clung to the air, to the wood, to the people who worked there.

Sevika only showed up when there was work worth her time. Shipments. Important ones.

Her boots hit the wood with steady, deliberate weight as she moved through the chaos, voices rising around her, crates shifting, the whole place alive with tension. Men straightened when she passed. Conversations cut short. Orders came easier when she was the one giving them.

She didn’t linger.

She never did.

But while she was here, everything bent around her like it had no other choice.

And beneath it all, just out of sight-

you watched.

The water curled around you, cool and familiar, a gentle contrast to the harsh world above. You hovered just beneath the surface, where the light fractured into shifting gold, eyes fixed on her like she was something sacred.

You had been watching her for months now.

Maybe longer.

At first it was curiosity. Humans came and went along the docks all the time, loud and careless, dropping things into the water that you’d collect later. But her… she was different. You noticed it immediately. The way she stood, grounded and unafraid. The way others circled around her without even realising they were doing it.

The way she looked like she could break the world in half if she wanted to.

You had surfaced once, just barely, enough to catch a clearer look.

And she’d turned.

Right toward you.

Your heart had lurched as you slipped back under, the water swallowing you whole. But when you peeked again, she was still staring at the spot you’d been, brow furrowed, jaw tight.

Since then, it became a game.

You’d watch. She’d feel it.

Sometimes she’d glance over her shoulder, eyes narrowing at nothing. Sometimes she’d pause mid-step, like she’d heard something just out of reach. Once, she’d even walked to the edge of the dock, crouching low, scanning the water.

You’d been right beneath her.

Close enough to reach out.

Close enough to touch.

You didn’t.

Not yet.

—

The night everything changed began in chaos.

You felt it before you understood it, the vibrations cutting through the water, sharp and wrong. You surfaced just enough to see the frenzy unfolding. Crates. Weapons. Smoke already beginning to curl into the air.

And her.

Always her.

Sevika stood at the center of it, barking orders, trying to regain control as figures moved in from the shadows. Firelights. You didn’t know their name, but you knew danger when you saw it.

Then the explosion hit.

It split the night open.

The force of it slammed into the water, a violent shockwave that sent you reeling back, ears ringing even beneath the surface. Above, wood splintered, flames roared to life, and bodies scattered like broken pieces.

You saw her go over.

It happened too fast. One second she was standing, the next she was thrown back, body hitting the water hard enough to make your chest tighten.

She didn’t resurface.

You didn’t think.

You moved.

The water parted for you as you surged forward, faster than anything human could track. You found her just below the surface, sinking, limbs slack, eyes closed. Still.

Too still.

Your hands found her instantly, one bracing her back, the other lifting her chin. She was heavy, solid in a way that made your muscles strain, but you didn’t let go. You kicked upward, tail driving you through the water until you broke the surface.

No one was looking.

All eyes were on the fire.

On the fight.

On everything but her.

You dragged her toward the edge of the dock, fingers slipping slightly against soaked fabric before finding purchase. With effort, you hauled her up, following just enough to lean over her, your hands trembling as they hovered over her face.

“Please…” you whispered, voice soft and unused.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then she coughed.

It was rough, violent, her body jerking as water spilled from her lungs. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding, relief hitting you so hard it almost hurt.

Your hand moved without thinking, brushing damp hair back from her face. Your fingers lingered, tracing the sharp line of her cheek, the strength in her jaw now softened by exhaustion.

Up close… she was even more beautiful.

Her eyes opened.

Sharp. Piercing. Locked onto yours immediately.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

She stared like she’d forgotten how to breathe, like the world had narrowed down to just you. You felt it, that intensity, heavy and grounding all at once. It made your chest flutter, something warm and unfamiliar curling through you.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

Soft. Relieved. A little shy.

You wanted her to know you meant no harm. She was safe.

Her lips parted, like she was about to speak, but no sound came out.

Shouting cut through the moment.

Close.

Too close.

Your head snapped toward the noise, instincts screaming. You couldn’t stay. Not here. Not where others might see.

You looked back at her, something aching in your chest at the thought of leaving.

Her hand twitched, like she was trying to reach for you.

That decided it.

You slipped back, fingers trailing from her face, your body already lowering toward the water.

“Wait-” her voice came out rough, strained, but unmistakably directed at you.

You paused just long enough to meet her eyes one more time.

Then you smiled again. A departing gesture. Soft and sincere.

And let yourself fall back into the sea.

The water closed over you, familiar and safe, pulling you away as you dove deeper, disappearing into the dark.

-

Sevika pushed herself up, coughing again, chest heaving as she stared at the empty water.

Gone.

Gone.

But not imagined.

Not this time.

Her hand came up to her face, brushing over the spot where your fingers had been, like she could still feel the ghost of your touch.

A shaky breath left her as she fell back against the dock, staring up at the sky, the chaos around her fading into something distant and unimportant.

All she could see was you.

The curve of your smile.

The softness in your eyes.

The unmistakable gleam of scales where legs should have been.

The impossible, undeniable truth of what she’d just witnessed.

“…fuck,” she breathed, almost disbelieving.

Then, quieter.

“…beautiful.”

And for the first time in a long time, Sevika wasn’t thinking about the fight.

Or the fire.

Or the damage.

She was thinking about the water.

But there was one joy in her life — a handsome young boy from the surface named Eric. He was a kind and charming boy who treated the young mermaid with such tenderness. They always had something to talk about.

"I will definitely marry you, Y/n!" the boy laughed loudly, and Y/n smiled trustingly in response.

However, soon Ariel herself began to dream of the world above the water, because she had long been curious about where her older sister so often swam off to. The little girl didn't really understand anything yet, but Y/n was like that too, so Ariel revealed her sister's secret to her father.

Then the waters of the ocean boiled with alarm, for Triton did not limit himself to the usual reprimand to his daughter, but shouted, overcome with righteous indignation. Frightened and trembling, Y/n stared at her father's angry face, feeling both horror and deep resentment.

"You will go to the deepest sea bottom until you learn your lesson!" the sea lord shouted indignantly.

"Father..." the unfortunate girl whispered timidly, but the king's loud voice stopped her, and two huge octopuses immediately grabbed her delicate hands with their tentacles, carrying her away from the palace.

Before leaving, Y/n managed to cast a hateful glance at her sister Ariel, who was hiding behind their angry father's back. The girl pressed her fist to her lips, her large blue eyes wide with fear, looking confused and bewildered.

"If you try to repeat your sister's actions and run away to the surface, I will be forced to do the same to you," the wise ruler warned his little daughter menacingly, softening a little and adopting a fatherly tone of voice.

And Y/n's heart was filled with black hatred for her father and younger sister. Was everything that was happening fair? After all, she was exactly two years older than the capricious Ariel! Why was there such a huge difference in the manifestation of her father's love? What had she done to deserve such cruelty, why had she been banished to a gloomy underwater prison?

The days dragged on slowly, even though the sentence was relatively short — only one month. What saved the girl's mind from complete madness was a wonderful shell found by chance in the sand at the bottom of the sea. This trinket had magical properties: thousands of ancient spells were hidden inside it. The shell whispered, imparting knowledge and guidance to the young princess, choosing her as its new successor.

The spells were varied: some were kind and bright, others were cunning and dangerous. Some allowed the girl to freely leave the dark cell hidden deep beneath the sea, remaining invisible to the guards patrolling the area. So Y/n gradually learned to leave and return unnoticed.

She no longer saw Eric in their secret place. Perhaps the boy waited patiently for his friend to return for some time, but in the end he lost hope and left the shore forever.

When the punishment was over, Y/n decided to remain alone, far from the hated castle and her relatives. Triton took her behaviour as childish sulking and stopped trying to bring his daughter home until she reached maturity.

"Yes/no..." exclaimed Ariel, suddenly waking up and noticing her sister's movement.

"What's wrong?" the girl replied sharply in an even, firm voice.

"Why are you leaving right now? We tried to arrange a pleasant evening for you..." Ariel muttered, looking with her large, round, sky-blue eyes, as if deliberately feigning touching pity.

"Thank you very much, I am really full, now I want to leave," Y/n said dryly, trying to avoid further questions.

"...Maybe you are ready to return to the royal chambers?" her father asked cautiously, watching his daughter's cold detachment intently.

"I have no desire to," Y/n snapped and instantly dissolved into the depths of the water, leaving her family in silence and disappointment. Triton sighed heavily.

But Y/n's big secret was that she had been watching her family for a long time. Thanks to a magical glass ball she had conjured up. She watched Ariel, saw how the girl was becoming more and more attracted to the surface. The young mermaid collected things that fell from above and settled on the seabed, or searched for human belongings in sunken ships. Y/N sighed heavily. If she showed Ariel's father how she was swimming to the surface, what would he do? She wanted him to get angry and lock his favourite daughter in the cave.

And finally, one day, Ariel surfaced because of the noise of a human ship. Y/n watched closely as her sister climbed onto the ship and watched the people. The people were having fun and dancing, drinking some kind of liquid from wooden mugs. Laughter and loud chatter pierced the silence of the night. Ariel watched everything spellbound when a dog ran up to her and began licking her face. The young mermaid laughed quietly. Then a youthful voice called the dog to him. Y/n froze. She couldn't be mistaken! It was Eric, but now an adult. He had turned from a funny boy into a handsome young man. He smiled and petted the dog, while Ariel stared at the young man in fascination. The woman shifted her attention to Eric, who looked awkwardly at his monument and scratched the back of his head. He was still the same shy young man who did not expect honours and glory. The man walked away from the monument, talking to a grey-haired man.

"The whole kingdom is waiting for you to choose a worthy girl!" said the old man.

"The girl is out there somewhere. I haven't found her yet," Eric replied, slightly sadly.

"Perhaps you haven't looked hard enough," remarked the old man.

"I'm trying to find her, but it seems she's hiding from me. But when I find her, I'll recognise her immediately," said the dark-haired man confidently.

Y/n's heart sank. She hoped that he was looking for her and that he remembered her. The woman quietly shed a tear, which mixed with the sea water.

Y/n clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, as she watched her sister sing about her love, about how she wanted to be with Eric. Y/n couldn't stand it; her sister wanted to take something that had never belonged to her. Then her sister was scared off by the old man, while Eric was already coming to his senses and looking for the person who had been singing to him.

Ariel swam away, hiding behind another rock, watching as the old man led the prince away, lecturing him. She smiled happily and continued her song. Y/N knew what she had to do; she had to tell her father that the time had come.

Triton sat on his throne, busy with royal affairs, and was surprised to see his daughter, who had disappeared from the castle, seemingly forever.

"Have you decided to return?" the king asked with a glimmer of hope. Y/n frowned, but then looked excited.

"No... but... I saw something you need to know about. It's about Ariel." The girl swam closer, and Triton put down his papers.

"What is it?" the man frowned.

"I accidentally saw my sister swimming to the surface."

"What?!" Triton shouted.

"It turns out she collects human things... she has a cave closer to the south," Y/N tried to hold back a smile.

"Are you sure?" Triton took his trident and stepped down from his throne.

"Yes, Father, I'm worried about her. It's not normal, is it?"

"That's right, I'm glad you understand that too... we'll have to explain it to your sister," the man swam to the exit, and Y/n hurried to her cave.

She activated the crystal ball again and watched as her father found the cave and yelled at Ariel, who tried to justify herself and defend herself. But Triton was unrelenting, he began to destroy everything he saw, the last point being Eric's sculpture, the king aimed his trident at him and shot a red lightning bolt. And then he swam away, to Ariel's cries. Y/N watched this and couldn't believe it. Her face reflected several emotions, and she finally felt pleasure. But that wasn't enough. The young princess's dark heart was poisoned with hatred, and she wanted to hurt her even more.

The next day, she sailed to Ariel, who was still sitting on the ruins of her cave.

"What happened here?" Y/n asked, feigning confusion. Her sister abruptly turned her gaze to the girl.

"It's our father... he found out that I collect things from the human world... and that I fell in love with a human..." She cried bitterly, and Y/N clenched her jaw.

"Didn't my bitter experience teach you anything?"

"I'm sorry... it must have been just as painful for you," said Ariel.

"You have no idea... Do you really love this man?"

"Yes... very much... but we can't be together," Ariel took Eric's stone face.

"What if I told you I could help you? I'll give you legs," Y/N added quietly and saw Ariel look at her.

"Really!? You can help me?" Ariel swam up to her sister.

"Yes, but the price will be high, because it's a powerful spell,"

"I agree!" Ariel said confidently, hugging her sister.

Y/n took her sister and they swam to the girl in the cave. There was a peculiar cauldron and many flasks. Ariel looked around, wanting to touch everything, but when she tried to pick something up, her sister slapped her hands away.

Y/n threw various ingredients into the cauldron, which bubbled and shimmered with different colours.

"You must give up your voice, it is the price for the spell," Y/n stood next to the cauldron and took the shell pendant from around her neck. "The spell will last for three days. To keep it from fading, you must make Er... the man fall in love with you, then the spell will not fade, but will grow stronger, and you will remain on land forever. If he does not fall in love, your legs will turn into a tail, and you will have to return to the water, but I will return your voice as well."

"But how can I talk to Eric? How can I make him fall in love with me?" Ariel asked fearfully.

"Why are you asking me? I told you about the price. If you're not ready, then stay at the bottom of the sea and don't stick your neck out," Y/n said irritably.

Ariel hesitated. She had the opportunity to meet the man she loved, but she couldn't say anything to him.

"You have to pay for everything," added Y/n, looking somewhere off to the side, noticing Flounder and Sebastian behind one of the rocks, she sighed irritably.

"I... am ready..." said the younger sister.

"...Then sing," Y/n held up the shell, which began to glow due to the magic, and when Ariel began to sing, it began to absorb her voice.

A clinging green smoke crept into Ariel's throat, sucking out her magical voice. The frightened mermaid grabbed her throat. Y/n took the shell and then cast a spell. The smoke from the shell and the cauldron mixed together, heading towards Ariel, enveloping her and turning her fish tail into human legs. The girl began to flounder, unable to swim with her legs, then Flounder and Sebastian appeared, pulling her out of the cave and directing her to the surface. Y/N laughed with satisfaction. All that remained was to wait. Without her voice, Ariel would be of no use to Eric, and she would return to the sea with a broken heart.

Y/N waited, and on the second day she decided to look into the ball to see her sister's downfall. But she was terribly disappointed when she saw Eric having fun with the girl, teaching her everything and trying to talk to her. The last straw was their walk on the lake. Sebastian tried to push Eric to kiss Ariel, but the man kept dodging and feeling embarrassed. Y/N couldn't take it anymore and cast a spell that flew through the ball and hit the boat, which capsized. They carefully climbed out of the water, Eric laughing loudly while Ariel tried to imitate laughter.

"What a cheeky girl! Oh no, Ariel, I won't let you stay on the surface, you must swim out to sea!" Y/n banged on the stone slab again. She rubbed the shell from which her sister's magical voice came, and Y/n came up with a plan, "Since you're so persistent, what will you do when a rival appears before you..."

Y/n smiled slyly, looking at the couple through the ball.

Under the cover of late evening, when the sky was tinged with purple and blue, Y/n appeared on the deserted seashore. Bright stars twinkled overhead, and moonlight gently reflected off the smooth surface of the waves. The girl wore an exquisite dress adorned with sparkling precious stones, emphasising her beauty. Her hair fluttered in the wind, adding mystery and charm to her appearance.

Now fate had to take a different turn; she knew she would not allow Ariel to find happiness. Gently touching her throat with her fingers, she took Ariel's voice away forever, replacing it with her own.

Y/N knew about Eric's habit of taking late-night walks along the shore, and she waited for him to appear. Soon, the silhouette of a man appeared on the horizon, slowly approaching the edge of the beach. His steps slowed as soon as he heard the first notes of a song coming from someone's lips.

Her song spread around, echoing in his heart. The sad, mournful notes penetrated deep into the young prince's soul, making him forget about the rest of the world. His head ached, but then it became easier. Seduced by the sweet sound, he walked towards the source of the sound, guided by an unknown force.

Halfway there, Y/n and Eric met. The man gazed enchantedly at the beautiful woman, watching in amazement as each tear rolled down her face. Feelings overwhelmed his soul, which had become easy prey to the magic of love.

Finally, her beloved had returned to her embrace, and for the first time, the girl could feel the warmth of his body. Pressing her forehead firmly against his chest, she allowed herself to enjoy the moment of closeness, assuring herself that this was true love, even if it was caused by magic.

"You probably won't remember anything..." Y/n whispered sadly, intertwining her fingers behind the man's belt.

Eric responded with silence, gently stroking her hair and pulling her closer to him. It seemed as if he was ready to absorb every part of her being, to unite with her forever, obeying the influence of a powerful love spell.

The morning of the next day marked the beginning of a new stage in their lives. Earl Grimsby, the prince's elderly advisor, greeted the newlyweds, enthusiastically expressing his admiration for them both. Eric looked at his bride with trepidation and love.

"I am very pleased to hear such compliments from you," said Y/n with an embarrassed smile, enjoying the warmth and confidence.

"Don't be silly! I was just happy to hear that Eric finally found you. Especially since you have such good manners, you're clearly from a noble family. I'm so glad he chose you and not..." The old man paused when he looked up at the stairs.

Y/n also noticed her younger sister behind the column. She was hiding from prying eyes. Y/n could clearly hear the hollow beating of a broken heart, and a triumphant laugh of malice arose within her.

Preparations for the wedding were proceeding at a rapid pace, and the wedding ship set sail that very day. Y/n's heart ached with anxiety; events were unfolding too quickly and flawlessly, causing her unease. To the girl's surprise, the dress turned out to be exactly as she had described it to little Eric, immersed in dreams of her long-awaited wedding.

Ariel no longer appeared in public, and Y/n did not try to seek her out. It seemed that her sister was not even on board the ship, which amused Y/n, as she found pleasure in thinking about her suffering. Sometimes the girl laughed quietly, admiring herself in the mirror. It was a hollow laugh that made insides grow cold.

"Until sunset..." Y/n repeated thoughtfully, touching the golden seashell-shaped pendant that adorned her neck.

A bright light flashed inside her, filled with the sound of Ariel's beautiful voice. Y/n pulled her hand away when her sister's voice broke through the protective barrier of the pendant.

After a while, the maids came to the woman, dressed her in a wedding gown, and carefully praised the bride's appearance. Encouraged by the attention, Y/n broke into a radiant smile.

Amidst the majestic ringing of bells on the ship, the ceremony began. Count Grimsby held her hand confidently, leading her to the altar. Before them stood the slender, handsome Eric, awaiting the upcoming wedding with impatience and joy. The girl caught Eric's fleeting glance and noticed two small tears rolling down his cheek. Y/n held her breath, wondering if Eric was fighting against the spell inside and wanted to break free, or if he was crying because of pain and resentment, because he did not want to see Y/n as his bride and wanted to run away to Ariel. But the girl shook her head and raised it proudly, gathering the admiring glances of the guests.

When there were only a few steps left to take, an attack suddenly occurred. A huge seagull flew at the girl, tearing at her curls with its beak, leaving traces of pain. Almost immediately after the first bird, the rest of the sea creatures appeared on the deck, causing chaos among the invited guests. Every living creature on board felt an inexplicable impulse of aggression towards Y/n herself.

In the heat of battle, the wounded seagull snatched the chain with the shell from Y/n's clenched fingers, throwing it high into the air. The octopus, moving nimbly among the people, pushed the woman straight into the birthday cake, breaking the layers and turning the celebration into ruins. The amulet itself fell right at Ariel's feet, making a final loud crack and scattering into pieces. Following it, the girl's soft, melodious voice finally turned joyfully to the man:

"Eric!"

The young man froze, shocked by the sight of the ruined wedding, the devastated food, and the humiliation of his beloved. His face contorted with pain and discontent when he noticed the crying and dirty Y/n, covered in the remains of the festive feast.

"Calm down, my dear," Eric said anxiously, lifting her off the floor and gently cleaning the remains of dessert from her soiled body.

Y/n listened to his words, trying to suppress her panic and sobs. The guests froze, the sea creatures stopped their attack, tired and motionless, scattering around the edge of the deck.

"How dare you ruin our wedding?!" Eric growled, looking closely at the assembled guests and sea creatures.

"But Eric, she..." Ariel objected uncertainly, looking desperately at the man.

"Was it you? Was this your doing? Envy overwhelmed your heart, could you really be capable of such betrayal? Look at my beloved, she dreamed of choosing the best cake, wearing the perfect dress, and now everything is lost forever!" the prince shouted passionately, feeling irritation and pain from what had happened.

Ariel's blue eyes widened in incomprehension.

"She cast a spell on me, took away my voice, and lured you in with deception! ...But... Why... Why didn't your feelings fade when the amulet was destroyed?" the girl wondered, trying in vain to explain the situation to her brother.

"Spell? What spell?" Eric asked incredulously, casting a wary glance at the redhead.

Y/N looked at the prince with undisguised amazement. Indeed, why hadn't the love spell lost its power, since its source — the magical shell — had been destroyed?

"Love spell! She used my voice to bewitch you! I was the one who sang for you that day! But now you don't recognise me!" Ariel cried hysterically, looking at Eric imploringly.

"I remember every moment of our meeting perfectly," the man replied calmly, continuing to hold Y/N in a tight embrace, gently stroking her wet shoulders, covered with cream stains from the cake.

"What do you mean? I don't understand..."

"Y/N charmed me many years ago, when she was still a child. Then she disappeared for a long time, but one evening I heard a familiar voice that belonged to you, Ariel, and I realised that this sound would lead me to the love of my life!" Eric explained, pulling away slightly from his bride to look into her eyes.

"Love spells lose their power if the object of affection already feels sincere love for the caster," added Y/n, nervously freeing herself from the prince's grip, but he managed to hold her by the hand.

Turning away from the setting sun, she focused her gaze on her sister, who had also noticed the change in light. Their eyes met, and each understood what would happen next.

"Eric, didn't you have real feelings for me?" Tears welled up in Ariel's eyes, rolling down her cheeks like pearls.

"No," the man said firmly, looking away from his future wife and at Ariel.

"But our moments together..."

"To me, you were a pleasant friend. My soul longed to meet the only companion I had chosen long ago," Eric finished firmly, clearly articulating his thoughts.

Blushing with grief, Ariel buried her face in her hands and sank into a heavy stream of salty tears. The sun had finally disappeared below the horizon, its rays that had previously illuminated the world vanishing into the darkness of the night. Green scales once again covered Ariel's skin, returning her to her former mermaid form. The stunned guests gasped, whispering to each other.

Y/n instinctively became frightened, suddenly her own legs would begin to change shape, turning into a mermaid's tail, but nothing happened, she continued to stand firmly on the ground in her torn dress.

The sea creatures began to gently descend into the depths of the ocean, trying to hide from human attention.

"So what does that mean?" asked Scuttle irritably, his bird call turning into a resonating noise that only sea creatures could understand.

"Only that the prince has been infatuated with Y/n all these years," Sebastian stated grimly, hiding in the shadows of the railings.

"But what will happen to poor Ariel now?" Flounder muttered anxiously, deeply concerned for his friend's fate, yet powerless, trapped in a bucket of water.

The prince tried to hold Y/n back when she took a step towards her sister, fearing that the young woman would decide to leave the ship and disappear into the depths of the sea. But Y/n, maintaining her dignity, approached Ariel, whose lost gaze clearly demonstrated her emotional emptiness.

"I never imagined the ending would turn out like this. I thought I would be the one left behind... But I'm so happy..." A single tear rolled down the woman's cheek.

"You..." Ariel moaned, unable to put her emotions into words.

"But he chose me... And I will finally understand what it means to be special and happy. I hope the pain in your heart will go away, but not quickly. Savour this terrible feeling, feel what it's like when you're not chosen and not loved," Y/n added quietly, turning away from her sister.

"Y/n?" Sebastian addressed her cautiously, deciding to intervene in the conversation.

"Sebastian, help her go back to the ocean. Tell Father that he will never see me again, I will stay here, next to my beloved," Y/n said confidently, turning to Eric, who visibly relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.

Y/N threw Flounder overboard, and Ariel sat on the railing, took one last look at her sister and Eric, jumped overboard, and disappeared into the blue sea. Soon after, Sebastian jumped overboard, bowing his head in farewell, and Scuttle rose high into the sky and flew over the horizon.

charlie fucking reid; the idea of him holding you on his lap as he fingerfucks the shit out of you, calling you “a pretty lil thing”?? delicious. he’s definitely the type to take advantage of a mermaid’s naivety when it comes to humans. chicago isn’t near the ocean, but maybe lake mermaids are a thing? or maybe he has you kept in an aquarium, just so he can admire you and spread you open on his cock whenever he wants?? who knows?? and ofc you’ve endeared yourself to him, making those sweet clicking and chirping sounds when he comes home from work, pressing up against the glass all pretty and showing off your glittering scales. he’ll slowly take off his jacket as you watch, have dinner on the couch in front of your aquarium, look you in the eye as he licks his lips. he’ll coo condescendingly when you follow him around from inside your glass cage, and call you his little pet when you nuzzle your head against his hand, clicking prettily as you offer your slit up to him.

pope cody x mermaid, off-putting x off-putting, my beloved. i do think this one might become an actual fic because god knows i need more soft(ish) pope cody fics (YES I WILL GET ON WITH THE FOSTER!READER X POPE FIC JUST GIVE ME A MOMENT). for this au, i’m thinking that maybe mermaids are more common, but are usually kept as like, pets for rich bastards who want to show off. i’m thinking maybe the codys are pulling off a heist on some bigwig’s event when something goes wrong with their escape vehicle, so they improvise and use the big truck nearby. turns out it’s the bigwig’s transport vehicle for his prized mermaid, and the brothers are just standing in the back of the truck staring at this glittery iridescent mermaid, who’s blinking owlishly back at them like ??? and of course, pope becomes incredibly infatuated with the strange pretty creature and their big doe eyes. i’m thinking that mermaid!reader is used to being pampered and spoilt, so you immediately attach themselves to pope who is awkward but gentle. eventually you start preening, offering up your cloaca to pope because “mate!! you’re my mate!!” and he’s so confused but how he can say no when you’ve wrapped your tail around his legs and you’re holding on to him, keening so sweetly??

abbot is a bit trickier bc like, pittsburgh is fuckass away from water. like i mean ig they have rivers? but also how tf would a mermaid get there, ya know? so i’m thinking for an abbot fic would be a mermaid that has.. human legs? kind of like a legs on land, tail in water situation. as to why mer!reader moves pittsburgh, idfk. maybe mermaids are also prized possessions here, so moving away from water was the best way to keep safe?? no clue. but yeah, i’m thinking heatstroke, real bad because it’s summer and you’re already always on the brink of dehydration. you’re in the ER, and you maintain just enough consciousness to beg abbot not to do an ice bath. obvi he has to, and your mermaid self is exposed, leading you to panic. abbot quickly shuts the curtains, orders his staff to keep quiet as he soothes you, promising that no one will say a word. ofc, being the kind, kind doctor that he is, checks up on you after your discharge, making sure you’re hydrated well and that you’re safe. something something, kiss kiss fall in love, tender bathtub sex, amiright guys?

terry mccandless, the smug piece of shit bastard. maybe while he’s out boating, he spots you swimming and notices you haven’t come back up for air for a while now, so he jumps in and lo and behold, he’s face to face with a mermaid. i think he’d be sweet at first, lay on the southern charm on real thick to get your guard down, just to get a taste of that mer puss. mccandless is definitely into public sex, so maybe he’d take you on the rocks by the beach, huffing quietly into your spiny ears as water sloshes around the two of you. i think he’d like to play with your gills, playing with the slits on your neck. i don’t think he’d go as far as to shove his fingers inside — he knows his thick fingers could damage the frilly tissue and he’s not that sadistic so as to actually hurt you — but he’ll occasionally come a bit toooo close, fingers delving into the fluttering slits, and the way you’ll hiccup out a chirp and squeeze down on him is ecstasy.

sneaking a lil bit of boyd fowler here too bc he’s literally my fucking labubu i need to like clip him onto my purse, spin him around, and squeeze and shake him violently, and i don’t even like labubus but i neeeeeeeed to take a big fucking chunk outta him. anyways, he has a fascination with dead animals, so when he sees you beached up after a storm, he gets curious and comes closer. turns out you’re not dead, and wow you’re a literal mermaid just his type, so he takes you home and studies fucks you. he’d be a bit mean with the sex, fucking you for ages with his thick fingers, enjoying the way you claw at his forearm, twisting and keening as he rubs all your sensitive spots. he’ll stretch you out on his fingers real nice till you’re all fuzzy, just to spread your slit open and admire the way your puffy cloaca gapes, dribbling slick all over your pretty scales. he’d nip at your gills on your neck, thumbing the ones on your ribs as he pounds into you. oh and he’s definitely cumming inside, pumping his seed into your pussy just to shove his fingers in once he’s pulled out, enjoying the way his come froths and spurts out with every curl of his digits.

+

well that was fun. i’m already writing smut fics for charlie and fowler, but gosh darn this was just so fun i’m definitely fleshing these out :0

"It's true, she'll be there, and she's pretty nice. She told me that if the marriage doesn't work out, she'll ask her friends on the other side to ruin my wife free of charge." He laughed.

Simon snorted. "You sure she isn't jealous about you getting married?"

Kyle shook his head. "Nah, she isn't like that. Like I said, me and her are related through my great-great-great-grandmother on my mom's side, and they don't like mixing maternal lines."

The only one not participating in this silly conversation was Johnny. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since crossing the Atlantic. He waved it off as being plane sick, but really, he was nervous about being near mermaids. He’d heard of them before and had come across a few in the northern waters, but the ones farther south were different. They weren’t hunted, and often, they were the ones doing the hunting. They were known to be worshipped as water spirits and goddesses in the mortal world.

While John and Simon teased Kyle, Johnny worried that his peace offering wouldn’t be accepted. The last thing he wanted was to anger someone in their home waters by not being polite.

"You good, Soap?" Kyle asked. "You’re not still plane sick, are you?"

"Huh?" He looked at the three of them as he was snapped out of his thoughts. "Nae, I’m good." The coolness of his beer tasted a bit bitter from his nerves. He thought about the comb he’d packed and how he’d gone through the trouble of finding pretty stones to glue to it. His ma always said that mermaids were fickle beings, depending on the waters they grew up in. The ones near his home enjoyed messing with boats and luring people to their deaths. They also didn’t care much for the Selkie folk because of differing opinions on humans and other land dwellers.

"Well, anyway," Kyle continued, "don’t go taking anything with cowrie shells on it. Don’t want to cause issues." He laughed.

Johnny made a mental note not to take anything with pretty cowrie shells on it, even if he wanted to add it to his collection of knick-knacks.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

You hadn’t seen your friend Kyle in ages, not since he moved north. You cried, and it rained for days during that time of mourning. Your mother had explained that even if he had stayed, you couldn’t be with him. Mixing of the maternal lines was frowned upon.

These days, though, you were excited to see him face to face and not through dreams or over a video chat when you were on land.

His family house was bustling with activity as everyone prepared for his marriage. He’d found a nice Gullah woman named Anita, and you definitely approved of her. She’d taken the time to offer you blessed water and thanked you for keeping Kyle safe all these years. She’d said she hoped the two of you could be friends and eventually sisters.

"If it isn’t my baby Kyle!" Nana Garrick shouted with glee. She might have been old, but she moved as if she weren’t a day over forty. By the time you entered the living room, you were greeted by the sight of Kyle being hugged and kissed by his Nana.

"You’re too skinny! I know the military’s supposed to keep you fit, but you look like skin and bones. How are we supposed to get children from a skinny man?"

Laughter filled the room as Kyle ducked his head in embarrassment. "Nana, good to see you too. Is Ma in yet?"

"She’s out by the cove speaking with La’raunt. Something about clearing up bad blood." She shook her head, then caught your eye and beamed. "Don’t be shy, girl."

You didn’t move, though, despite her insistence. Instead, you looked over the three men he’d brought along. Their auras and spirits aligned with Kyle’s, dark and bloody from their line of work. You hoped they were willing to be cleansed before stepping foot on the riverside where the wedding would be held. Your mother didn’t like it when people entered her waters and tainted them.

"It’s good to see you face to face!" Kyle picked you up and squeezed you tightly. He kissed your cheek and whispered, "How long have you been without your tail?"

"Not long, just helping your fiancée with a few things and giving your ma and my cousin some privacy by the cove," you whispered back.

Your eyes locked onto the selkie standing awkwardly nearby. The way he shifted back and forth while talking to Nana Garrick spoke of nerves. His blue eyes flicked toward you every so often, and his cheeks turned pink. He kept running his fingers through his messy hair, trying to find something to fidget with.

"You guys need to be cleansed—"

"I know, I know, aunty won’t let us near the river for the wedding if we aren’t." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. "Also, that cowrie necklace you gave Anita? Really?" Kyle asked, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

"Yes, it was blessed by my mother. We expect to have a bunch of little babies to spoil," you teased. He ruffled your hair, messing up your braids and jewelry.

"You should worry about your own love life," he said back.

"Also, the selkie you brought?"

Kyle looked over at his friend. He always knew Soap was strange, but he knew enough about water folk not to ask about them—it was rude to bring them up unless they spoke first.

"He’s a good guy. He won’t cause any trouble. I swear it."

You looked back at the selkie. His eyes met yours, and an electric current passed between you. You struggled to look away, fighting the flutter in your stomach.

"Water is water," you said quietly. "As long as he doesn’t go harassing the locals, he’ll be fine."

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

Johnny was in trouble. The mermaid—Kyle’s friend—was beautiful. Ancient magic radiated from her, brushing against him in a way that intimidated him. She had gorgeous brown skin and waist-length braids decorated with shells, gemstones, and gold coils.

He felt a magnetic pull toward her, primal and wild. He wanted to give her shells and smooth stones, nip at her fingers and cheeks, kiss her lips, and trace her cupid’s bow with his tongue. He wanted to leave his pelt for her to pick up and bind him to her forever.

That night, Johnny slipped out once everyone had gone to bed. His pelt was wrapped around his waist in case he was given the chance to greet the waters properly. He gripped the comb tightly in his hand. The moon lit his path toward the river, almost as if she knew what he was up to.

The rushing sound of the river guided him toward the cove. Magic followed him—eyes watched his every move. He heard his ma’s warning about foreign waters:

Not all waters are welcoming to folks they didn’t make, birth, or bless. Always be careful and respectful.

He reached the mouth of the cove, illuminated by moonlight. There was laughter—light and melodic—just barely audible above the water. The second he stepped out of the brush, it all went silent.

Rocks and sand lined the shore, palm trees stretching high toward the stars. Out in the water stood three tall rocks jutting from the sea. She sat upon the tallest one, ethereal under the moonlight. Her fin glowed with pearlescent whites and soft pastel pinks and blues. Magic radiated from her, pulling him in like a moth to flame.

Two younger merfolk watched him from nearby, and in the water, smaller eyes peered at him curiously. Children.

This was a pod’s home. He was trespassing.

The other merfolk quickly disappeared with the children, leaving just her. The wind picked up, whipping violently at him in warning.

"Wait! I brought you a gift!" he called over the wind as he stepped closer to the water.

She tensed, ready to flee or attack. Then, with a flick of her tail, she dove beneath the surface, vanishing.

Disheartened, he stared at the rippling water—until it brushed against his shoes in a gentle welcome.

He was stripping before he could second-guess himself, pulling on his pelt and diving in. The warm Atlantic water was soft and sweet—so different from the rough, foamy North Sea he’d grown up with.

He clamped the comb between his teeth and swam farther out. A flash of pearlescent white and dark hair appeared—then she was before him, eyes glowing softly.

A webbed hand, adorned with gold rings and bracelets, reached out to take the comb from his mouth. She studied it and smiled, showing sharp teeth.

Behind her, her companions and the children watched from a distance. 'Cousins'. A soft voice echoed in his mind—it wasn’t his own. 'Our waters welcome you.'

Her hands framed his face as she blew a stream of bubbles at him. If he could blush in this form, he’d be redder than a tomato. The urge to kiss her was strong, but he held back out of respect.

Then she let go and darted away. When she looked back over her shoulder and told him to come it was with a smile.

Johnny didn’t hesitate to follow.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

"Your friend Soap, is it?" Anita asked as she lay next to her love. "He couldn’t keep his eyes off your friend."

"Really? I didn’t notice," Kyle said, staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah, I get good energy from him. And the way he wouldn’t stop staring at her? He may just become family."

Kyle said nothing. He knew Soap had snuck out to the water that night—there were some things water folk had to do to be welcomed elsewhere.

Still, he thought back to how his friend had acted during dinner. Soap had talked nonstop about himself—his accomplishments, his talents—and told his best jokes. His eyes always sought her out, checking if she was smiling or laughing at him.

He’d been peacocking, showing off.

And that could be a problem. Johnny “Horn Dog” MacTavish was known in their group as the guy who led women to bed and strung them along—playing with hearts while on leave, with a string of birds at his beck and call.

Kyle had heard him brag about a girl back home in the Highlands—a sweetheart who always waited for him during long leaves. The last thing Kyle wanted was for him to string along [♡] and leave her heartbroken. Her people wouldn’t take kindly to that.

"As long as the weather doesn’t turn violent, I think this week will be fine," he sighed.

Series list

It’s a risk. You know that.

Your kind rarely ventures out of your sacred sanctuary.

But there’s a curiosity you’ve kept guarded for so long, one that manifested, trembling in your soul for such a long time. And the time has come for it to reach the surface, urging you to do something.

It’s a reckless decision that would send your sisters into a chorus of disbelief, their voices sharp and laced with warning, if they only knew about your whereabouts.

If they only knew what pulled you to the green horizons, uncharted by your finned existence.

“Only a foolish heart dares to venture where the water’s touch has never extended.”

That’s what you’ve been told centuries ago. That’s what you’ve been told almost every day since the first. Because living on land meant living like a human. It meant dying like a human too, shortening the span of your life to the ones of the townsfolk.

And yet, here you stand, arms outstretched to feel the wind on your skin, the soil beneath your trembling feet like the softest moss kissed by the light of the sun. You haven’t used your legs in a while. After years and years of floating through jeweled depths, where silence cradles and the currents hum lullabies, your legs feel unfamiliar, unfurling from limps long forgotten, awakening with an overwhelming buzz of sensation.

The very earth breathes beneath your bare toes and the thrill that thrums to life in your belly elicits a laugh that slips free.

You had managed to steal a pair of trousers and a shirt from a man near the shore and you relish in the way the fabric brushes against your bare skin underneath.

At first, the feeling of standing on land is surreal, a strange rapture coursing through your body as you feel the ground’s warmth seep into you. And you do your best to recall the forgotten melody of walking, the sweet cadence of motion.

It’s like the earth has a heartbeat and you feel it in your toes, in the balls of your feet. The texture of the grass feels tantalizing, each blade teasing and tickling your senses as a slight breeze tangles with your long hair, making it sway and play with the wind.

The air is suffused with the sweet scent of flowers you don’t know the names of and you hear notes of music spilling from open windows of the cottages you get closer to with each timid step.

And as the uneven cobblestone of the streets meets your feet, you gasp at the new feeling. It’s hard and cold at your delicate skin and you let it sink in.

Your heart races with every, still slightly unsteady step as you get used to the headiness of gravity.

This moment feels so fragile, yet monumental and you don’t do much to try and suppress the wild exhilaration that keeps you going, reclaiming a new kind of freedom you only observed from your watery haven for so long.

The first time you made use of your legs, you were only able to half-crawl, half-rob to a canopy of trees where you hid behind, watching them in their community.

Humans.

One of your sisters, Zephyra, insisted you come with her and watch them.

Thus, you observed, hidden between thick trunks of trees and branches hanging above and beside you - surrounded by the forest at the edge of the village. You drank in the melodies of laughter, the tender exchanges, the innocence of life that beats through the streets of the town like a heart so deeply treasured.

You watched with wide eyes how children chased one another through fields, their giggles, and squeals carried over to you by a breeze you’ll only feel on land.

People walked hand in hand, words soft and sweet like the gentle cooing of doves not far off, picking at crumbs on the ground, and you never had been so in awe with anything before as in that moment, never felt a longing so implanted in your veins it actually made something squeeze in your chest. A stab tore through you.

It was their emotions that fascinated you most - the way a mother knelt to catch her child’s tears or the fervent embrace of two people in the shadows of the cottages. In every glance, every smile, you saw the depths of passion and sorrow, joy and despair, that you so longed to fathom.

The humans live under a sun that dips into the horizon, casting shadows you only ever watched hidden away from all of this.

You craved it. You wanted it.

But after Zephyra and you returned home, the stories you were told scared you off enough to never set foot on this land again. Humans could never understand, could never accept your essence. They would hunt you the second they lay eyes on you, kill you with a spear so quick there’s nothing you could do.

You’ve been told that’s what happened to your sisters Aella and Lirienne as they disappeared decades ago.

But oh, how you always yearned to touch their reality, to be a part of their existence, if only just for a fleeting instant. It was an intoxicating allure that called to the very core of your being.

So, you continued watching those men.

The men that steal the fish out of your waters. You would peek out of the surface and watch the boats bobbing, fishermen casting their nets and sharing conversations.

You always take great care to remain hidden, only your head peeking out of the water, cloaked with delicate seaweed and bubbles that would shimmer in the light of the sinking or rising sun, shadowed by the willows hanging over you from the land.

At dusk, when the fishermen would return, you'd delight in the warm glow of lanterns illuminating the harbor, casting a golden light over the water, as if honoring the creatures that live there.

But even in the countless years that followed, you kept your distance from the town. The allure of a home just out of reach kept resounding in your heart, but remained unacknowledged. It was a promise carved deep into your resolve, a tribute to your fallen sisters.

Even your beloved sister Zephyra disappeared one day, never returning to the waters again.

So, you stayed away, left with a solitude that cradled your pain. You lingered on the edges of the world, where your sisters’ memory lay, resting heavily upon the water’s surface.

Until him.

At first, he was a fleeting silhouette, unnoticed by your eyes. Just a boy with an impish grin and eyes that sparkled like the dappled sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees whose shadows help you stay unseen by curious eyes. He was just a flicker of movement by the shore, a mere shadow dipping nets into the shallows.

But as the seasons turned and years rolled by, he transformed in a way that lured you in. And as he grew, so did your awareness of him. Brown strands - long, wild, and tempestuous in the summer breeze, then neatly cropped in the chill of winter - framed a face that was a canvas of boyish charm, deepening into the rugged handsomeness of manhood. Each summer blossomed him into a stranger you couldn’t help but behold, yet feared to know.

He now wears marks of the earth, the land you craved to wander. Sun on his skin, wind in the creases of his brow, roots by his eyes.

He seems to know the waters well - the waters you call your home - and it fills you with an emotion, a warmth, you can’t place. His eyes always hold a depth and you even found out their color after a reckless pursuit drove you to getting a little closer one day - a color so bright you only ever get to see it when looking up at the sky when the seas are at their calmest.

He always moves with an elegance that belied his trade, as if the sea itself had taught him the rhythm of the tides.

You watched him as one watches a season unfold, slowly, each detail revealing itself over time. His shoulders are broad and he bears a certain strength - a strength that speaks of patience, of waiting, of knowing what to do after so many years of doing it.

Each glance you steal at him, each morning you wait for him to show up like a living poem crafted from sunlight and shadow, you feel a rising anticipation for something you haven’t been sure what to make of.

His laughter often reaches you and it enthralls the very essence of your being, lifting you from the deepness where you had long chosen to dwell.

It made you question whether this man was the kind to put a spear through your chest at your first encounter.

He’s a quiet being. And yet a single look at him sets your skin aflame and everything within you bubbling in ways you never felt before.

It’s in the way he would linger by the water at dawn, his gaze distant, as though he, too, could sense a world just beyond his reach. And it was then, when he was alone and unguarded, that you could almost feel the beats of your different hearts aligning, as if he sensed you there, as if he might turn his head just once and meet your hidden gaze.

He never did. And so, you watched in silence, a lonely witness to his life. Until watching no longer felt enough, until the towns call and the pull of his shadow became a song that demanded to be answered.

Because in those stolen moments, you felt the tumult of a long-suppressed yearning. A yearning that whispered sweetly of possibility, beckoning you to reclaim what had been left behind.

A longing that both terrified and thrilled you, as it slowly chipped away at the fortress you had built around your heart. Every fiber of your being wished to reach out to him, yet the ghosts of your fallen sisters remained a haunting reminder, ever ready to dissolve the hope that rose anew.

“Hey, you.”

You had memorized the voice of this man, cataloged its nuances like a precious artifact, each inflection etched into the tapestry of your consciousness.

You’ve come to know it like you know the sound of the soft patter of raindrops landing on your watery home, each variation a note in a song you never asked to learn yet can’t unhear.

Sometimes it’s soft as a breeze rippling across the water, a gentle murmur that barely touches the air nor reaches your ears.

Other times it’s light, like the hush of wind through a grove of the willows that shadow you, gentle and easy, coaxing warmth from the marrow of your bones.

And then there were moments when it sharpened, an imperceptible blade glinting in the sunlight. It didn’t happen often. Rarely.

But you remembered the time when that little girl with the same chestnut hair moved perilously close to the water’s brink, stumbling and almost falling into the cold.

You held your breath as he acted, pulling her away swiftly with a reflex that was impressive to you. His voice had shifted then, tone arching with urgency and fear as he scolded the girl with authority and a warning in his tone.

You felt the force of his words ripple through the water, almost enough to draw you forward, enough to make you long to touch the shore.

But then she gazed up at him and he stopped, hanging his head and letting out a long breath before crouching down to her height meeting her eyes with his own burning cerulean. His voice had lowered to a gentle mumble, too soft for you to make out the words. But you could see the way his shoulders had slumped, saw the soft brush of his fingers as they tucked a stray brown curl behind her ear, coaxing reassurances and apologies from deep within.

You came to know his voice in all its colors - the rough, the tender, the ache of his untouched presence as it stretched across the sea, reaching without knowing, searching without seeking.

And now, that voice; the same you’ve traced in the chambers of your heart - this time, for the first time, it’s meant for you.

You don’t know what to do, so you simply stop, every part of you coming to an abrupt, swaying halt. It’s so sudden, your balance on limps that aren’t yet truly yours, teeters and your new-forged feet betray you with a faint, unsteady wobble. You falter, nearly tipping forward but somehow catching yourself before the moment could betray your clumsiness.

A low, hushed laugh floats across the space between you, perhaps carrying a hint of an apology. A chuckle you only ever were granted to hear with an ocean separating you. There’s a kindness in it that verges closer to your heart than you’ve ever let anything reach. You feel it curl around you, lingering like the air just before rainfall, filling every part of you with a building awareness.

Slowly, you turn, each movement deliberate as it dawns on you that this is the first time you’ll see him up close. And it’s earlier than you had expected.

His gaze is trained on you with a calm you can’t quite reconcile with the way it leaves you breathless. For the first time, you look into his face and watch him look at you in return. You really see him as you had only dared to from afar before, and the sight is somehow more vivid than anything the light and shadows of memory had ever sketched.

It takes everything in you to keep you from losing your footing, to hold yourself back from tumbling headlong into that gaze. Those eyes are even softer up close, quieter somehow as if they hold within them the deep, untroubled patience of still water.

They look at you in a way that sets your spirit ablaze, a look that feels like an invitation, an opening - a silent gesture drawing you into something vast and uncharted, like the dark waters that stretch out from the shore, the waters you now see from his point of view.

“Apologies if I startled you.” His voice is soft, a gentle curve of his lips and an apology in his tone. His smile feels like it is made for you, as if shaped by the kindness he carries.

His gaze settles on you, taking in details with an openness that lets you hold steady, your heart fluttering wildly.

His eyes drift, skimming over the loose folds of fabric draped awkwardly over your frame, too loose to be your own. You’re not even sure you put the clothes on correctly. There are so many holes and ends, it’s confusing, despite the fact that you watch them wear those kinds of things every day.

Still, it’s a strange weight that tugs at your shoulders and you feel each thread press against you. The fabric hangs from you in off places, sagging and bunching, like a poorly assembled cloak.

You watch him closely, like so many times before. Noticing the exact shirt he is wearing, the glint of something - a chain - around his neck that always catches the sunlight on the docks, the tousled strands of dark hair falling onto his forehead. Not as long as some years but not as short as others. Somewhere in between.

And the kindness on is face that doesn’t shift at the sight of your appearance. There’s nothing but warmth in the smile he gives you. Perhaps a hint of curiosity glints in his eyes and a little bit of sympathy, but his expression is devoid of the sour notes of judgment.

He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t narrow his gaze into some cold scrutiny. Instead, his eyes linger softly, understanding, the kind of look that might calm your beloved waters in the midst of a storm.

“I have never seen you here before,” he quietly ponders and you’re not even sure if he even directed that your way. Though, human interactions are obviously not your forte, so you can’t be sure.

You don’t know what to say to that, yet it seems like his attention isn’t exactly fixed on a possible answer you might give him. He glances downward and something in his gaze pulls tight. You look down at yourself, only seeing your feet splayed against the damp, chilled stone, the skin bare and exposed against the rough and dirty ground.

His brow creases, a subtle furrow pulling at the lines of his face, shadows gathering where light once rested. His smile is replaced by a slight frown - a soft, thoughtful sorrow - and in that shift, you see a compassion as real as anything you’ve ever known.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks, voice gentle but confused and also blending in with something else. Is that concern, perhaps? You’re still trying to get a hold of human emotions. “You really should wear some! Or else, you will get sick.”

The words catch you off-guard, pulling you from whatever veil of composure you’d managed to hold. You meet his eyes then, startled again at the intensity you never were on the receiving end of before. He looks at you as if he’s seeing right through you, past this fragile disguise of human form.

You realize then, with the thickening air between you, that he indeed waits for you to say something.

You open your mouth, letting the air hold his question a little longer as you only manage to take a breath in. Your skin heats up and you feel exposed without the lap of water on your skin. A strange pulse quickens inside you.

What could you say?

You’re not wearing shoes because you’ve never needed them, because your feet have only known the touch of smooth stones and seaweed and cool, endless water in the form of fins.

But these words falter before they ever reach the air, answering the question that still lingers there, drowning somewhere in your throat.

You manage only a small, soft sound, a hesitant beginning of something - yet it withers almost as soon as it forms.

But he’s still watching you, still waiting. The kindness in his face shifts into something almost protective, as though he senses the way you shrink back, the unease that rises in you.

The air stills around you as he begins to lower himself to the ground, hands moving with intent and you watch him in shock as he fumbles with the laces of his own boots.

One by one, he slips out of them, his bare feet settling against the cold, unyielding stone with a casualness that leaves you bewildered.

You stand there, caught somewhere between astonishment and a strange, blooming curiosity. What is he doing? The question hangs on the tip of your tongue but it never quite forms.

Instead, you only stare, your eyes wide, your heart tripping over itself as you watch him in his crouched position before you. His head tilts upward, a faint smile gracing his lips at the sight of your confused and startled expression.

His hands are steady as he reaches toward you, his fingertips pausing just a breath away from your skin, so close it sends a shiver over you and he hasn’t even touched you yet. His eyes flicker to yours, asking without words, his gaze careful, as if giving you a chance to retreat if you wish.

But you don’t. You can’t. All you’re able to do is watch, motionless, as he gently lifts one of your feet, his touch feather-light and yet enough to send a shiver of heat through your body. Carefully he slips your foot into the empty space of his boot.

The leather envelopes your foot and it feels foreign and strange, but there’s an odd comfort. The warmth of his skin still lingers. He glances up at you every few seconds, his gaze still questioning, but also assuring, all blended in the same shade of blue.

You still don’t say a word. You’re simply frozen, gaping at this man in wonder and disbelief as he kneels before you. He slips the other boot onto your remaining foot, his touch leaving you, only hovering now, like the softest ripple across the surface of the sea.

And when he finally stands, he moves up slowly, looking at your now covered feet, wrapped in the warmth he left behind. Satisfaction enters his features, easing some of the lines on his forehead and he nods subtly.

For a moment, he simply looks at you, and you are captivated by the light that swims in his eyes, a light you never captured in a glance from this far away.

You watched this man for years from your hidden places, observing without ever being seen. But never would you have anticipated this kind of reaction. This kind act doesn’t seem to come from the same folk of people who murdered your sisters.

Humans have always been strange. Their motives elusive and tangled, but now, as you stare down at his boots on your own feet, something deeper drops in your stomach, like a stone thrown into the waters that marked your home for so long.

But never in the centuries living there, you had known this sensation.

You look down at your feet and it’s weird not to see the familiarity of your skin you come to expect. Feet so used to water, now wrapped in the leather of his world.

A faint shake of your head accompanies the slight crease of your brows, a wordless attempt to deny this generous strangeness. But before you can actually say anything, he speaks up.

“You should have them. Keep them,” he insists, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards his smile that seems to reach you, almost warming the air between you both.

You lift your eyes to him, gaze wide and unsure, searching his face as though it might hold the answer to a question you’re just now learning to ask.

He nods with his smile in place, reassuring eyes focused on you. He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of answers, doesn’t question the quiet you keep.

But your eyes drop to the cold stone beneath him, where his own bare feet now rest. Guilt picks at your chest and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth.

However, he catches your look and waves it away with a soft shake of his head, his voice low and soothing. “Don’t worry about me, yeah?” He gestures to the boots on your feet with a tilt of his dimpled chin. “I’ve got another pair of those back at home. You need them more than I do.”

That’s far from the truth but again you don’t manage to say it out loud.

You’ve waited for this moment - a moment with him - in the lonely spaces of longing for years that drifted by like currents, each one pulling you back to him. Watched him from the shadows of the willows, hoping for this closeness, wondering what it would feel like to stand before him in this strange new world of breath and heartbeat.

You had thought a thousand times what you might say, how you might reveal yourself, how you’d keep your hidden nature to yourself. But now, standing in front of him, with his kindness covering you like the borrowed warmth of his feet, you find that words slip from your grasp, elusive as the mist on morning water.

This outcome is something you’ve never envisioned.

He’s so unlike anything you’ve ever known or even seen in the years of observing. You thought you’ve come to understand this whole other world of living by simply watching, but it seems like you were wrong.

And now, with him so near, you feel an ache within you. It’s an urgency, to hold onto this moment, to gather it like water cupped in your hands without letting it seep through your fingers, slipping away and only leaving few drops of memories.

The thought of him turning, of watching him fade back into his life while you slip back into the waiting depths, unsettles you in a way that feels almost as if it could be human.

Before he can drift from this shared quiet, you open your mouth, desperate to get an answer to a question you’ve been craving to know for so long. Words rise up in a fragile rush, each one carrying the weight of years without knowing.

“What’s your name?”

The question comes out soft, hesitant, unused to forming sound above the water’s edge, especially not in the presence of a human.

Your voice is so unfamiliar in the open air, it feels like something fragile and newly-formed, like your human legs, still feeling slightly foreign and unstable.

The words feel small, tentative, yet they seem to reach him with a firm presence, judging the wide grin that splits his face. You’re blinded for a moment, despite the sun having set already.

There’s a flash in the brightness of his eyes, like a spark in the deep blue dusk.

“James,” he drawls, and his voice drapes over the name like a soft weave of warmth, rolling off with ease and a hint of satisfaction at your question that sends a shiver trailing up your spine.

It’s strange to put a name to the face of your dreams. He feels almost different now. He feels closer. And every soft whistle of wind even far off in the distance seems to echo his name back to you. Every lap of the water against the shore seems to repeat it for you. As if you could ever forget.

“But,” he adds, his grin deepening, voice dropping to a softer, more intimate note, “you can call me Bucky.”

The words lap at your skin like the water has so long. You only heard it now, but it feels so familiar already, despite it sounding like something so foreign. Bucky. You repeat it in your mind. You will repeat it until the day you die.

It sits strange but soothing in your mind, something he handed to you, something he gave for you to keep. He stands before you now, not as the man you’d glimpsed from afar, but as James - Bucky - a person with a story, with a name that now belongs to your memory just as surely as he belongs to this moment.

And though you have only just spoken to him and his actions did surprise you, somehow, in a way you can’t explain, it feels as though you’ve known him all along.

****

Your sisters hadn’t noticed your absence that day.

But they did notice the way you lingered with your head out of the water, watching these fishermen until the sky darkened day after day. You only retreated to the depths, once Bucky’s back disappeared down the cobblestone streets.

Because since you got the chance to meet and talk to Bucky, you neglected subtlety.

You just wanted to see him again.

“Be careful,” Thalassa had murmured, her voice a whispering tide as she glided to the surface next to you, also watching the human figures along the docks. Her emerald tail brushed against your turquoise one for a moment, as if conveying the importance of her words.

But you didn’t offer a response. And after a short while she retreated into the depths with a reluctant flick of her tail, leaving you alone to the swell of emotions you only thought humans to have for a long time.

Your heart was alight with a strange duality, torn between the allure of the surface world and the dark abyss of your home. The lapping of the soft waves against your skin tenderly reminds you of the boundary you danced along.

Your sisters could not know of Bucky. Could not know of his attachment to your heart, because revealing him would be to unleash the tempest that lay between the realms of man and mermaid.

So you ignored their probing gazes, the burn of their suspicions. Rather, you watched another day come to an end, dusk velveting the horizon, painting it with strokes of amber and indigo as he vanished between the silhouettes of aged buildings.

It had been weeks since your encounter. Weeks that mean nothing to your endless life, mere moments devoured by the deep vastness of time. But perhaps it feels longer for Bucky and his human life.

He’s been a little different at one point. He looks around more, takes pauses to watch the people walk down the streets with shadows across his brows.

With every sun that dips below the horizon, every glow of light flickering on across the docks, you watch him in interest as he lingers.

His gaze sweeps more, taking in everything around him - the bustling streets that lay deserted at night, the infinite expanse of water that holds you. It’s as if he’s looking for something - or perhaps someone.

Each glance holds a flicker of hope, but it gets dimmed as day after day passes.

The disappointment weighing on his shoulders almost persuaded you to reach out from the abyss, to slip through the veil that separates your world. The sight pulls at you as strong as any current, urging you to bridge the distance between you.

There were moments you almost did - almost let yourself glide toward him and let your fingertips brush the fabric of the surface where his distant gaze lingered.

But each time, just as your heart crested with resolve, you’d stop, some inner instinct tugging you back down. With tendrils of kelp tangling around your tail, a benevolent force pulling you under, as if the ocean itself were binding you, holding you fast in the memory of your lost sisters.

It kept you from making a possible mistake.

Perhaps the same one your sisters did before you.

You crave his attention once more, the way his eyes met yours, the way they traveled over your human form. So gentle. So intrigued.

Yet, each time, you quelled the urge.

What if the world above bears little resemblance to the dreams you harbored beneath the waves?

What if Bucky is the only man - the only human soul tender enough, strange enough to pull the boots from his own feet and place them on yours, bare and unaccustomed to the earth’s cold bite?

A fisherman like many others, working in an air full of salt and sun, roughened by the chores it entails, yet soft in a way that lured you in, creeping into the imaginations of a world that’s cruel to your kind.

But he looked at you with a gentleness, so unbidden and unassuming, so freely given.

He gave you his boots and didn’t expect anything in return.

The boots, sturdy and worn, carrying the scent of the shoreline and the faintest trace of him, as if they still carry his warmth.

You hid them. Hopefully well enough away from your sisters to find.

They’re tucked deep in the hollow of a great rock crevice beneath the ocean floor, enveloped with kelp, nestled between beds of soft sand.

They lay there in waiting, concealed from the curious eyes of your kin, camouflaged among the seaweed and driftwood that crowds the small cavern.

When you visit them you let your fingers brush across the leather, feeling the texture of the old fabric, the rough weave that had known the weight of his footsteps.

There has to be a reason why he alone has caught your attention. Why his face moves like a movie in your mind. Why his voice sounds in your ears even when you’re diving deep through the water.

You had watched the men at the docks for centuries. Watched their faces hardened by work, their voices loud and grating, their laughter rough as stones grinding together.

They are everything that Bucky isn’t.

He became your project, your indulgence, the one spark that lit through your endless existence in an undiscovered world.

And with each passing week, the waters of your mind seem to grow murkier, filled with the haze of a foolish infatuation. You found yourself growing bolder, your curiosity morphing into a reckless ache that defied the cautious distance you were never meant to cross.

So, right now, you drift closer to his boat, close enough to feel the whisper of his oars cutting through the water, to catch the careful pull of his hands as he gathers his nets.

The urge to help him sneaks up on you, a strange, insistent pull that makes no sense. But you stay near, watching, waiting, wishing somehow to ease his work as if you might soften the weight of his nets or guide the fish into his reach.

There was a time when the very sight of a fisherman stirred only bitterness in your chest. You remember the way you used to despise them, the men who intruded upon your world, robbing it of life with no thought to the dynamic of the sea.

The fish are companions. Creatures who share your water, belonging to the ocean as much as you do.

These men would come, nets spread wide, taking what was not theirs to take, disturbing the balance you and your sisters held so dear.

You remember watching with a cold, simmering anger, feeling the injustice sharp like the end of the spears that slice through the surface of the calm waters to hit their mark.

They would descend upon your waters - eyes cold, features grim, hands rough, determination in their rowdy voices - as if they owned the very nature of life that swam right beside you.

How you loathed the way they dredged your domains, the waters bared of their bounty, the fish that once had danced freely in the ebb and blow of the tide. Their insatiable greed felt like murder in your heart.

In those times, you and your sisters lurked near their boats, hiding beneath the water’s shadow. With a thrill of mischief, you made the waters churn and swell, coaxing the fish to retreat, your shared laughter a sweet counterpoint to the gruff curses hurled by the men.

You hummed the call that kept the fish away, a high and reverberating sound that sent the scales darting to safer depths.

It left the men bewildered and you sent them home with empty nets and a frail temper.

It was a game of sorts. A contest that played out in silence. A protest raised by the scorn that lived in your heart.

But Thalassa, the eldest and sharpest, had lectured you and your sisters. She watched you from the shadow of the rocks and willows, her eyes stern and unsympathetic as she spoke of caution, of balance, of the risks of tempting human wrath.

“Leave them be. They are dangerous,” she would warn, “we cannot disturb their world without consequence.”

You listened with half an ear, always eager to return to the surface and defy them once more.

Yet now, you find yourself drifting even closer to Bucky’s boat with none of that bitterness. He works in a way that seems careful and respectful, his voice low as he murmurs into the open air. Sometimes to himself, sometimes to a companion, sometimes to the sea.

He never shouts or lashes out at the water, doesn’t hold the same harshness as most of the others. There is something in him you want to protect, to ease, to give him some small reprieve from the toil of his days.

So, something calls you to help him, to slip through the currents unseen, guiding fish toward his nets. Perhaps he might even feel the abundance, sensing something unusual in the generosity in his catch, as though, he, too, were being seen, were being cared for.

You know his boat well by now. Know the way it cuts through the waves. You had watched it from afar, drifting close enough to feel the subtle pull of its wake, but never daring to let it come too close.

But you crave details. The sun-cracked lines that spider across the surface. The exact color that marks the wood.

Deliberately, you reach a hand up, fingertips weaving through the water until they brush against the boat. It is rough to the touch. Rougher than most of the things in the smooth underwater life.

Your eyes focus on the flecks of rust around the nails, and thin cords of rope frayed at the ends where his hands must have held them countless times.

You move around the net that innocently floats in the water beside you. It brushes against your scales. A teasing brush, as if it’s alive, curious just as you are.

But you’re too caught up with the way he’s so close to you, right above you, that you don’t give the net much of your acknowledgment.

Foolish. That’s what your sisters would call it.

It twists, rough weave pressing against your waist, looping around you and you notice it too late before it tightens. It’s almost aggressive in the way it scrapes at your scales, clinging, pulling tighter still until you realize, you’re bound.

Every knot - perhaps handmade by Bucky himself - presses into you, pinching at the soft places that had never known the feel of something so abrasive, so coarse.

Panic rose sharply in your chest. An emotion you hadn’t felt in this expanse. An emotion you hadn’t felt at all. A silent scream holds you back as you struggle, feeling the ropes bite into your skin, its fibers digging like tiny claws.

Each movement makes it worse, the net swallowing you with each panicked twist and turn, until your fins lay trapped, folded painfully against your body, your long hair caught between strands.

You tug, hiss, pull, in a desperate attempt to escape. But it only digs deeper with each effort.

Your tail is twisted agonizingly, arms bound by your sides. You understand now, what Thalassa had meant. What she had warned you about. The stories of your sisters who strayed too close to the human world and found themselves ensnared.

The stories that ended in a tragedy you might experience yourself. Caught in the same cage that claimed so many lives from the sea, that captured breath and flesh without mercy.

Every inch of the net presses into you, relentlessly, a weave too tight for escape with a brutality that forces every inhale to catch, every exhale to strain. You feel your own heartbeat thundering beneath your skin. A sensation that’s so new and overwhelming, you lose all sense of direction for a second.

You’re trapped as surely as the fish you once pitied.

You hiss, fangs bared in desperation, mixed with a sliver of fury that coils as tight in your gut as the ropes around your body.

A shadow falls long across the water, over your form, and you still. Your breath quivers but another hiss sounds from your body as the water shivers around you and the net begins to rise. The net you’re caught in.

You are lifted, inch by inch from the depths that are your sanctuary but feel so far away in this moment. So unreachable. You miss it already.

Water slips away from you, flowing past your limbs, leaving you heavier in the net’s trap. You wonder, in those painful, breathless moments, if this is what the others had felt. If this is what Zephyra had to endure alone all those years ago.

Did she too feel her body pressed into the harsh fibers of this human snare, her breath coming shallow as her world receded, giving way to theirs? Your mind whispers a silent prayer in loss and sorrow, a prayer that sounds like her name. You know she won’t be able to answer.

The net holds you mercilessly, a tangle that knows nothing of you, knows nothing of the life it’s entrapping. It just takes it.

Fragments of thought flash through your head - images of your sisters who’d be filled with grief if you too wouldn’t come home again; the sea caves that hold Bucky’s boots with the secret of your infatuation with the man; the drifting kelp you passed countless times; the soft beds of sand where you once lay undisturbed.

You’re bound like any other fish of the sea, the dignity of your form crumpled into the harsh weave of the net as it lifts you even higher, into a world you begin to realize you were never meant to enter.

You wonder if this is to be the end.

If Bucky will draw you up from the water and look upon you with the same indifferent gaze he might give a dying fish, a thing captured and condemned. Or if his face will fill with hatred and disgust, driving his spear through your delicate body faster than you can react.

It would be almost poetic, wouldn’t it?

To die by his hands, those hands that gifted you warmth, that smiled upon you with kindness, that once held you in a gaze so soft it stole your resolve.

The man you’d spent countless hours watching, the one who captivated you beyond reason, the one who drew you closer despite every warning. James. Bucky. His name echoes through you as the net drags you upward. A bittersweet irony that cuts deeper than the thin ropes around you.

You break the surface, the water’s last drops slipping from your arms as the harsh bite of air claims you. Its chill presses close, where the net presses closer. The cold seeps fast, faster than you thought air could reach, sinking sharp teeth into you.

The thundering of your pulse rushes through your veins and spreads through your entire body until it sounds in your ears. It’s both, desperate and fierce. Your bound and bruised body awakens to the fire that flickers with each throb, and you tug and twist with a new fury, igniting against the woven lines that dig and press, refusing to relent.

The sun cuts down in a blinding blaze, harsh and painful in your eyes, and it strikes you like a glare from another world. You squint, hissing through your teeth, fangs exposed; scales, skin, and face pressed to the net’s unforgiving roughness. It takes several heartbeats - long, dragging seconds - before the light dims enough to reveal the world above, the world you’ve glimpsed but never known.

And then your eyes adjust, widening as you take in the shape before you, hovering over you, leaned over the edge of his boat.

Your hissing stills. Fangs pull back. The fight in your body slows.

Bucky’s hands are steady and sure on the net, gripping it and holding you with a kind of strength that is impressive for humankind. But they are frozen. Neither pulling nor loosening his grip, holding you just so - poised between worlds. Caught where the water clings but air consumes, where your tail flickers on the edge of transformation, not quite yet splitting into separate, human limbs.

You are held, suspended, both in body and gaze and in the stillness even the ocean seems to hold onto.

Bucky’s face is wide open, slacked, features drawn in a way that lets you see it all - shock, utter disbelief, something deep and vulnerable you cannot name.

His mouth is parted as he stares, silent and struck, and there is a tremble in his grip now as if he himself has become the one who is captured. Spellbound.

There is no cruelty in his face, none of the hardened indifference you’d feared to find in a fisherman’s eyes.

But your breaths are still shallow, each one strained as you cling to the scratchy lines of the net, fingers wrapping tightly around its strands, your chest heaving in dragging motions.

You’re caught in the pull of his gaze, the vehemence in his blue eyes, wide and wild, locked onto yours with an intensity that burrows deeper than you’d have thought a human’s eye could reach.

You feel exposed, more naked than the sea has ever left you, as though he sees through the scales, the sharpness in your gaze and fangs, right down to the pulse of fear that flutters beneath your skin. He stares and, impossibly, you stare back.

But then, after what feels like an endless, drowning silence, something shifts. His gaze softens, something curling at the brink of his stare as he takes you in with something beyond shock.

His shoulders ease, the rigidity in his body smoothing as his breathing starts again. His grip remains firm on the ropes that hold you. But there is no malice in his touch, only a steady hand, a gaze that pulls you in even if you strain to resist it.

The fear within you thrashes wildly like you’re just a wounded creature sensing its end. You feel yourself trembling, breath coming faster, more desperate, betraying the dread that swims in your eyes the longer you are held half above, half in the water.

Bucky notices, his brows drawing together, a crease deepening between them, concern coloring his expression in a way you do not understand.

His gaze slips away from you for a moment, surveying the open water. He glances around, looking at the stretch of horizon where boats might appear, where more of his kind could descend upon you if he called out, if he raised his voice to summon help.

Your chest tightens, breath catching in a strangled gasp as terror flares anew, your eyes widening. Would he actually call for help? Would he actually hand you over like every other day’s catch and watch your execution?

Another hiss builds up, but it leaves your lips faint and broken, the sound weak with fear. Not of warning but of helplessness.

It echoes soft and strained over the water, barely more than a whisper against the waves. As if your voice is held captive just like your body.

He hears it, the small note of despair hidden in your voice, and his head jerks back. His gaze finds you once more.

There is something in his eyes that speaks of an apology. A remorse that settles deeper as the water below. His hold on the net loosens, his grip easing so that more of the water can reach you again, its familiar caress lapping at your form. As if trying to pull you back toward the safety you called your home for so long. As if desperate to help you escape this cage.

He recognizes you. You see it in his eyes. You basically watch the gears turning, the way realization washes over his features. But there is so much more. Wonder. Inquiry. Awe. Astonishment. One that seems to draw him closer, as if he is not simply looking at a creature of the sea but at something miraculous, something precious.

One of his hands slips free from the net, and you feel its absence like a weight lifted, the net sagging slightly around you, allowing you to feel more of the water.

He turns his shoulder, his movements slow, careful not to startle you further. He searches behind him, brushing over the clutter of his boat. But his gaze remains softly tethered to yours.

Then, a glint catches your eye, a flash of steel in his hand. A knife. Sudden tension bolts through your limbs. Instinctively, your body tries to recoil but is still unable to do so.

Alarm shoots through his eyes at the subtle tremor rippling down your form.

“Easy,” he soothes, “it’s alright.” He says it with a whisper, a softness you only ever watched his lips form from afar but the sound never reached your ears before. Your body stills with the ease that sinks into your bones.

His mouth lifts into a faint, reassuring smile, quieting the last stirrings of panic.

With slow hands he presses the blade to the lines of rope, wielding it with a care that feels sacred. His brow furrows in concentration as he cuts through the knotted fibers, slicing where they press too tightly against you, but never letting the blade get too near to your skin.

He doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t pause a second to consider the effort it probably took to craft this net, nor the care in each knot that now falls loose under his hand.

Every movement of his hands are deliberate. His gaze flickers from the net to your face, to your trapped form, careful not to linger anywhere that might unsettle you, cautious not to graze the skin and scales stretched vulnerable against the bindings.

You watch him as you did when he slipped those heavy boots onto your bare feet those many weeks ago. That same startled disbelief makes itself some space within you, spreading like the cold dawn light always filtering through the water’s surface, that usually shimmers on your scales.

Your eyes linger on him, trying to understand, to piece together this contradiction in the form of a fisherman. A human, as gentle as he is foreign.

Again and again, you were told of their harshness, of the relentless cruelty they carry, their disregard for the life coursing through the sea.

So how is this man real? How is he here with his soft eyes, hands working with such care, brows drawn into a crease of concern? Instead of malice, there is a kindness in the lines around his eyes, deeply ingrained in his irises and it startles you all the same, like it has the first time.

This man - James - Bucky - is no villain of your sister’s stories.

He is not the faceless terror of the human shore.

He is something else entirely. An exception, perhaps. The one who is gentle where others might be harsh, who frees instead of binds.

Somehow, that exception is enough for you.

Enough to loosen the warnings of your sisters they etched into your memory, the caution they expect you to keep, the dread they drape over the very mention of men and nets and sharp steel.

Because you’re not looking at a murderer. You’re looking at your savior.

And he is working for your freedom, movements leisurely and measured, until the last binding of rope has fallen away, each woven knot surrendering beneath his blade.

You feel the grip of it loosen, and with it, a strange new lightness fills the parts of you that had been pinned down, captured.

There are bruises now, dark and tender, littering your skin, and small cuts where the net bit into you. But the pain is an afterthought, dissolving as you stretch, the water rushing around your fins in a cool balm, as if trying to soothe you.

Bucky’s gaze does not lift from you. His eyes drift over the marks, those dark welts and stinging cuts, and something painful shivers across his face.

His hands tighten on the final piece of rope as he pulls it away from you like it might continue hurting you with just a brush at your skin.

His lips press into a hard line, his jaw working in tension. His brows furrow deeper as he studies those lines against your skin, a look that holds none of the satisfaction of a hunter admiring his catch.

No, it’s an expression of someone caught in the grip of remorse, a guilt so heavy it seems to tug at his shoulders.

You realize then, that he’s holding the rope like something unholy, an object of disdain. His knuckles whiten around the last severe piece, and his eyes narrow on it.

The disgust is there, but not for you - not for the creature freed from his net. The disgust is for the remnants of the trap. For the scars it left on your skin. For the way it squeezed your fins to a painful angle. For the role he unwillingly played in it.

He seems to soften though as he watches you glide into the water gracefully, breathing deeply, reverently, as though the sea itself is an extension of your soul. As if it’s greeting you, happily taking you back into its arms.

He pulls the remaining lines of rope from the water with a certain hesitation, as if you’re having a moment he doesn’t want to interrupt. The torn and useless remnants of his net slip from his hand into his small boat. He won’t be able to redo the net with those ropes but his eyes hold no regret.

You could have disappeared already. Could have slipped down beneath the surface, beyond the reach of his eyes, back to the quiet depth that cradles your secrets.

Safety is waiting only a single dive away, already touching your tail, yet something is holding you here. You linger, your head just above the waves, suspended in that fragile space where your world touches his.

And in the stillness that forms between you, you see him truly looking. Not with the distance of a man glimpsing a mystery but with a reverence that seems to slow his every breath.

His gaze is not hurried. He takes his time, as if each second reveals another layer, another detail. As if he is memorizing the curve of your cheek, the foreign power in your eyes, the salt-laced droplets sliding down your skin.

Wonder fills his features, curiosity softens the angles of his jaw. He’s admiring you.

Admiring the way the sunlight catches on your scales, painting his face with the shimmer of your being. Shades glimmering turquoise, veined with trails of silver that follow along your translucent threaded fins, blurring into rivulets of cerulean and jade.

His lips are parted, but you watch the faint whisper of a word forming, the trace of something fragile and bare. Perhaps he doesn’t even realize he’s spoken, the words drifting to you like a half-breathed sigh.

“It’s you.”

It’s a murmur, more to himself than to you, the sound barely louder than the lapping of the waves against his boat.

It sounds like an answer. An answer to some unspoken question he must have asked himself, again and again, as he scanned the shoreline, the streets of his town, in the dawning light.

His voice clings to those words, as though he has been searching, always searching, for a glimpse of you amidst the townsfolk.

Though he’s been looking in the wrong places all along.

****

You’re no longer the only one observing.

Seeking a glimpse into a life so different and out of reach, yet always in line of sight.

The day after he rescued you, he returned to the docks early, hours before he would normally start.

The docks were silent, wrapped in the pale blue serenity of dawn.

You watched him intrigued, covered by the tall willow trees leaning over the water. The long branches heavy with dew, draped down to veil you in their green gloom.

You could see him clearly. More than ever. Perhaps because, deep down, you knew he came here for you. Came here because he wanted to catch a glimpse of the creature he caught like a fish the day before.

His gaze drifted over the water’s surface, searching. He was close enough for you to make out the lines easing from his brow. You weren’t quite sure what they meant but it had been one of the same looks he gave you yesterday.

The glint of the early light caught in his eyes as he looked across the innocent waves, perhaps feeling that you were close by.

You held yourself still, heart pounding and soul pondering whether to show yourself. Nervous, you pressed yourself further against the knotted roots of the trees, feeling the solid earth interlaced with the touch of water.

You studied him as you always have. Safe, shrouded, and yet, feeling so near like you never had before, as though a single soft lap of the water could give you away. This was a spot you hid in all the time with Bucky standing on the docks. Same distance as always. But he never felt so close.

Still, you held back, watching the line of his shoulders, how he stayed and watched, silent and waiting.

And just before you could catch a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes, another fisherman strolled over to him, voice loud and angry, a brash disturbance in the quiet morning.

You saw the older man shake the remnants of Bucky’s net in his hand, the shredded ropes still damp and torn. His words rose in harsh waves, berating, biting, blaming.

They rose with your anger. You felt it heat your skin, curling your fingers, snipping your tail.

The waves around you stirred, a flash of dark blue swelling as the currents twisted at your will, the sea restless beneath the fishermen’s feet.

The desire to rise and cast the old man back with the tides pulsed through your veins in a dangerous urge. But you felt Thalassa's resignation at your actions in the back of your mind and reined it in. So, you forced the currents back to calm, just enough that they would think it was only the morning breeze pushing at the water’s surface

Nobody seemed to have noticed. Well, nobody but one person. Because he didn’t take his eyes off the sea.

Bucky did not turn way, did not shrink into himself, standing rooted on the wooden planks. He seemed to ignore the older man’s harsh words, not bothering to defend himself.

A light ran over his eyes, a relief flickering like the soft glow of sunrise breaking over the water.

His lips curved ever so slightly, a subtle tug at the corners, as though the fisherman’s anger mattered as little as the waves lapping beneath them.

He came earlier the following days as well.

He would step up to the edge of the planks, where his gaze would drift over the soft ripples of your world.

There was patience in his silence every time, like he understood. Like he seemed to get that you weren’t going to show yourself. Still, he came every day. Came, stood, and watched.

It stunned you.

Softened eyes filled with wonder at what lay beneath the unseen. Beneath the innocent stir of the currents. It was as though he had uncovered a hidden treasure, and rather than clutch it, he merely held the idea of it, savoring the knowledge of something beautiful and rare close by, unrevealed by the rest of the world.

It became a ritual of sorts, something he seemed to relish. His own little secret with the sea and with something - someone - he knew lived just out of sight, as if he’d finally found the invisible pulse of the waters he’d crossed all his life without ever realizing.

He always seemed so relaxed in those morning hours. Just him and his secret. Simply watching in contentment, as if not wanting to disturb the calm that held you in its depths.

He traced the waves with a soft smile, admired the way the early morning rays glistened on the water.

As if only now realizing the beauty that lay just outside his door his entire life.

He is currently out on the water again.

You’re always aware when he is. Always know when he sails along your home. He basically becomes a part of it in those moments.

But it’s not his ship that cuts through the waves.

Its form is harsher, its hull thicker, forged more for might than the gentle trawl of his simple craft. It's built like a wall against the waves, not gliding with them like Bucky’s boat normally does.

No, this ship slices through the blue with a purpose that doesn’t belong here.

And he is not alone on deck. There’s that same man that had yelled at him the day after he tore his net to save you.

That’s the reason you followed it out in the open sea - a tinge of protectiveness over the man who saved you. Even years before he laid an eye on you.

Voices ring out above, warped and muted by the water surrounding you, yet they pulse in jagged waves that pierce the quiet.

You narrow your eyes, feeling tension build.

There is an argument happening, rough and sharp, and you wouldn’t bother with it, if his voice wasn’t a part of it.

There is a strain in it. Frustration. Defensiveness, that tugs at something inside your chest.

It pulls you upwards slightly, despite the instinct to sink back into safety.

You linger close enough to feel the force of the anger that tears through the air, even as the water dulls the hardness.

His voice is smaller, caged in by a louder tone, cut down even as he tries to speak. There is something drained in it, something almost defeated and it coils in your chest like a knot, winding tighter with each second you remain just below the surface.

The boat rocks more roughly, as though the weight of their frustration puckers down into the sea itself.

The reckless part of you, the one that caused you to get tangled with the human world before already, again makes a decision for you.

Carefully you move higher, the blur of the voices clearing out the closer you get. The closer you are to exposing yourself to the same air that breathes their argument. Your head is out of the water before you can think, hands holding you steady on the rough wood of this intimidating vessel.

The first voice is one you have heard plenty of times. Older, rough-edged and hard, like waves crashing over jagged rock. It’s the same raised voice Bucky had stood on the receiving end before.

“You’re telling me you cut through a net because you couldn’t be bothered to reel it out right? It would have lasted another season, James!” You flinch at a thud that makes the ship groan. Perhaps a first meeting wood. “Just carelessness - plain carelessness.”

Your fins flutter as the swell of your anger moves in the water with you. Your gaze shifts to the dark outline of the larger vessel above you, hiding your exposed head, not to be seen by the people moving along.

There is no trace of Bucky’s care in this ship, only an imposing sort of power that presses on the water below in all the wrong ways.

You hear Bucky’s strained breath. See his hand grip tightly to the worn wood of the rail.

“It was tangled. I wasn’t going to bring it back all ripped and knotted, without fixing it myself. I know how to mend it.”

He sounds done with this conversation. A tiredness in his voice that never makes it to his eyes when he comes relishing in your tranquil presence in the mornings.

There is a scoff. “You know how to mend it?” A bitter laugh sounds in the air. But it holds no joy. It’s dark. “Well, son, do you also know how to catch fish with it? Half the time you’re out here, you’re thinking about something else. What do you think your mother would say, watching you waste time and gear like this?”

The coldness of the words washes down into the depths, an accusation that somehow bears down on you, too. The water around you shivers and it's then that you realize that’s your doing. You don’t do much to stop it.

Bucky doesn’t reply right away. But you can feel the weight of his silence.

And you’re surprised for a second at the lack of fear inside you. Fear, because he still could be telling this man, who seems to be his father, about you. About how you - a creature of the sea - were the reason he came home with a torn net. Lines of rope all frayed and in pieces.

He could. He could tell him. But, somehow, deep down, deeper than the ocean floor, you knew he wouldn’t.

You basically feel Bucky shift on deck. Feel his gaze roam over the vastness of your home. As if it could give him comfort. As if it composed him enough to speak.

“The net’s on me. I'll have it replaced,” he then says, voice low, flat. “But don’t act like I haven’t pulled in my share of catches.”

A dark, disappointed groan drones in your ears. “You keep saying you’re here, that you’re focused, but I don’t see it, James. I don’t know what it is you’re chasing after, but it certainly is not in these waters. So, you better figure it out, son, before you waste any more of my time.”

He seems to step closer to Bucky. The thumping of footsteps reverberates around you, sending shivers through your skin, making you instinctively recoil. Your head stays above water but you’re tense. Ready to sink back down at any second.

A shadow nears the edge. Closer, closer, until a figure looms right above the railing. You catch a glint of a big hand gripping the side, knuckles sharp and bloodless.

He seems to lean in, dark hair entering your vision and you dive beneath the surface. But not before hearing the commanding tone of his voice again.

“Now, give me that. You should not have it any longer.”

You’re poised, back in the water, but your heart thrums wildly against the pulse of the sea. The timbre of his authority makes your skin prickle, sounding in your ears as sharp as you’d heard it moments before although it is muffled again.

You keep diving a little deeper. The cold water is bracing you, rushing around you as you sink. You’re low enough to feel safe. To feel the familiar comfort. But you don’t.

You’re restless, nerves tingling.

You can still hear him up there. Bucky. But his voice is tinged with a weariness that’s almost painful to hold inside yourself. The words themselves are lost in the currents, swept away before they can reach you, but you feel them all the same.

It’s worn, like driftwood tossed by a thousand waves. Softened by the relentlessness of it.

You hear his surrender. The long battle that he seems to fight against himself, its breath barely hanging on. Each word carries a heaviness that seems to drift through the sea as though seeking a place to settle but always getting pulled with the stream.

Your heart clenches painfully at the guilt inside. He cut that net, sacrificed it for your freedom, and now here he is, caught in a tangle of it all, left without a defense. And he lets it weave around himself, lets it bind him like his ropes had bound you. But now, he doesn’t reach for a knife. He simply lets it squeeze. Lets it suffocate him.

Before you can get lost in your mind, there is a soft sound coming from above. A plink. It’s delicate, as a raindrop over calm water.

You glance upward, startled at first, your heart doing a jump in synchrony with the rush that disturbs the surface.

Something glimmers, silvered, tumbling in slow motion, catching fragments of light as it drifts through the blue toward you.

It spins and glints, looking like such a fragile thing as it nears you.

Entranced, you reach out, letting it settle into your palm, where it rests cold against your skin, weighty and exquisite all at once.

It’s a chain. Slender, woven like river reeds into an elegant braid, its polished links softened by wear. At its center, a small pendant hangs, swaying gently in the currents that surround you both, learning the cadence of the sea for perhaps the first time.

The pendant is engraved with fine lines, winding into elegant patterns that glint faintly, illuminated by the underwater light.

You don’t known what it means but you run your fingers over it, tracing the grooves and smooth imprints. It’s beautiful and you find yourself admiring the little details. The weight is a comfort in its smallness, like something that belongs close to the heart.

A realization halts your thumb that’s been swiping over it.

Your pulse stirs anew.

You have seen this before - watched it sway against a familiar chest, catching flecks of sunlight as it moved in time with each breath. You’ve watched it rise and fall with every step, tucked close, held as something treasured. Sometimes atop his shirt, sometimes beneath it, where it touched the skin over his heart.

It is Bucky’s.

You have noticed it often enough to recognize it. Saw the flash of it when he leaned forward, the light of it dancing against his skin.

But you never saw the details before. The intricate pattern that makes it so unique.

A surge tugs at your memories. The way his hand would reach up, seemingly on its own, fingers softly grasping it, brushing over its surface like you just had. As if it holds something for him. Something valuable. Something of a price no coin in the world could ever reach. And it grants him access to it by a simple touch.

And now, it rests in your palm with a weight of importance so irreplaceable, doomed to drown and sink into a pit of darkness where it would lay unattainable but never forgotten.

You can’t let that happen.

There’s no way to find out what happened for it to fall where sky meets water but you won’t let it get dragged to its watery grave.

And something tells you it wasn’t Bucky’s decision to let go of it in such a way.

****

Bucky seems different this morning.

He was even earlier today. Sitting there already when you came up from the deep, shadows clinging to his frame, pooling in the curve of his shoulders. They are slumped in a way that makes him almost look unfamiliar, as though he’s been folded inward.

He would have caught you the moment your head met the first air of the day but with his eyes tipped downward you were able to retreat to the shadows of the willows without him noticing.

He drags a hand over his face, a sigh in his chest.

When he finally looks out across the water, there is a longing heavily dripping from his gaze like the water droplets from your lashes. His sadness seeps into the air, causing your breath to hitch.

Fingers tighten around the pendant that basically fell into your hand yesterday. It digs into the soft skin of your palm, pressingly reminding you who it belongs to.

There was no good time to give it back to him the day before but now there is.

But there is no way he won’t see you placing it on the wooden planks near enough for him to find.

Your heart hammers.

You wish for the pendant to give you that something it seems to grant Bucky so many times. Perhaps a bit of courage.

A deep breath fills your lungs. It wobbles on the way out but it’ll have to do.

Slowly, you submerge, sliding back beneath the water where silence engulfs you once again. Maybe that’s all you need to calm down.

You glide forward with the grace that comes naturally. Fish flit past, a scatter of silver that parts seamlessly around you. The water yields to you, always knowing your intentions before you do. Algae sway with your passing, green tendrils blending softly as you slip through.

You near the dock, near Bucky, and draw in another centering breath before pushing yourself to rise. The pendant is still tightly gripped in your palm, fingers almost aching.

The water responds, curving away for you to swim through. You emerge, inch by inch, already seeing his blurred form, a soft tether pulling you upward.

And when you break through, lifting your head into the open air, your eyes meet his.

Bucky’s breath catches, and he stills completely, eyes widening with that flicker of disbelief you remember from the first time. His face is struck by surprise. But it melts. Softening. Faster than the first time.

The shock in his gaze is fleeting now, submitting to something else, something that lingers, far lighter and deeper.

His mouth is open, caught mid-breath, and then his lips curve. A faint exhalation slips past his lips - half gasp, half laugh - an unguarded sound that leaves him like he’s been holding it, too fragile to release but too powerful to contain.

He holds himself still. Each muscle in his body restrained, as though he’s afraid the slightest shift might scare you away, making you sink down to the bottom of the ocean where he could not follow. He doesn’t even blink. As though he’s afraid that you might be a figment of his imagination and vanish the second his eyes open again.

But there’s a tremor in his hands. And the sudden rise and fall of his chest with the curling fists betray his desire to draw near.

His gaze trails over your features, each line of your face, lingering as if he tries to convince himself that you are real, despite him having seen you already.

The way he looks at you feels almost too much - so full of amazement that you feel your heart stutter, feel heat rise in your cheeks as his unabashed gaze rests so intensely on you.

You drop your gaze from him, rather keep it on the wooden planks as you slowly lift your hand out of the water. The one with his lost treasure in it.

Quietly, with a shyness you haven’t expected, you move closer. Carefully. Purposeful.

His eyes follow. Darting from your face to your hand, back and forth. His gaze softens with every passing second as you approach.

You stop beside the outside of his thigh, and with a breath that almost stuck in your throat, you unclench your fist while lowering it to the dock, setting it down as if even the wood beneath should bear its weight with care.

Taking your hand away, you reveal the chain and pendant that gleam like a secret laid bare between you both.

You draw back slightly, giving him space to process what lay before his eyes.

Bucky remains motionless. Suspended between reality and a cruel fantasy that plays tricks on him. His gaze is glued to the pendant as if it’s something sacred.

The bewilderment painted across his face that slackens his features and lets his mouth hang open is almost comical. A childlike miracle that softens his features to something so unexpectedly vulnerable. Your chest feels light and you can’t help the smile that softly tugs at your lips.

One of his hands reaches toward it as if on its own accord, callous fingers brushing over it with a slow tenderness, as though he is rediscovering a lost part of himself.

He lifts it in his palm, the chain glinting faintly in the dim morning light, and he stares at it like he’s seeing it for the first time.

The breath he releases is shaky, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, breaking from him with the relief of something heavy lifted.

He closes his hand around it, pressing it close to him as if it’s something to be treasured, as if he’s able to draw warmth from its metal. His eyes squeeze shut for a moment and his fingers tremble around the newfound relict.

You avert your eyes. This feels like a moment you shouldn’t take part in. It feels like you’re intruding into something private with him so unguarded.

So you prepare to return to your hidden shadows, to leave him with his thoughts, to let the moment be his alone.

“Wait!”

The word is barely more than a croak, a rasp of something unsaid that was out before he could gather his strength.

You turn your head up to him again, meeting his gaze as his hand scrubs over his face, eyes wide and shining with something he can barely hold back.

He tries again, voice steadier but no less quiet. “I- I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

His gratitude floats between you both, the sincerity making your breath catch. His eyes search your face with something akin to incredulity. As if he’s still not sure if you’re really floating in the water before him. As if you still could be something his mind just made up. Even though the evidence of your presence is clutched tightly in his hand.

You don’t understand how he sees this as a debt. He was the one to gift you back your freedom. Your life. So why would he believe the debt could ever belong to him and not to you?

You watch him searching for language, his mouth shaping words that never quite leave his lips, his hand pressing the pendant to his chest.

He breathes deeply, almost as if bracing himself. And when he speaks again, his voice is low and quiet.

“Thank you,” he whispers, softer than before, his voice thick with gratitude that runs deeper than you will ever understand.

Something warm rises from some deep place within you and you feel it light up your face like the morning sun upon the water you’re floating in. Your mouth curves into a soft smile.

In response, his eyes brighten, a glimmer finding its way back into the blue depths as if he, too, is warmed by some inner sunrise.

His lips twitch upwards, hesitant yet honest, corners of his mouth tugging until it spreads into something whole, something radiant.

He holds you in his gaze as if he’s made a room there for you already. Something for you to stay. Something to keep you.

His eyes hold the kind of devotion that moments ago he had reserved for the pendant alone. But now it’s turned to you as if you’ve become the rare treasure placed back into his open palm.

He looks at you as if you’re the one who saved him today.

And before you can even so think about slinking back under, he speaks up again.

“May I-” He studies you for a heartbeat longer, contemplative. “Do you have a name?”

It’s intimate. A question only meant for you. Only uttered for your ears and not for the listening sea around you. The note is stronger, clearer, as though a surge of determination forced him to ask, not letting him leave until he gets an answer.

You can’t stop your smile from widening. Heat creeps up along your neck to the tips of your ears and the impulse arises to dive away, hiding from this emotion, resisting it. But you can’t let his question hover above you like that. Not when he answered you after it was you asking for his name those weeks ago.

A flicker of something crosses his eyes. Something you might interpret as an endearment. He seems to cherish this moment, eyes so fully fixed on the way your cheeks redden under his attention.

“Y/n.”

He beams. Face lighting up with a smile so pure it renders the sun climbing behind him rather useless.

He repeats your name - breathes it, really. He couldn’t help himself. Each syllable drips off his tongue like he’s tasting it, savoring it as if the sound itself holds some secret sweetness he never knew he craved.

Your tail flicks, cutting a gentle line through the water, a motion so out of your control like the sudden thrill in your chest.

He seems to engrave each note, each cadence of your name into the deepest folds of his mind.

As if he might hold onto it forever.

As if he can’t bear to let it fade.

“I am in love with the impossibility of us.”