“Old fucker,” Tommy said, voice full of a grin as he tipped his drink toward his brother. “Can’t believe you still got the knees to haul yourself out here.”

The lake in front of them caught the last of the daylight like glass, purple and blue and still as stone. A thin mist curled over the surface, broken only by the soft click of Tommy’s beer can and the creak of his folding chair. The brothers sat shoulder to shoulder on the dock, boots planted wide, fishing lines stretching lazy into the water where the light died slow. The truck had been parked up the trail a ways, hard to get through the line of trees since they’d overgrown in the years since any campers came to this lake.

Joel smirked without looking up, eyes fixed on the soft ripple of his line. “Happenin’ to you too, I see. Got a few new grays since last time, brother.”

Tommy barked a laugh and brushed a hand through his hair like that might hide it. “That right? Guess we’re both fossils now.”

“Speak for yourself.” Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the can dangling loose between his fingers. Their guns were laid out a few feet away, forgotten for now, the edges of their packs slumped against the dock post. For the first time in weeks, neither of them looked like they expected trouble. Just two men, a cooler, and the sound of cicadas rising somewhere deep in the trees.

“Think we’ll find anything?” Joel asked after a while, low and thoughtful.

“Hell, she said this was the best spot,” Tommy replied, kicking at the wood beneath his boot. “Figure we’ll see what we can catch.”

The silence after stretched long as the sun sank behind the ridge, leaving the water the color of bruised glass. A faint breeze stirred, brushing against the reeds, the night feeling like it might actually be a relaxing one.

But then there was a sound.

Soft at first, almost too quiet to notice. It came from the far side of the lake, threading between the sigh of the wind and the creak of the dock. Almost like… a voice—high and aching, like something recalled from a dream. The kind of song that pressed against the back of your mind and made you ache without knowing why. Neither of them spoke as Joel’s head lifted, eyes narrowing toward the shimmer of the water, and Tommy’s hand brushed unconsciously toward the rifle at his side.

The song carried clearer now, sweet and strange, rippling through the twilight. It didn’t sound human. It didn’t sound…like anything either of the men had heard before. It was beautiful, and yet made the air feel heavy, as if it had been made for no other purpose than to lure. The melody wrapped around them like warm breath, threading through the woods around them, filling the spaces between their heartbeats until their muscles loosened and their minds drifted. Joel found himself stepping closer to the edge before realizing he had moved at all.

“...You hear that?” Tommy whispered.

Joel didn’t answer. He only stared at the dark water, the reflection of his face warping in the ripples, drawn forward as if something beneath it was calling him by name. Tommy couldn’t help himself as he did the same, his own features mirrored in the water below beside his brother’s.

Then the song stopped, and the cicadas ceased their droning beat, and the night seemed to pause.

Because a pair of eyes were staring back at Joel and Tommy from the water.

You

They were such decadent creatures, the pair of them—broad shouldered and built from sinew and sun, every inch of them gleaming with the kind of vitality that made your mouth water. Flesh and breath, muscle and pulse. You could taste the hum of their life, even from the depths where you lingered beneath the surface of water.

Who were you, born of salt and sorrow, to deny them the ache of their own desire? What cruelty it would be, to starve them of temptation when it was your very nature to provide it. Perhaps, just this once, you might sin a little.

Best not to play with your food, your motherling used to say. But tonight the moon hung low and heavy, and you were hungry for something sweeter than blood.

And so you slipped beneath the surface, scales whispering against one another, willing your form to change. Flesh where there had been silver armor, softness where there had been fin. You reshaped yourself into the image of their most secret longing, a reflection born of their own minds. When next you surfaced, the men were leaning over the edge of the dock, drawn by your song.

Their eyes found you, and they gasped—those beautiful, trembling sounds of awe that always came just before the end. They stumbled back, eyes widening as they took in your bare form.

You smiled as you climbed onto the wooden dock, the water sliding down from your hair to your neck in glittering ribbons, rivers cascading down desire spun flesh, pooling down around your palms. Your fingers were no longer webbed, your nails dull and harmless now, though the danger still thrummed beneath your skin. You were temptation, sculpted from every dream they’d dared not to speak of.

“What in Sam hell—” murmured the darker one as he sat back, the burlier of the two, voice deep and low, thick as molasses. His tongue dragged over the syllables like a hymn gone astray. You liked him best already.

“Joel— we should— we should—” stammered the fairer one, younger by the look of him, and just as lovely in his confusion.

You tilted your head, tasting the air, and let your voice spill soft as a tide, “Hello.”

It rolled through them like heat, left them trembling, sighing, undone. You watched their faces flush, the blood surging downward, watched want take root in their bodies. The hunger in you sang back.

Tonight, you thought, perhaps your mother would forgive you.

You moved toward them slowly, inching, the boards groaning under your crawling steps. The men did not move, only frozen, spellbound, watching the water drip from your hair, your mouth, the rise and fall of your supple breasts. Your skin shivered with need, pebbling everything, nipples hard under their stares. 

The darker one—Joel, the younger had called him, what a lovely name, really—sat rooted to the spot, as if he’d fallen back in his stupor. His jaw flexed once, trying to form words, but all that came was breath. You smiled, soft and patient, and placed a hand against his chest when you finally climbed on top of him. His heart thudded beneath your palm, wild and human and alive.

“Do not be afraid,” you whispered, though you wanted him to be. Fear tasted like salt and copper, so very close to love.

He didn’t resist when you seated yourself atop him, his hands hovering over your sides. The wood was cold and wet beneath him where it dripped off of you, his clothes clinging to his skin where your lap and his connected. You straddled him easily, knees pressing to his hips, your already slick skin sliding against his denim.

His eyes were every color of the woods around you: muddied brown, the gold of autumn, the blue of the water in which you came. He was so pretty. Your hands—gentle, remember to be gentle—came up to trace where hair sprouted around his jaw, over his lips. It tickled, and you let your instincts rule you, dipping your head to press your lips to the wiry hair there. 

The choice had you suddenly awoken by a molten need, your mouth soon finding his, connecting, melding, and he groaned, oh, oh, what a beautiful sound. The meeting of mouths was clumsy at first, his firm and dry against yours, but you softened him quickly, coaxed him open with your tongue. And his taste. Gods above, he was the most divine thing you’d ever tasted. Something bitter and aged, a hint of almost an oakiness you’d never felt on your tongue before. His hands came up without thought, gripping at your thighs, your waist, anchoring himself in the illusion of you.

You felt the hunger rise sharp and sudden between the two of you: an ache in your teeth, in your belly, in the place between your legs where your body thrummed with need. His was the same, though thick and pulsing beneath you, his throat vibrating with the prettiest sounds you wanted more of. And you realized then, you wanted to feed, yes, to drag him beneath and taste the life that burned inside him, but something else clawed higher. A deeper craving, an almost human hunger.

You broke the kiss only to breathe him in. His scent filled you, all earth, sweat, the faint tang of some thick drink on his lips. Your hips rolled forward on instinct again, and his breath hitched, his head tipping against the boards as he fully laid back, succumbing to your temptation. He was so warm beneath you, the heat of him seeping through the wet fabric, the hardness of his body pressing against you where you were undulating against him. His breath came rougher with each passing moment, caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper, his hands nearly shaking where they held at your waist. You felt the pulse of him beneath you, the drum of a human heart that wanted and wanted and wanted.

You leaned forward, catching his mouth again, tasting the salt of sweat and the sweetness of desire. His lips parted under yours, pliant, hungrier now, less hesitant, his tongue meeting yours with a heat that made your skin tremble. You swallowed the sound he made, felt it vibrate through both of you like something alive.

The other one was still crouched, watching, his chest rising quick, pupils wide and dark as the deep. You unlatched from the man beneath you to turn your head just enough to see the other. His name was unknown, and yet somehow through you like a song half remembered. You reached out your hand toward him, fingers dripping with the water that still clung to you.

“Come,” you said softly.

He did. 

They always did.

He knelt beside you, close enough for the heat of his body to touch your arm. His eyes moved over you in disbelief, over your cold, bare breast and sopping hair, and then his eyes changed with need, then finally, surrender. When your hand found the back of his neck and drew him closer, he didn’t resist. His lips met yours, softer than his brother’s, still tentative, tasting of breath and rain. You kissed him until he forgot what he feared, until he sighed against you like a man sinking into a dream.

Joel’s hands were on you, on your chest made of softness against his thick calloused hands. So human in their make, as if he’d worked with them often. They cupped you, kneaded your skin until you were arching into them as your mouth opened fully for the other.

“Tommy, stop hoggin’ ‘er,” Joel said beneath you. Tommy, yes, Tommy. His tongue was too deep in your mouth to answer, and only released you when Joel pinched your nipples just hard enough to make you moan, saliva still stringing between your lips as you gasped for air.

“Holy shit,” Tommy moaned, his hand cupping the back of your head as you arched into the older one’s hands, a spark of heat zipping to your belly and into the core of your desire, “That feel good, don’t it, darlin’? Like the way my brother is touchin’ yer perky little tits, huh?”

What a nasty mouth on this one.

“Oh, she loves it,” Joel groaned, and when you turned to him, the hunger in your gaze startled him—too much, too much like your true form. He froze for a heartbeat before you smiled, catching his hands and bringing them back to your chest. You rolled your hips, grinding until he held on tighter, twisting and pulling at your breasts as you whimpered.

You reached for his belt, cursing the layers he wore—such ridiculous human contraptions, hiding the very thing you wanted most. Joel laughed under his breath and helped, unfastening the leather as his brother stripped beside you.

Tommy was standing now and halfway bare, his cock thick and glistening, a bead of pleasure pearled at the head. Your mouth watered. You leaned forward without thinking, lips parting around him.

His groan tore through the air as your tongue slid along him, the heat of his skin searing your mouth. The sound of it, wet and dirty, only stirred something deeper in you. You could have taken him whole, could have finished what instinct demanded of you—but not yet. You wanted to draw it out, to savor the taste, the power, the sheer animal delight of it all.

Because you were enjoying yourself. 

Joel’s hands didn’t stay idle long. They wandered from your chest down your ribs, tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips as if trying to anchor you. His breath was heavy, hot and heavy, the sound of it trembling between want and restraint.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel, “look at you.”

You hummed around Tommy’s length, the vibration pulling a shudder from his throat. He was gripping your hair now, guiding your rhythm, not too rough but enough to remind you that he wanted—no, needed, that was need—you to keep going. Joel’s touch slid lower, fingers grazing the wet heat between your legs, and you gasped around his brother, your moan sending a pulse through both of them.

Tommy’s hand flexed in your hair. “Bet she’s fuckin’ wet already,” he rasped, looking down at you with something between awe and greed. “She drippin’ all over your hand, brother?”

Joel only grunted in reply, eyes dark, lips parted. His fingers teased, spreading your lower lips, testing how ready you were. And as you looked down out of the corner of your eye, watching as his hand buried between your thighs, his brother’s cock buried in your mouth, it was almost holy in its depravity. You felt their eyes on you, one above and one below, their shared breath thick with heat and want.

When Joel finally pushed a thick, calloused finger inside, you arched, pulling off Tommy with a gasp. Your lips were swollen, chin wet with spit, the mess trailing down your chest in sticky streaks. Tommy groaned at the loss, his hand still tangled in your hair.

“Goddamn,” Joel grunted, “Fuck. Yeah, yeah she’s ready, Jesus.” he was using his other hand to notch his cock against your entrance, the slick gushing around his finger and into his palm wetting the head of him as he pulled his finger away. 

You whined at the loss, and he only chuckled, “I know, I know. S’comin, baby, look at this, here you go—oh fuck—” he choked as his hand fell away and his cock caught around the ring of your velvet keep, and your eyes rolled back, mouth gaping open at the stretch of him. 

Obscene, heavy like the rest of him, and bigger than his brother beside you, he was nearly splitting you in half as you straddled over his lap. 

“Ohhh, ain’t that so good, sugar?” Joel groaned, eyes glued to where he was disappearing inside you, his mouth open, panting.

You were mewling and moaning, nearly sobbing as you landed full seated around his cock, your walls clenching and pulsing at the intrusion. 

Tommy’s hand in your hair tightened, turning your face to him, your mouth perfectly open for him to resume his assault of your wet, awaiting mouth. 

“Make her choke, Tommy. Gotta feel it. Wanna feel her clamp down,” Joel ground out through his teeth.

Tommy moved harder now, using your mouth without shame. His fingers dug into your scalp as he fucked your throat, cock dragging over your tongue and down deep, tightening skin of his balls slapping your chin over and over. Joel's hips rolled beneath you, meeting your bounce with steady thrusts, his pace relentless and rising.

There was no space or emptiness, one of them always inside you, filling your throat or your cunt, both thick and perfect, working in rhythm until you were nothing but sound and sensation.

The need in you was clawing, feral, gnashing its teeth against your ribs. You were caught between two hungers now—one human, one not—both desperate to consume, to be fed. The molten fire in your belly, the one of the human maybe you once were, back before you were cursed to be this thing, this river dweller, was rapidly glowing and churning. Your hips felt as if they were tightening, your throat filled so hard you were gagging, spit drooling from your mouth without thought. 

And the sounds. The sounds were the most depraved, the thing that made you cry out and gag and gasp around Tommy’s cock the most. Wet and slick and slapping, the men’s groans and grunts had your orgasm sending bursts of flames and starlight through your body, eyes burning with white light as your back bowed and you gripped his thighs. He felt your throat constrict as waves crashed through you, his cock tightening and pulsing in your throat until he was moaning like nothing you’d heard before, feeding you, filling your throat with his spend. 

You fell then, boneless, once Tommy released you. Joel was still moving beneath you, fucking up into your spent body like he couldn’t stop himself. His thick arms wrapped around you, banded with muscle, slick with sweat, and held you close. You gasped against his neck, lungs stuttering, spit and come sticking to your lips as you coughed through the mess. His coarse chest hair scraped your breasts, every breath from him pushing heat into your skin as he kept rutting, fast and deep. 

But as your thoughts came back to you, as the human need and hunger abated, you could smell it now. Nearly tasted it. Salt and copper, warm and close as you leaned into his neck. Your mouth watered before you even moved. You imagined the flesh giving way—soft, tender, wet and divine. You knew it would be sweet. You knew. And still, he whispered into your ear, gentle and filthy, calling you a dirty little thing, saying this was what you were made for. That no good girl takes two men at once, lets them use her like this. But you were his now. His to split open. His to fill.

He buried himself to the hilt one last time, your mouth opened, tongue peeking out to taste that beautiful, thick artery at the column of his neck, and he spilled into you, marking you from the inside.

But it was all fuzzy, all static in your ears, because that hunger in you, the creature that needed to consume, was licking at the sweat dripping down his throat, mixing with the river water, shining like a trail meant for your mouth to follow. And suddenly your jaw was tightening, the muscles in your face pulling as something sharp and old pressed against the inside of your mouth. Sharp teeth sprouted from your flat human-honed incisors, nails growing as the instinct flared to a bright impending doom.

You wanted to bite. 

Needed to.

How delicious his flesh would taste—

“Oh, no you don’t—” Tommy’s voice came from behind you, fast and close.

Your mouth was opening wide, teeth gleaming wet in the dark, no longer human, so so close to that divine flesh. And then you were being pulled off of Joel, warmth gone completely as something jammed between your jaws. Metal and leather and cold, it forced your mouth wide and locked it there. The noise that tore out of you was guttural, a half snarl, half scream, echoing off the water and sending ripples through the black surface.

You thrashed, hands flying to the straps, but Tommy was strong behind you, holding tight, forcing the buckle into place. Joel moved with a quick determination, reaching across the dock for the pack beside him. From it he pulled a length of rope, thick and coarse, and in a few swift motions he had it wound around you, binding your arms to your sides and your legs together as you were laid out on the dock, until you could do little more than writhe. The effort left him breathing hard, the sound of it rough in the night air.

“Got her,” he said, his voice low and strained.

You were breathing hard, fury sharpening your eyes to cold shards of glass as you watched them. They stayed like that for a long moment—both of them still bare skinned and spent from the struggle, their chests rising and falling in the damp air—too drained to move, too cautious to release their holds.

“Thought you could trick us that easy, huh?” Tommy muttered, his laugh short and disbelieving as he looked down at you from above. 

Joel let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh too, something more breath than voice. He was kneeling now, catching his breath, rubbing the sweat from his brow. “Dumb little thing thought she had us.” He clicked his tongue, then glanced over at his brother. “How ’bout we get her to the truck, see what her blood can do. Think that witch had been talkin’—says it burns out the sickness, turns the rot clean.”

Tommy huffed, tightening the binding around your head. “If that don’t do it, not sure what will. Could always sell her, though. Heard the Fireflies pay high for things like this. Hell, anyone with half a lab left would.”

You jerked at the way they spoke of you, the sound muffled behind the gag, but Joel only smirked.

“Say though…” he grunted, shifting beside you. You felt the movement, the betrayal of your own body, answering the feeling of this thick hand on you as he cupped your skin at your ribs—still trembling, still slick with the remnants of what they’d drawn out of you. “She sure was a hell of a ride, huh?”

Tommy barked a laugh, petting your wet hair, fingers dragging along your lip before pushing into your mouth. The open gag made it easy, his fingertips pressing down on your tongue like he was testing your reflex again, “Perks of the job, if you think about it.”

Joel stood, zipping his jeans, his eyes already on the treeline where the truck was parked.

“And listen,” he said, voice flat, “if it don’t go like we hope, we’ll just bring her back and throw her back in the lake.”

Tommy gave a dry snort as he kept inspecting your mouth. “Oh yeah. That’ll go real well.”

Joel paused. He looked down at you for a beat, unreadable.

“Or,” he said, tone easy, “we keep her.”

Tommy didn’t even hesitate.

 “Yeah,” he said, patting your cheek. “I like that idea better.”

He texted you at 3:17 a.m.: I’m sorry. No reply. I didn’t mean it. Still nothing. Please.

You left him on read.

By 7:30 a.m. he was downstairs, heart hammering, waiting like a man on trial. Avoiding him in this house was impossible, and he was terrified you’d start trying.

Ward was in the study, drinking coffee and going over papers. Rafe didn’t knock this time.

“I need to reschedule the meeting.”

Ward looked up, eyebrows raised. He seemed surprised before his face settled into that mild disappointment.

“Excuse me?”

“Next Friday. The investors. Move it.”

No automatic “yes sir,” no eager lean-forward, no desperate eagerness to please.

Ward set his mug down.

“Rafe, these people are flying in from Charlotte. This is not something we reschedule because you—”

“I’m not asking. I know it’s important, but I have something I already committed to. I’m not breaking it.”

Ward’s familiar look of here we go again, incoming.

“Son… this is the kind of opportunity—”

“I don’t care.” Rafe cut him off. “I gave my word somewhere else first. I’m keeping it.”

He wasn’t licking his father’s ass, hoping for scraps. He wanted Ward’s approval, he’d always wanted it so fucking badly it hurt — but he wanted you more. He wanted the way you looked at him when it was just the two of you.

Ward let out a low chuckle; it always made Rafe feel ten years old again.

“And what exactly is more important than the future of this family’s business?” He leaned back, studying him. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with our guest, would it?”

The second Ward brought you up in the conversation, Rafe knew he was winning this one. The only reason his dad wasn't lighting him up right now is because of you. Last week, that would’ve fucking killed him — knowing Ward respected you more than he’d ever respected his own son.

Today Rafe was grateful. Today Rafe knew he was was in love.

He needed this to work.

He didn’t give a fuck about his usual insecurities at the moment. All he could think about was you upstairs, packing your shit or icing him out for good. The terror of never getting to touch you again...He wanted to be worthy of you more than he wanted to be Ward Cameron’s successful son.

Too bad it took him all this time to figure it out.

“It’s personal. Important.” Rafe didn’t elaborate; he sure as fuck wasn’t telling Ward — or your dad — the real reason.

Meeting your estranged mom? Your father despised that woman, and if word got back that Rafe was helping you see her… He wasn’t risking that.

Ward’s expression was imperceptible as he sighed.

“I care about her like she’s my own. She’s been part of this family every summer for years. If this has something to do with her, I’d rather you be straight with me.”

And still, Rafe was ready to choose Ward over you last night. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“I’m handling it,” Rafe said.

“But this… bailing on something this significant for—”

“I’m not bailing on the business,” Rafe cut in. “I’m asking you to move one meeting. If that costs me your respect, then fine."

Ward exhaled slowly and rubbed his temple. “Alright. I’ll talk to her father and push it back a week. But Rafe… I expect you to be ready when the new date is set. No more last-minute changes.”

Rafe nodded. “I will be.”

Twenty-four hours later, fueled by three Red Bulls and a prayer to a God he didn't believe in, he cornered you in the kitchen.

He stood there like a fucking idiot, leaning against the island with his arms crossed so tight his shirt felt like it was choking him. You were there, back turned, pouring coffee, shoulders stiff.

You hadn’t looked at him once.

He had to fix this before you decided summers at Tannyhill weren’t worth it anymore and bounced.

“…Ward’s moving the meeting.”

You didn’t pause, continuing to stir your coffee. Rafe stepped closer, stopping on the other side of the counter.

“I told him I couldn’t do next Friday. Said I already promised you something important. He wasn’t thrilled but… he’s doing it."

Not even a glance.

C'mon, say something. Yell. Call me a piece of shit.

Forty-eight hours of silence from the one person whose voice actually mattered. He was losing his shit, sweating, and blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“I could’ve gone to the meeting and lied to you about it, but I didn’t. That counts for something, right?”

Jesus Christ, Rafe. Shut the fuck up.

You finally turned around, one eyebrow raised, giving him that flat stare that made his balls shrivel up every time.

"That’s what you’re going with?”

You were one wrong word away from walking out of the kitchen and out of his life for good.

His brain fucking blue-screened. He was gaping at you like an idiot, eyes wide. Goddamn. You were so fucking pretty it hurt.

“I— uh…” Rafe's voice came out cracked and dumb. “Yeah. I mean no. Fuck, I don’t know."

He winced the second it left his mouth, but couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt to hear your voice again, even if it was calling him on his bullshit.

“I haven’t heard you talk in two days,” He blurted. “It was actually making me sick—”

Your face said it all: bullshit. You didn’t believe a single word.

"I’m serious,” Rafe pushed, stepping closer even though your expression screamed stay the fuck back. “I know I fucked up,” He kept going, "The shit I said to you…I didn’t mean it. I fixed the meeting. For you.”

You raised both eyebrows this time, giving him the most unimpressed look he'd ever seen, which was saying a lot considering this was you.

“Baby, please,” He rushed out, running both hands through his hair, tugging at it. “I sound stupid, I know I do. Yell at me."

You weren’t buying a single fucking thing he was saying.

Before he could think about how pathetic it looked, Rafe dropped to his knees right there on the kitchen floor. He shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking them, biceps pressing against the backs of your legs while his hands splayed across your lower back and stomach.

You stiffened instantly. “Rafe—what the fuck—”

“I’m sorry,” His voice was muffled against your stomach as he pressed his face there like a desperate loser.

You tried and failed to twist away. Rafe made his grip ten times harder, looking up at you with his chin resting against your abdomen. Your face was a painting of pure annoyance.

He was replying the other night in his head. You had real feelings for him, and he'd crushed that shit under his heel like an idiot.

Rafe looked up at you again, eyes wide.

“I’ll stay down here all day if I have to."

That's when you gave him a different reaction since he walked into the kitchen.

“Are you… Did you hit your fucking head? What is this?”

The Rafe Cameron you knew would never be on the floor hugging your legs like this. The confusion in your voice would’ve been funny if he weren’t so fucking scared. Your hands hovered in the air to check him for a concussion, probably.

"Fair, I deserve that—"

“You gained consciousness all of a sudden? Overnight? Yesterday, you were telling me I was pathetic for wanting you there, and now you’re hugging my legs like a lost puppy? Are you back on coke?"

God, there it is.

Oh you’re one to fucking talk—

The words almost flew out of his mouth on instinct. No. He wasn’t falling for your bait; he had to earn this shit.

“I’m not gonna fight with you."

Even though you were acting like he was the crazy one when you both know you've been toxic as fuck to each other for years. You looked even more thrown off, if that was possible; your face couldn’t decide whether to laugh at me or kick him in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your stomach through without even thinking.

"Tell me you hit your fucking head.”

“I’m trying to explain—”

“Oh my god,” you squirmed, pushing at his shoulders. “Move.”

He dodged your hand before you could grab a fistful of his hair.

“I’m not moving.” You tried to go for it again, as Rafe dogged his head back, still locked onto your legs. “Stop that.”

“You stop!” You shoved at his forehead. “Get up, you fucking weirdo. Who do you think you are?”

Rafe sighed, irritated and yet stupidly charmed by how fucking cute you looked when you were pissed and flustered at the same time.

“I’m the guy who realized he fucked up. I love you too, alright? There. I said it.”

You weren’t a random girl he fought with, fucked, and kept around because it felt good. You were it.

“You what?!” You let out the loudest, most sarcastic laugh Rafe ever heard from you. “Oh my fucking god. You love me? Suddenly?” You tried to yank his hair again for good measure. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You think I’m in love with you? As if.”

“Stop pulling my fucking hair—” He growled, catching your wrist as he sighed again, louder.

“You're delusional.” You were fighting in his grip. “You don’t love me. You love getting your dick wet—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for two seconds?” Rafe winced, knowing this was not what he had planned in his head. “I’m trying really fuckin' hard not to snap at you right now.”

“Wow. Good luck with that,” You snorted, pushing at his shoulders this time.

“I know you’ve got feelings for me."

“I don't— ugh, get off me."

Rafe sighed deeply, exasperated, attempting not to smile because you were being such a brat, and it was hot.

“You’re gonna stand there and deny it while I’m on my knees begging?”

“Yes,” you snapped, failing to twist away again. "As if I would have feelings for you, after you called me a desperate, pathetic little girl begging for scraps?"

“I never said you were—”

“You did!” Your fingers grazed his strands in another failed attempt at ripping it the fuck out, along with his brain. “Who do you think you are?!"

“Would you stop trying to rip my hair out?” Rafe snapped, catching your wrist again. “I’m tryin' to be serious here.”

“This is the most un-serious shit you’ve ever done. Get up, Rafe. This is embarrassing.”

“No.”

“Get. Up.”

“I said no.” He locked his arms tighter.

You made a frustrated growl, prying his arms off you.

“You are so fucking delusional. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you most of the time. You’re a spoiled, narcissistic asshole who only cares about himself.”

Okay, ouch.

“Yeah? Then why were you shaking and crying after I hurt you?” He countered, looking up at you. “Why’d it hurt that bad if I’m only some guy you hate?”

He could feel you shaking a little. Good, at least you weren’t numb.

Your eyes flashed, and before he could spew some more bullshit, your hand cracked across his face. His head snapped to the side and his cheek immediately started burning, not to mention the ringing in his ear.

Rafe blinked, tasting the metallic tang where his teeth had cut the inside of his lip. He slowly turned his head back to look up at you, eyes watering more from the surprise than anything else.

He let out a rough breath, nostrils flaring.

“…Yeah,” he said, voice gravelly. “I deserved that.”

Don’t you fucking do it. Do not throw her over your shoulder and spank that perky little ass until it’s red.

The impulse was so goddamn tempting.

You gawked down at him, waiting for the explosion, for the typical Rafe to snap, shove you against the counter, and turn this into another one of your vicious, clothes-ripping fights.

When it didn’t come, your expression dropped—confusion bleeding through the anger.

“I’m not gonna grab you and fuck the attitude out of you like I want to. Even though trust me, baby, the thought is there.” A strained, self-deprecating smirk tugged at his lips.

Rafe sighed loudly, knowing this wasn't going to fix itself in five minutes. You were so fucking stubborn, still not bothering to reply. He gave you a small, crooked smile, feeling the side of his slapped cheek still throbbing.

"You’re crazy as fuck, you know that?”

“Good. Then let go of me.”

“Not happening. I love you. I said it again. And you can keep denying it all you want, but we both know the truth.”

“Get off the floor and stop acting like a dramatic bitch.” You went quiet for a second, then muttered, “You're scared you’ll lose your favorite toy, that's it."

That one actually hurt. Rafe looked up at you, blue narrowing into tight slits. “My favorite toy?”

“What else would I be?”

He had to fight the urge to drop you. You kept jamming at his shoulders with your fists, frustrated huffs leaving your mouth each time he didn’t budge.

He was starting to lose his patience, but fuck…

“You’re impossible. You’re actually fucking impossible.”

He turned his head and pressed a slow kiss to the bare skin of your thigh, right where your sleep shorts rode up.

“Rafe—”

He kissed higher, closer to the hem, then dragged his lips across your other thigh. He caught your wrist delicately, brought your hand to his mouth, and kissed your palm, then your knuckles, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Stop,” you hissed, but your voice was nowhere near as piercing as before.

Another kiss, this one right on the inside of your thigh. He felt your muscles tense under his mouth and had to stop the grin taking over his face as he playfully nipped at your thigh.

"Standing here, lying to my face, while your legs are shaking. You gonna keep pretending you don’t feel the same?”

“I don’t,” you lashed out instantly, cheeks turning into an entirely different shade. “I don’t love you. This is fighting and fucking. That’s it.”

He hummed against your skin and devoted his attention to the same spot, hands sliding up the back of your thighs, squeezing at the same time. You pushed at his forehead half-heartedly, holding it there against the side of his face. The same face you'd slapped five minutes ago.

As bad as it sounded, he knew he had you then.

If you truly felt nothing, if he was really an asshole you couldn't stand anymore, you would've punched him in the fucking teeth. You would've kicked him off the floor. You would've walked out of the kitchen and locked the bedroom door behind you.

“If you think I’d fall for you like that—”

His hands were suddenly higher up the back of your thighs, gripping your sleeping shorts. One quick pull of them and they were down around your ankles along with your panties, your ass meeting the cold marble counter.

“Rafe—”

He was quick to hook one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up, and burying his face between your thighs without warning. His tongue dragged flat right up your pussy, tasting you.

You gasped sharply, your whole body jolting. “What the fuck—!”

He groaned against you, licking deeper, sucking your clit into his mouth before flicking it with his tongue.

“Fuck… you’re already wet,” He muttered against your lips, dazed by your taste. He went for a long, hard lap, then slurped even harder. “Deny all you want, baby. Your body doesn’t lie.”

You failed to push his head away, your hips twitching forward at the same time. “I hate you— ah—”

Yeah, sure you do. That’s why your pussy’s dripping down my chin right now.

Rafe chuckled into your cunt, the vibration making your thighs tremble. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose rubbed against your clit.

“You don’t hate me,” He pulled back enough to be able to speak, lips shiny with you, diving right back in, two fingers sliding into you without asking.

“You’re such a fucking asshole— oh my god—”

“Yeah?” He curled his fingers, stroking that spot inside you he'd memorized while his tongue kept working you nice and easy. “Tell me again how you don’t love me while you’re dripping down my chin.”

You let out a broken moan, legs shaking around his head. You were clenching so good around his fingers, but your mouth was still fighting.

“I don’t— fuck— I don’t love you,” You gritted out, even as your hips started grinding against his face.

Rafe pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue again, hands gripping your cheeks, spreading you wider.

“Liar,” He called out into your pussy. “See if I care. I’ll eat this pretty pussy until you admit it.”

You whimpered, thighs squeezing around his head. Rafe was rock hard in his shorts, but he didn’t touch himself, this wasn’t about that. He needed to drag you back to him. Making you feel him.

Reminding you exactly who the fuck you were to each other.

Your breathing was getting ragged, sobs mixing with delicious moans.

“Rafe… you can’t—”

“I can,” He retorted, voice muffled as he kept devouring you. “And I will. I love you. And you’re gonna come on my tongue whether you admit it or not.”

He slid two fingers back inside you, pumping them fast while his mouth focused on your swollen clit, flicking until your legs started giving out.

Your hand suddenly shot down, reaching blindly for him.

Rafe didn't think twice before he grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together, squeezing hard. Your grip was borderline desperate, nails digging into the back of his hand.

“That’s it, baby. Hold my hand. I’ve got you.”

Your walls were sucking his fingers so prettily.

“I love you,” He murmured right against your skin, “Fuckin’ love you."

You moaned loudly, squeezing his hand harder, your other hand fisting tight in his hair.

“Rafe— fuck—”

You whimpered, hips grinding against his face as your fingers squeezed mine so tight they almost popped right out.

A broken cry ripped out of you as you came hard, pulsing around his fingers, soaking his tongue. Rafe didn’t stop touching you through it, going slow and gentle now, murmuring against your oversensitive pussy.

“Good girl… that’s it. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

You were shaking, thighs trembling around his head as you came down from it, little noises slipping out while your fingers stayed locked tight with Rafe's.

He pressed one last kiss to your clit before pulling back.

He stood up fast, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting you up with no warning.

“Rafe— wait—”

“Shh.” He sat down in one of the big wooden kitchen chairs and pulled you straight into his lap, straddling him. Your bare pussy pressed against the hard bulge in his shorts, but Rafe didn’t grind up into you.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush to his chest, one hand creeping up your back under your shirt, rubbing circles over your skin.

“I’ve got you,” He murmured against your neck, pressing soft kisses there.

You were catching your breath, chest heaving, face buried in his shoulder, not wanting him to see how fucked out you looked.

Rafe kept kissing you, your neck, your jaw, your temple, your hair. You let out a weak, frustrated huff, your free hand coming up and fisting weakly in his shirt instead of pushing him away. You pinched his side in retaliation, which only made him smile and kiss your cheek again.

You remained weirdly quiet, but at least you weren’t trying to jump off his touch anymore.

He tilted your chin up so he could look at your face.

“You don’t have to say it back,” He told you, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “But you’re not leaving. Got it?”

You let the silence last fifteen seconds before your mouth started running again.

“You’re such a cocky asshole. Just because you made me come again doesn’t mean I’m suddenly in love with you or whatever delusion you’re having.”

He grinned, entertained by your devotion to keep denying it, and leaned in, kissing you while you tried to half-heartedly pull away.

“Keep denying it."

You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost impressive.

“Wow. You’re suddenly cured of being a piece of shit."

Rafe barked out a laugh and smacked your ass, then rubbed the spot soothingly.

“There she is." His hand cradled the back of your neck. “You’re really committed to this bit, huh? Even sitting on my dick with no panties on, you’re still denying it.”

“There’s nothing to deny,” You explained, shoving his hand away. “You’re the one who’s suddenly decided he’s in love. Convenient timing.”

"Sue me for finally growing the fuck up. I’ve got all summer to wear you down."

“Wear me down?” you sneered, “You think eating me out on the counter is gonna do it? You’re pathetic.”

His vicious little vixen. He missed that sharp tongue so fucking bad. Rafe didn't bother feeding into your fantasies; he was much rather focused on kissing you.

You made that pissy sound in the back of your throat, and he didn’t care. He kissed you stupid. Tongue sliding against yours the second you gasped, sucking on it like he’d been starving for it for two days.

Because he had.

You pulled back quickly to spit venom. “This doesn't change a thing."

“Yeah?” He chased your mouth, and you let out an irritated noise and tried to turn your head away, but he followed, sucking on your tongue; your fingers ended up fisting in his shirt instead of pushing him off.

When he finally let you breathe, you were panting, cheeks flushed.

“You're fucking delusional,” you whispered venomously.

Rafe's thumb brushed your wet bottom lip, realizing you hadn’t tried to climb off his lap once.

He moaned into your mouth, one hand buried in your hair while the other gripped your bare ass, rocking you against his painfully hard cock.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked.

You glared at him, lips swollen. “Don’t get it twisted, Cameron."

He nipped your bottom lip.

“Keep telling yourself that while you’re rubbing your pussy all over my dick like a needy little brat.”

You pinched his nipple through his shirt. “You’re such a pig.”

“I meant what I said. I’m not doing it to get my dick wet.”

You stared at him, eyes still glassy and pissed off. Then that cruel little inviting grin appeared.

“Prove it,” you hummed, voice dripping with challenge. “Prove you love me without using your dick for five fucking minutes. Think you can handle that, big guy?”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, knowing he had to pull on his big boy trousers and get it done.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “For the shit I said that night. I saw your face when you told me to get out…I don’t wanna lose you. Not over him. Not over anything.” He continued rubbing your back, even as his cock throbbed angrily between you. “I’m gonna keep fucking up,” he admitted, “I’m still me."

“So noble all of a sudden.”

“Shut up.” He pecked you again, pulling at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, and you’re making it real fucking difficult.”

"I'm sure."

Rafe sighed, "I'm being serious. It’s fucking terrifying. I’ve never needed anyone the way I need you."

All that family shit, his endless chase for Ward’s approval, your mom who couldn’t be bothered to stick around, it was all right there under your skin.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to be enough for someone who was never gonna see me as enough. And you…” He let out a shaky breath, “You’ve got your own shit. I know you don’t talk about it much. You never do."

You stiffened a little in his lap, that familiar walls-up look flickering across your face. Surprisingly, it didn't make him stop babbbling, like it did before.

“I saw it that night, when you told me to leave. That was… fuck, I hurt you bad. You let me in. You don’t let people in. And I took that and threw it back in your face.”

That mean mask was eager to slide back into place.

“Don’t act like you get it.”

“I do get it,” Rafe sighed, pissed off at how badly he meant it. “I get it because I’m the same. We’re both so fucked up over our parents that we don’t know what to do when someone actually chooses us. When someone stays. It’s new for me too,” he admitted against your skin. “Having someone I’m scared to lose. That shit’s crazy. It messes with my head.”

He could feel your breathing shake a little.

“It's not fair to say all that after what you did.”

“I know,” He held you tighter, “But I’m saying it anyway."

You let out a wet, frustrated sound and pinched his side again, but there was no real intention in it this time.

Rafe pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in. This was new for both of you, someone caring this much. Someone staying. It felt terrifying and too big and somehow exactly right.

“You scare the shit out of me."

You fisted his shirt, nails digging into his chest through the fabric. Your hips gave another involuntary roll against his cock, leaving another wet streak across his shorts.

“Shut up,” you breathed against his mouth.

Spit slicked your lips, your breathing grew ragged. He could feel your heartbeat hammering like his. You looked like you were two seconds away from crying but too stubborn to let the tears fall.

He cupped your face with both hands, stroking your cheeks as he studied you. Your lashes were wet. Your bottom lip trembled before you caught it between your teeth.

It did dangerous things to him.

You sought to look away, but he turned your face back to him. You let out a frustrated sound and shoved weakly at his chest.

“You can't say all that shit and look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, even though he already knew.

He tasted the salt at the corner of your mouth, felt the tremble of your lips against his. A single tear finally slipped down your cheek. Rafe caught it with his thumb and kissed the wet trail it left behind.

“I’ve got you."

Your breath hitched. You hated this, he could see it. Your shoulders tensed, fighting so hard not to let the emotions win.

That was as close to admitting it as you were getting right now, and he’d take it. He’d take all the scraps until you believed him.

“Stop being so fucking gentle,” you spat, even as your fingers dove tighter into his shirt. “I don’t want gentle. I want you to be an asshole so I can stay mad at you.”

“Can’t do that right now."

You forced his head back so you could glare down at him. You were a goddamn vision.

It had been weeks since the storm. Since the harbour. Since he was rescued by a creature in the water.

Dick had healed—at least physically. The bruises faded. The ribs stopped aching. The limp from the thigh wound vanished somewhere between rehab and stubbornness. But the memory of your face never did.

You had been real. He could still feel the chill of your hand on his face. Still see the way your sea-glass eyes drank him in with utter awe and curiosity. The same way he had felt when he gazed upon you. 

But no one believed him.

Tim had tried to humour him at first, pulling up satellite footage from that night, checking thermal scans, even dragging a drone out to the harbour with sonar. Nothing. No strange shapes in the water. No heat signature. Not even a scale.

“Gotham’s harbour is basically radioactive sludge,” Tim had said with a dry snort. “If there was a mermaid, she’d have at least three eyes and probably looked more like a swamp monster than a pretty woman like you’re describing.”

Bruce hadn’t said much—but the downward tilt of his lips told Dick, his adoptive father was also having a hard time believing his story and was on the same page as the others who were chalking it up to blood loss. Oxygen deprivation. A hallucination brought on by drowning and the concussion he sustained.

Dick could hear them whispering behind closed doors. Worrying that perhaps the injuries he sustained were more severe than they thought. Wondering if maybe he still wasn’t as recovered as he looked.

But he knew what he saw.

And he wasn’t letting it go.

So that night, when the clock struck one and the manor fell quiet, he left under the guise of patrol. He followed memory more than instinct, back to the place it all happened.

The harbour was quiet, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. His gaze dropped to the rocky edge, to the faint speckles of rusted red staining the stone—almost gone now, fading with time and tide. That was where his brothers had found him. Broken. Barely breathing. Alone.

But he hadn’t been alone.

He stood at the edge for a long time. Eyes fixed on the water. Hoping to catch a glimpse of silver beneath the surface, a shimmer in the dark. But there was nothing. Only the endless stretch of darkness. 

“I know you’re out there,” he said softly.

Silence.

He crouched, letting his fingers drag through the water. “You saved me. I wasn’t hallucinating. I saw you. I felt you. Everyone thinks I made it up, but I didn’t. I remember your eyes.”

Nothing.

Minutes passed. Then more.

The wind picked up. A gull cried overhead. The chill sank deeper into his bones.

He finally let out a sigh. Maybe they were right. Maybe it had just been a dream.

He straightened up, brushing off his hands, only to suddenly freeze when a small, barely there ripple disturbed the gentle water.

Then another. Larger. It looked to be getting closer

Just past the rocks, where the water dipped darker, something moved. A shape. A shadow. A head—barely above the surface. Hair like oil. Eyes glinting in the dark.

His breath caught.

She was there.

His siren.

Exactly as he remembered her—silent, watching, half-submerged in the same waters that nearly stole his life.

His body moved before his mind caught up. He stepped into the surf, boots sinking into wet sand as waves lapped higher—up to his knees, then thighs.

“It’s you,” he whispered, chest tight with relief, wonder, something dangerously close to hope. “I knew you were real.”

He hadn’t even realized how deep he waded into the water until the cold water was up to his chest. His breath hitched as he watched her move closer too.

Slowly, fluidly, she drew closer—her form rising from the depths with effortless grace, propelled by the slow, deliberate sweep of her tail. The silver glint of scales caught the moonlight as she surfaced higher, until they were nearly chest to chest, with only the waves between them.

She was just as he remembered.

Not fully human—if at all but no less hauntingly beautiful.

Her dark hair floated around her shoulders where part of her was still submerged, weightless and wild, and her eyes—those eyes—still glowed with that spectral, sea-glass green. Watching him not with suspicion or fear, but with wonder. Like he was the strange one.

Her head tilted, just slightly, the gesture feline in its curiosity.

Then—slowly, as though testing both his courage and her own—her hand rose, webbed and tipped with sharpened claws.

She pressed her palm lightly to his chest, just over his heart. The tips of her claws didn’t dig in, but they rested close enough to remind him of what she was. What she could do if she decided.

His gaze dropped, drawn to the place where her hand met his chest—small and reverent, webbed fingers splayed over the damp fabric of his suit. Unbeknownst to him, she was listening. Measuring. Reading the rhythm of his pulse like it was language. The thrum of life beneath his skin was steadier now than when she’d found him broken. He’d recovered well—for such a fragile thing.

His eyes continued to drift lower. Scales, shimmering and iridescent, traced the gentle curve of her chest, wrapping along her hips and trailing downwards into the darkness. He could barely make out the powerful tail beneath the water—coiled and tense, a gleaming shadow beneath the surface. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he whispered, voice hoarse and low in his throat.

Her eyes met his once more, sea-glass cool and unblinking. What a strange creature he was—to seek her out. If it had been any other of her kind to have found him, he’d already be sinking to the bottom of the harbour, lungs full of salt, flesh being ripped from his bones.

Her hand moved again—curious, unhurried. It drifted up from the strange armour clinging to his chest and continued upward, finally brushing against skin. He was warm. So warm. Her own blood ran cold as the depths she called home, but this… this was something else. His heat soaked into her fingers, into her bones. Touching him reminded her of the heat of the sun, not something she had much of a luxury to indulge.

Dick hadn’t even realized he was leaning in until his breath mingled with hers, their lips a whisper apart. Her gaze didn’t drop, didn’t shy away. She just watched him, those eyes a mirror of still water and something deeper stirring below.

And then—everything changed.

A ripple.

Barely there.

Her pupils contracted, eyes narrowing in a sharp snap of instinct. She whipped around before Dick could even blink, her body cutting through the water with a flash of tension. A low, feral hiss escaped her throat—more beast than human—as she moved protectively in front of him, the tips of her claws flexing just beneath the surface.

For a moment, Dick thought it was him. That he’d misread everything. That maybe he’d gone too far—that the almost-kiss had been a mistake or that he’d somehow offended her. But then he saw it.

Another ripple.

Something else was moving through the water—closer now, moving just beneath the surface and drawing near like something was swimming closer. Until a head emerged.

At first glance, this new comer looked like you. The same sleek tail. The same hair, dark and slick, trailing like kelp in the current. But the resemblance faded quickly the longer he looked.

This one was wrong.

Her features were sharper, more inhuman. Eyes too wide, eyes pitched black. A nose too small that was almost like slits. Her teeth, when she smiled, it wasn’t just her canines that were sharp, long and needle-thin—made for tearing. Her skin bore that same silvery sheen—but mottled, tinged with green like algae clinging to bone.

“You found food,” the creature hissed, voice low and serpentine. “Humans are such a delicacy these days.”

A chill sliced through Dick’s spine.

You let out another warning hiss. “He’s mine.” You snarl, barring those sharp canines in warning. 

Your hand slid back, just enough to brush against his abdomen, nudging him subtly toward the shore.

Go.

His human body wasn’t made for the water—not like yours was. The siren before him—this twisted reflection of you—could reach him in seconds. Could drag him under, tear him to pieces before he ever broke the surface.

He wouldn’t stand a chance.

With another more insistent nudge to his abdomen, you told him again.

Go.

Yet, for some reason Dick couldn’t get his body to move. He almost felt as if he was entranced.

Your voice was silvery and melodic—eerie, yes, but strangely beautiful. It stood in stark contrast to the creature before him, whose every word dripped like venom. Her voice was all hiss, almost like nails scraping against a chalkboard. Whereas yours was fluid, almost gentle in comparison... more human.

The second siren tilted her head, eyes narrowing like a shark circling wounded prey. Her grin was wide and cold, but it never touched her eyes.

“Oh?” she cooed, oily and amused, mockery curling at the edges. “Since when do we claim them? I didn’t realize you were keeping pets.”

Her gaze flicked to Dick, then back to you.

“You’re not even feeding on him, are you?” she purred, drifting closer with near-perfect stillness. “Strange little thing. You’re protecting him.”

Then she inhaled, slow and deep. The faint outline of her pupils expanded.

“He smells fresh… and familiar,” she murmured. “His blood has tainted these waters before. The clan will be disappointed to know you’ve stolen their meal.”

Dick felt your hand tense against his stomach.

Not from fear.

From control. From restraint.

Because you were on the verge of attacking.

Realization hit him, you had saved him that night. Not just from Killer Croc but from her.

From them.

And now, you were doing it again.

“Weak little halfling,” the other siren spat, voice dipping into a low growl. “We should’ve killed you long ago.”

She bared her jagged teeth in a wicked smile, dark eyes glittering with hate.

“You always were too soft,” she sneered.

And then she lunged.

Water exploded as she propelled forward with terrifying speed. Claws out. Jaws wide.

You met her halfway.

The collision was violent—two bodies crashing together with a snarl and a wave that rocked the sea. The impact sent a shockwave through the surf, and Dick stumbled back, the force knocking him off his feet. Cold water surged over his head as he went under, his breath ripped from him in a single gasp.

When he surfaced, sputtering, the world was chaos.

The water churned around him—frothing and wild, streaked red in places. The air was filled with shrieks and the sharp, wet sound of claws tearing flesh.

He couldn’t see much.

Only flashes.

Scales slicing through moonlight. Limbs twisting. A tail whipping across the surface. Guttural hisses and the unmistakable, stomach-turning rip of something sharp meeting flesh.

You were locked in a brutal tangle—moving too fast, too deep, disappearing and resurfacing in bursts of violence. At one point, you had her head locked in your arm, your fangs poised at her throat. You made the mistake to look to him, where he was still in the water. 

“Go!” you hissed over your shoulder. Dick finally snapped into action, turning and slogging through the water toward the safety of land.

But that glance—that single lapse of attention—was all she needed.

Her claws raked deep across your abdomen—four brutal lines that tore through scale and skin alike. Flesh parted beneath the strike, blood spilling out in thick, black-red waves into cold sea. A pained shriek tore past your lips, the sound not at all human, pain burned through every nerve.

But Dick was almost to shore.

And she saw it.

The attacker released you, slipping from your grip and darting past in a blur of motion—toward his back. Toward the exposed softness that was human skin and slow, breakable limbs.

“No—!” you hissed, breath a ragged snarl of fury and fear.

You moved before the thought finished forming.

Even wounded, you were faster.

You slammed into her from behind just as her hand reached for his ankle. She shrieked, thrashing, but you didn’t let go. Your claws tore into her side. She bit down on your shoulder, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You drove her back into the rocks, again and again, until her grip weakened.

Until you could end it.

Your teeth found her throat and with a brutal jerk of your head, your tore flesh from sinew, cartilage from bone. Her shriek turned into a wet gurgle, her body convulsing once—twice—then falling still.

She sank slowly, the light fading from her eyes.

The water around you bloomed red—both from her blood and yours. It was everywhere. Turning the already dark tide darker with blood.

You hovered there, suspended in the sea, your breath harsh and shallow. Every pulse of your heart bled more into the waters. The pain blurred your vision. The rocks, the surface, even Dick’s silhouette—it all spun.

Dick who had finally reached the shore turned, chest rising and falling, horror written across his face as he saw the state you were in. You could see the desire in him to wade back out into the waters but with all this blood it wasn’t safe for him. You raised a single webbed hand. 

“Stay there,” you rasped.

Somehow, you pulled yourself forward. Clawed your way from the surf, dragging your shredded body onto the shore where he worriedly waited.

Your arms gave out just a few feet away from him, the water gently lapping a your weak form

Blood smeared the rocks beneath you. The gash across your stomach pulsed with every shallow breath, painting the shoreline in vivid red. Dick dropped to his knees beside you, hands immediately pressing to the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.

“No, no, no—stay with me,” he breathed, voice cracking. “You’re okay. You hear me? You’re okay.”

You blinked up at him, eyes unfocused, lips parting as if to speak but only faint, ragged wheeze was heard. 

His eyes darted to the gills fluttering along your throat.

“Oh shit…”

You couldn’t breathe. Not like this. You needed water—but if he put you back in, you’d bleed out before help ever arrived.

Panic surged in his chest as he fumbled for his comm.

“Nightwing to base—someone get to the harbour now! I need evac, med supplies—something!” he snapped. “She’s—she’s dying.”

You were trembling now, violently. Your tail twitched, curled tight, and then—

It started to change.

Right before his eyes.

The iridescent scales along your hips began to vanish, receding like the tide. Your gills fluttered a final time before sealing shut. The long, powerful tail that had coiled through dark water began to shift—shortening, splitting. Legs emerged, slender and trembling, curling instinctively towards your shivering body. 

Your gasping stopped. But your body kept shaking, blood still leaking between his fingers.

You were human now— or something close enough but you were still dying in his arms.

He didn’t hesitate.

Sliding one arm beneath your knees and another around your back, he lifted you carefully against his chest. Your head lolled weakly against his shoulder, skin cold and clammy.

Determination surged through him. He would save you like you saved him.

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.

The water is cold and heavy, pressing in on the silence of the hidden grotto. You are coiled amongst the shadows, your eight tentacles wrapped tight against the dark rock. Jeongin is poised on a damp shelf across the pool, his tail a brilliant splash of green scales. He expects a sailor, a helpless vessel drawn to his voice. He doesn't expect you. He never really does, but he’s so pretty you can’t help it.

The cold clarity of your thoughts, usually reserved for calculating the ocean's weaknesses, is shattered. The sight of him is a warm, invasive tide that floods your focus. It's a fight, but his presence is too strong. Your powerful tentacles begin to uncoil, stretching and gliding through the water, moving toward him almost against your will.

You break the surface, your tentacles rippling against the rock walls. Jeongin's eyes, usually dark pools of predatory calculation, widen in startled alarm. He recognizes you instantly, the predator he knew would show up. He realizes too late that he lured you specifically, and he's completely trapped. You assert dominance immediately, hauling your slick, coiling anatomy onto the damp rock beside him. He shrinks back, his shoulders tense, but he cannot break the thrall of the desire in your eyes.

His breath hitches. "What do you want?" he whispers, defeated.

You ignore the question. You use your hands to mock his perfect allure, gently poking the tip of his nose and running your finger to frame his sharp jaw. As your hands play with his face, distracting him, a pair of slick tentacles brush his waist, wrapping gently, possessively around his slick, scaled hips at the base of his tail. His whole body shivers at the cold, tactile sensation. You use your powerful tentacles to secure him. You command two strong coils to lift his arms and hold them gently but firmly against the cool rock above his head. He could break the restraint easily, but his desire to please you is greater than his strength.

"Stay right there, my pretty Siren," you murmur, claiming his mouth in a long, dominant kiss that steals his breath.

You pull back, watching his chest heave. You assert a new level of control. You command a fourth tentacle to uncoil from the rock, slick and cold, and the soft, sensitive tip brushes his chest, making his nipples harden instantly. You lean in, your own mouth replacing the tentacle's tease, taking one peak between your lips and drawing a surprised, choked sound from him. At the same time, your human hands cup his jaw and slide up his neck, tracing the delicate, cool skin just below his ear.

"Too subby, my pretty boy," you breathe against his throat, pressing a possessive, open-mouthed kiss there. "You surrender so easily. You're too cute to be a predator." You feel his body tense, fighting the pleasure while his arms remain bound above his head.

You move down, commanding the tentacle at his bottom of his tail to hold firm. You find his center, the smooth, vertical slit where his siren anatomy rests. With a demanding hum, the tentacle tip slides and presses against the sensitive skin, running the slick surface along his length. He cries out, a ragged sound that is half-melody, half-whimper.

"Look at you," you breathe against his ear, "your own body is betraying you. Did you wait for me, Innie?"

You slide your hands up his slick chest, pressing a possessive human kiss to his collarbone. He gasps, his mouth falling open in a helpless, silent plea. This is the moment. You command a fifth tentacle, slick and cool, to rise up, its tip gliding past his lips. You push it deep, gently but firmly fucking the soft tip into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. He instantly starts to choke and gag, his eyes widening and tearing up in a beautiful, frantic display of terror and pleasure. His body trembles violently against the rock as he fights the nausea. You hold his jaw, forcing him to take the intrusion, whispering praise that only heightens his humiliation.

"There you go. So pretty when you break, my beautiful thing. Take all of me. That's a good pet."

The tentacle playing with his slit pulls back just enough to make him believe relief is close. With a demanding hum, the tentacle tip forces its way back pass the tight, slick entrance. The powerful coil immediately wraps around his rigid member inside the slit, filling the tiny space not meant for something so large, sliding and jerking against his sensitive flesh. He cries out, a ragged sound that is half-melody, half-whimper, muffled around a tentacle, his body trembling violently against the rock.

"That's right. Take it all, Innie," you command, your voice low and thick. "Such a little slut for me."

You feel him tense, his entire body rigid against the wet stone. You use your human finger to run around the tight slit, pressing in on the bulge created by the internal tentacle jerking him off in there. He is right there.

"Come on, little siren, make a mess."

His release is so cute. You pull the tentacle from his mouth just as he screams out your name, a sound of agony and immense pleasure. You capture his tongue in your mouth, sucking on it as his body gives way. His powerful tail thrashes violently in the water, and all the tentacles spasm, losing their discipline and clamping down in a final, involuntary coiling act of absolute surrender. His seed spills hot and messy dripping out of his slit and onto the cold rock.

You pull back, watching his trembling, defeated form. His tentacles are now slack and inert in the water. You lift one soft coil with your human hand and gently use the slick tip to wipe the mess from his slick abdomen.

"I hope to see you again soon JeongInnie," you say, your voice soft as you float away.

Geta scoffs. "We will be there this afternoon, you will see them then."

"No, we will be rushing to meet people I don't even care about, and then we'll be running late! You always do this!" Caracalla moves around, stopping in front of his brother. He puts on his best pleading look. "Please?"

A big sigh leaves Geta, but Caracalla knows he has won him over.

"Fine."

"Emperors," General Tegula greets, clearly surprised they were at the Colosseum so early.

"General," Geta nods before letting his eyes drop over to Caracalla. "My brother wishes to see the animals we requisitioned."

A chorus of shouts drew the General's gaze away from his Emperors for a moment. "I do fear this is a bad time."

"Did someone fall in?" Caracalla asks, proceeding past Tegula and down into the Emperors' box.

Geta raises an eyebrow.

"Perhaps it is easier to show you." Tegula gestures to the stairs beside him.

As Geta ducks into the box, Caracalla is already ahead at the edge, looking around in wonder. A pair of concerned soldiers wait on either side, hands ready to move him away if needed.

"What am I looking for, General?" Geta asks, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Uh… A Siren, Emperor." Tegula sounds as if he does not believe it himself.

"A what?" Geta's hand immediately moves to clutch at Caracalla's shoulder, pulling him back from the ledge. Caracalla pushes him away and resumes his watch at the railing.

"It is assumed she wound up caught in the nets, as bycatch."

Geta scans the water, seeing sharks swimming idly around, but no sign of a Siren. Embarrassment fills him after his moment of panic. Surely this was a joke.

He turns to Tegula. "Are your men incapable of telling sharks and sirens apart, general?"

Tegula just waits, eyes locked on the water's surface.

"It is a terrible omen, Emperors. We should kill it." A soldier speaks as he holds out a handful of tufted wool, but Geta sighs and pushes his hand away.

Superstition. There was no way it was real.

But then there's a flash, a glint on the surface. Something moving beneath, almost like a scrap of a sail disappearing into the water. Ripples echo out from the disturbance.

A moment later she surfaces, only the top half of her face visible.

Caracalla steps forward, squinting in the sunlight. "Brother, look!"

Geta sees, his heart hammering in his chest at the proof staring right at him. And then she disappears again, fin flowing through the water like pearlescent gossamer.

"Look at the way she zips past them!" A hand grips Geta's robe. "She has been in here all night. She must be tired." A look over his shoulder at his brother. A pleading glance.

Geta sighs.

"Get her out of the water. Do not harm her," he instructs.

General Tegula approaches, voicing reason. "Emperor, I do not think that wise—"

Geta rears around, an eyebrow arched. "Do you wish for an early retirement?" Then calmer, almost amused, "Scared of a siren, General?" His smile only grows as Tegula's eyes dart to the commotion in the water. "Are you so weak that you will fall for her honeyed words?"

"She got one!" Caracalla cheers, tugging on Geta's robes.

Geta turns to look. There is a churning, a splashing. The crystalline blue waters quickly turn red.

His jaw is slack, the blood in the water drawing him in. He sees a glint of her tail and then she is gone, away to the other side of the Colosseum.

"Perhaps we should let the gladiators try their luck against her!" Caracalla's excitement is palpable. He leans over the side, staring at the remains of the shark.

Geta leans over too, looking down at his own reflection. He realizes too slowly that there is another face lurking just behind his. She bursts out of the water, scales glittering, eyes narrowed and sharp, arm reaching out to swipe at him.

Geta only barely leans back in time. He feels the air move, sees the pointed nails slash through it, uncomfortably close. Drops of water splash onto his face as she falls back in.

Caracalla squeals in delight. The laughter pouring out of Tegula is cut off as Geta turns sharply towards him.

"You will take her to the baths. Take whatever precautions you deem necessary."

The Praetorian general nods, leaving the Emperors' box.

Caracalla is leaned over the side again, waving down at the water below. Geta's grip on his robes is firm as he pulls him back into the box.

"She is dangerous, do not forget that," Geta warns.

Caracalla shakes his head with a big smile. "She likes me."

Geta raises an eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. "And how do you know that, brother?"

Bright, shining seafoam eyes crinkle at the sides. "She told me."

After spending a whole afternoon baking under the sun, Geta eagerly slips his robe down off his shoulders and steps into the steaming water. He is grateful for this private luxury, able to drop his guard for a handful of minutes.

He settles in, eyes closing as he rests his head back against the stone.

There is a disturbance in the water near him, the ripples lapping at his neck. His eyes slowly open, and it takes longer than he cares to admit for him to realize there's something there.

Wet hair mimicking the drape of a hood, framing your face. An iridescent shimmer to your skin, visible in direct light. Big, inky black orbs that should terrify him instead fill him with wonder. Dots of light are scattered in them, reflections, but to him it looks like the stars above.

He observes a few curious blinks from you before his reverie is broken and he reacts.

Geta jumps slightly, adrenaline filling his limbs with an urge to move, but he cannot think of where to go and instead just sits there, sputtering. "Wh-What?!"

You laugh, surfacing just a bit more, to your chin. "You are skittish."

The sound should not rattle his brain the way it does. Your laughter is musical, your words capturing his attention even when he knows he should be leaving, should be calling out for the guards stationed just outside. But he does not."You are not supposed to be here."

"Your men put me here. Is this not what you intended? A private audience with a siren? I must admit, I am honored."

Geta watches the shape of your lips as they move, as if they hold some power over him. He recognizes a teasing lilt in your voice, but he cannot bring himself to care. What might normally frustrate him does not.

"No, I meant the baths at the Colosseum, there's some there for the gladiators—" He stops speaking, his own head cluttered with noise. It is difficult to think, to even string a sentence together.

"Well, maybe I asked them to reconsider."

He feels a slight chill, realizing the sort of danger he is in. He finally finds his voice again and calls out for his guards.

You laugh, dragging a sharp nail gently down his cheek, not leaving a mark. "They will not come. But don't worry." You move in even closer, hands resting on the edge on either side of his neck. The long, sharp nails scratch at the stone. "I don't want to hurt you."

Geta realizes with a gasp that he can feel scales brush against his knees. He holds his breath as you lean in close. Wet hair skims his cheek, countless strings of pearls press against his chest. The whisper in his ear drizzles over his nerves, saccharine and cloying, a dangerous weapon.

"You have something I want."

His limbs itch to move, but they lack purpose. He struggles to compose himself. "What do you want?" His voice is timid, uneven and breathy.

It makes you smile widely.

The gleam of the crown calls to you from the corner of the room, the gold shining brilliantly. You can practically feel the cool metal beneath your hands.

"Your crown."

Geta is able to move. He turns his head to follow your line of sight. "My laurels?"

"Yes."

He feels it in his chest, the deep vibration. It compels him to move, but he is still caged in. As his eyes fall to yours again, he feels like he is falling into a deep abyss, his head spinning as if he had too much wine.

"But I am no thief. I offer you something in return."

"What could you have that I want?" He finds it difficult to use his voice, having to re-learn how to push the air from his lungs. "They are worth quite a lot," he adds.

You lean in close again, so close he can feel your breath on his skin. "I offer… your future."

"Vagaries from a sea witch," Geta scoffs.

"Continue calling me that at your peril," you counter.

Any argument dies in Geta's throat.

Satisfied with his obedience, you smile again. "Surely you have others. Such a small trinket, you should be able to part with it so easily. My trade is fair."

"Fair…" he mumbles.

You wrap an arm around Geta's neck and slide into his lap. A nail drifts down his throat as he swallows, his face and neck turning red beneath your touch.

"So you agree to our deal?"

He struggles to meet your eyes again. "Yes."

Your lips slip into a smile. "Good."

"My future?" he requests.

You raise a finger, pressing it to his full lips. "Not just yet. First, you must do something for me."

His eyebrows narrow as if he wishes to argue, to fight against this delay.

You lean in again, lips gently brushing against his damp cheek.

"Fetch."

You slink out of his lap and watch him, taking in the bare skin, the muscles that lurk beneath his elaborate clothes. It is a wonderful display, well worth giving up a few secrets. Were you more selfish, you might consider taking him with you when you leave.

Geta breathes in gasps as his body moves of its own volition, all at your command. He has never felt so weak, so truly at another's mercy. He could almost go mad with panic over it, until he meets your eyes again and all goes still.

He clutches the laurels to his chest as he steps back into the bath, eyes on your lurking form. Once he is again seated, he holds the laurels aloft. Water drips from golden oak leaves, their points pressing into his fingers as he waits.

"How thoughtful of you, Geta," you speak, returning to his lap. Your eyes slip closed in relief as he sets the crown on your head.

His hands linger on your shoulders, fingers spread wide, thumbs passing over the collar of pearls you wear. "They suit you."

You flower under his unbidden praise. "You have certainly earned your half of our deal." You lift a hand to caress his cheek. "Do you want it?"

He nods, gaze soft and unfocused as you hold his face in front of yours and whisper secrets against his lips.

As quickly as many found themselves rather disenfranchised by their plight on land did they find themselves disenfranchised by Captain Riddle aboard The Death Eater. 

And whilst Regulus didn’t always appreciate the crown, he appreciated men acting as God even less. Tom Riddle amassed a very large crew aboard a very large ship which ruled over a very large enterprise and hijacked very large, rather dangerous ships, and the only one who seemed to be getting any richer was the Captain himself. 

As the ship's treasurer, Regulus started to notice when riches seemed to mysteriously disappear, and he also started to notice when Captain Riddle and his first and second mate were able to spend their spoils far more freely during their trips on land than were the rest of the crew. 

Regulus wasn’t a fool; he knew that the Captain and his favourites were given heftier shares than the rest of the crew, but the disparity was growing greater and greater, and Regulus longed to expose it. 

If Captain Tom Riddle was going to make his livelihood off of the back of his men, well, it wouldn’t be Regulus’. 

No matter, should anyone find themselves disparate, the sea would open her welcoming embrace. 

And if freedom belonged to the sea, revenge belonged to Regulus. 

“So, where are we heading?” Junior asked boredly as he peered around Regulus’ ship - built and paid for with his parents' funds. Send him off to sea, will you. 

“I cannot say.” Regulus replied as he watched his most trusted allies consider his ship as well as his proposition. 

“And what are we doing?” Rosier continued, appearing out of the door to a store room, braids tinkling with every step he took. 

“I cannot say.” Regulus repeated. 

“And why are we doing it?” Junior carried on as he lowered himself into a hammock and swung playfully to and fro. 

“Enacting vindication.”

Junior and Rosier shared a look before they both turned back to Regulus. 

“Will this cause chaos?” Junior asked.

“Perhaps.”

“Will this piss off powers of authority?” Rosier continued.

“Most definitely.” 

“Is it dangerous?” Junior inquired. 

“Infinitely so.” 

“Right.” Junior sighed as he stood from the hammock. “So, where do I sign?” 

Regulus smiled, and with that he called Kreature - formerly Mr. Beecher but in his age and from his many a years spent pirating seeing him one eye, an ear lobe, one hand, and one leg short, he took on a more creature-like form and was oft referred to as such - to bring out the contracts before the three sailors and one cook planned to set sail. 

“Why are we stopped?” Regulus barked as he exited the cabin to squint out into the sun.

“No wind.” Evan Rosier offered with a flippant shrug of his shoulder, carving himself off another slice from his apple. 

“What do you mean no wind?” Regulus parroted back incredulously. “We are in the middle of the sodding ocean.”

Rosier, for his part, offered him another shrug of his shoulder and gestured upwards to the tall masts adorning sails that were, indeed, hanging slack in such said no wind. 

“How could there possibly be no wind?” He asked no one in particular. “In what world does that make sense?”

“S’prolly the sirens.” Evan mumbled around a mouthful of apple. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“He said it is probably the sirens.” Barty Crouch Junior offered rather unhelpfully, not bothering to look up from his game of solitaire. 

“Yes, I heard him.” Regulus grumbled. “What I meant to say was what in the bloody hell are you on about?” 

Evan shrugged again. “Honestly, Pandora was always going on about them. Evan, do make sure to avoid Circe’s Isles on your travels. Those islands are just teeming with sirens.” He mimicked his twin sister. 

“And you did not think to say anything?” Regulus groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I figured that you knew what you were doing, captain.” Evan offered with a wink, and something struck Regulus. 

He pulled the map he’d been following from his pocket and, sure enough, the route brought them right past Circe’s Isles. What had Riddle been thinking? Surely he would have known about the sirens too? Or were they truly just a myth?

Regulus’ thoughts were interrupted by a splash, and he looked towards the source of the sound only to see the eerily calm surface of the water rippling from a place beside a large rock. 

“Oh good,” Barty commented as he looked over the edge of the boat, “we are about to die. Do you have your affairs in order, Rosie?”

Evan snorted as he leaned against the railing of the ship. “Nope.”

Barty laughed. “Me either. What God thinks of me is genuinely none of my business.” 

Regulus hadn’t a moment to tell either of them to sod off to hell when the water broke again, and he noticed a head emerge from the sea from the chin up. 

The sun seemed to cast its light on you, leaving everything else shrouded in darkness. The rest of the world didn’t seem to mind, though; not when it got to bask in your beauty. The hair on the top of your head appeared just as dry as Regulus’ was, completely contrary with the fact that Regulus just watched you appear from the water, and your skin - or at least that which Regulus was able to see - appeared to sparkle with an iridescent quality.

Beautiful was the only way to describe you.

“Is this the treasure you have been seeking, Captain Black?” Barty asked theatrically with a wiggle of his eyebrows, earning him a harsh glare from across the deck. 

Your eyes flashed with something akin to mischief as you looked between the two men. 

“Knock it off, Junior.” Evan drawled as he kept his gaze on you, and Regulus didn’t recognise the territorial flame that licked its way up his chest for what it was as he watched Evan eye you with obvious interest.

A tinkering laugh escaped your lips - a sound that danced across the surface of the water and bounced between the various sea stacks dotting the area - that had each of the men scrupulously leaning further over the edge of the ship. 

“Are you a siren?” Regulus managed to ask, and he felt the strength of your gaze like a physical blow when your eyes met his. 

You nodded your head. 

“Are you not meant to be…you know…singing?” Evan continued, and a breath escaped Regulus when your eyes left his, though he found he much preferred the breathlessness that came with having your attention all to himself. 

You seemed to have an air of humour about you - though Regulus did wonder for a moment if a non-human entity could produce such human emotions - as you considered your next words. “I can sing for you, if that is what you would like. But you may find that not to be in your best interest.” 

Your voice was melodic, as if you were designed specifically to sing and your lips refused to do anything but; your vowels stretched and your consonants were breathy, making each of your sentences sound as though they ought to be accompanied by a harmony. 

Somewhere, somehow, Regulus knew he was supposed to ignore your song, but it pulls him in all the same. Somewhere, somehow, Regulus knew he was supposed to keep moving, but he felt his anchor sink anyway.

“What are we supposed to do here, Rosier?” Regulus murmured, watching as you kicked your feet up and floated on your back, observing the three men with uninhibited interest. 

“I…am not sure. Pandora always spoke of their lethal song, and…manners?” 

Your eyebrows raised at that. “This Pandora sounds very wise.”

“You would like something.” Regulus deduced. 

“It seems only fair.” You agreed. “I have to admit, not many of us take too kindly to men trespassing where they do not belong.” 

“But men trespass often.” Regulus continued, and he pretended like he didn’t notice even Barty and Evan’s head tilting curiously in his direction. 

“Not without consequences.” 

“What would be our consequence, treasure?” Barty inquired salaciously, and Regulus watched at your pupils stretched thinly, making your eyes appear to be mostly iris in the most cat-like manner; a reminder that you weren’t simply a beautiful woman, but rather a sea creature prone to malevolence, and that he ought to tread carefully.

“You speak as though you seek death, sailor.” You responded, voice taking on a thicker, throatier sound. “You forget yourself.”

“He is sorry.” Regulus sputtered quickly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing as he regained your attention. “We are only looking for something; we have reason to believe someone has hidden what does not belong to him here. We only search for it, we mean no harm.” 

You considered Regulus for a few moments before disappearing beneath the surface, leaving Regulus disturbingly and embarrassingly melancholic. 

And then you reappeared right below him, beads of salty water trailing down your face and collarbone as you peered up at him. Regulus thought he might not mind jumping in after you. 

“What you seek for is not where he left it.”

“You know what we are looking for?” Barty asked excitedly, quickly moving to stand next to Regulus. “Can you tell us, because he will not.” 

“Where has it gone?” Regulus asked instead. 

“What is that information worth to you?” You countered, eyes flitting across Regulus’ face - sizing him up, considering him, or committing him to memory, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he minded either way. 

“Anything you would like.” Regulus offered earnestly; a desperate sound leaving Barty’s lips as Evan moved to join them.

“Within reason.” Evan amended, much to Barty’s relief and Regulus’ chagrin. 

“Clever.” You said of Evan before moving your gaze back to Regulus. “You would do well to learn from him.”

“Would you do well should I learn from him?” He retorted. 

You smiled at that, and Regulus swore all three men’s knees buckled at the sight. 

“Why don’t we make a trade, hm? A treasure for a treasure.” 

“How do we know you actually have said treasure?” Evan posited, and with that, you vanished beneath the surface again.

“Way to go, Rosie.” Barty scoffed. “You scared her off.” 

“She is playing with her food, Junior. Besides, it is the Captain who is enabling this little game of hers.”

“Does this mean anything to you?” You sing-songed, materializing on the other side of the ship; one arm thrown over the ship's railing and the other raised, a chain hanging off a delicate finger with a large, gaudy looking locket hanging from the end of it.

“Bloody hell…” Barty murmured as he took a few, cautious steps in your direction. “This is from the S.S. Salazar, I plundered that. Riddle told me it was thrown into the ocean by one of the prisoners!”

“He has been stealing from us.” Evan surmised with an exhale, staring at the find in your hand. 

You made a tsking sound. “Unlawful and treacherous men acting unlawfully and treacherously. Is there truly anything worse?” 

“What do I need to do to get the rest of that plunder back?” Regulus nearly begged. 

“Well that depends.” You giggled in your bubbly, lilting way. “What is it worth to you?” 

“Anything.”

“Well, see, this is why I think someone else ought to be in charge of the negotiations.” Evan declared rather unhelpfully. 

“What about you then, Junior.” You crooned. “What would you trade me for?” 

“Anything.”

With this, Evan threw his hands up in the air. “I am very close to feeding both of you to her myself at this point.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You interjected, though you were staring at Regulus as you said it. “I have made a decision.” 

“What would you like?” Regulus asked.

“You.” 

“Him?” Barty and Evan chorused, but Regulus couldn’t find it in him to be offended when you were smiling at him so sweetly. 

“Done.” He agreed. 

“Great. See? This is why I said within reason; now we have lost the Captain.” Evan grumbled. 

“I am a reasonable siren, Evan.” You purred, causing all three men to shiver both from the tone and the fact that you seemed to know their names without them ever offering them to you. “Let me come with you.”

“On the ship? A siren?” Evan confirmed incredulously, looking around as if to say are you hearing this? 

“You keep your Captain and get your treasure, and I get the little king.” You explained, pupils flashing at him that triggered some sort of fight or flight response in his heart, though his body remained stationed dutifully at your beck and call. “I promise to take very good care of what is mine.” 

“Regulus Black.” Evan scolded as Barty began to cackle. “You are not blushing right now.”