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eu-nicola · 3 months ago

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secret island

summary: while searching for the treasure, JJ and you are separated from the group and must survive together on an isolated island. In the midst of danger, both give in to the attraction, but when returning to the others, JJ is already involved Kie and you and him have to face guilt

warnings: nothing i think

word counter: 3794

author's note: english is not my first language

The sun rose over the horizon like a burning eye, shedding light across the vast ocean. The waves gently crashed against the shore, a stark contrast to the storm that had battered the boat the night before. You woke up with clammy, salty skin, the constant sound of water hitting the sand. At first, it all seemed like a blurry dream, but when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was JJ, lying a few feet away, his blonde hair messy and covered in sand.

You crawled over to him, your body aching and your muscles tense.

“JJ,” you called hoarsely, barely a whisper from exhaustion. You shook him lightly. “JJ, wake up!”

He groaned and opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the sunlight.

“Where…?” His words were cut off as he quickly sat up, looking around. His blue eyes widened as he realized the situation. “What the… Are we on an island?”

You looked around. The beach stretched out in both directions, surrounded by dense tropical trees rustling in the breeze. There was no sign of the boat, or the others. Just you and JJ. The weight of reality crashed down on you like a wave.

“The storm…” you recalled quietly. “It separated us from the group. I don’t know where the others are.”

JJ ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“Great. Just what we needed. Lost in the middle of nowhere.” His eyes searched for you, his tone softer. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

You shook your head.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” You paused, looking at the horizon with concern. “Do you think the others are okay?”

JJ sighed and stood up, brushing sand off his pants.

“They’re tough. If anyone can survive, it’s them.” He held out his hand to help you up.

You accepted his hand and stood up. You decided to explore the surroundings to see what resources you could find. The heat of the sun was stifling as you walked into the jungle, following a small nature trail that seemed to go deeper into the island.

The sound of wildlife filled the air: exotic birds chirping, insects buzzing. After what seemed like hours, they found a freshwater stream. JJ knelt down and drank directly from his hands, while you followed suit, letting the cool water quench your burning thirst.

“This is a good start,” JJ said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But we still need food. Do you know how to catch fish?”

You looked at him with a sarcastic smile.

“Sure, I’m an expert fisherman in my spare time.”

JJ laughed, a sound that eased the tension a little.

“Well, there’s always a first time for everything.” He stood up and began searching for flat, sharp stones near the stream. “We’re going to build a makeshift spear. We need protein if we want to keep our strength up.”

While he worked on the spears, you explored a little more around the stream, picking fruits that looked safe to eat. When you returned, JJ was already finished and was testing the spear in the water, focused like you’d never seen him before.

The afternoon moved quickly as you worked together. You managed to catch a few small fish, enough for a modest meal. JJ started a makeshift fire using dry branches and stones, and soon the smell of roasting fish filled the air.

As you ate in silence, dusk enveloped the island in a soft gloom. The sky was tinted with shades of orange and purple, a beautiful sight despite the desperation of the situation.

“Hey,” JJ said finally, breaking the silence. “We’re going to get through this, you know? We’re fucking Pogues. There’s nothing we can’t handle.”

You gave him a small smile back, sensing a spark of hope in his words.

“You’re right. We came through worse. This won’t be any different.”

The sound of the waves and the crackling of the fire filled the space between you as the night fully settled in. The light of the stars and the moon illuminated the beach, giving it an almost magical feel. JJ laid on his back in the sand, hands behind his head, and you did the same.

The fifth day on the island began with a heaviness in the air, as if the sun rising over the horizon was growing hotter and scorching. It had only been a couple of days, but the weight of the situation was beginning to bite hard. Water and food were limited, and while JJ seemed to be taking it all in stride, you couldn’t say the same.

You sat by the fire, watching the pond you had fished in the night before, as JJ sharpened the spears again. There was something in his eyes, something in his attitude, that suggested he was used to this kind of situation, but you weren’t. You couldn't get used to the discomfort, to the uncertainty. The days stretched on as if the island was made of endless time.

Suddenly, the sound of snapping branches brought you out of your thoughts. JJ walked over, raising an eyebrow at you as you sat with your shoulders slumped, staring at the horizon as if you were waiting for something or someone to appear.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft, but with a hint of concern at seeing you so still.

His words were the trigger. Unable to help it, the pressure building up in your chest exploded.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you said, raising your voice without thinking. “I want to leave. This is wrong, JJ. This is all wrong. I don’t want to be here.”

The silence that followed made you feel the pang of guilt, but also the relief of finally expressing what you thought.

JJ stared at you, his expression more serious than usual. He sat down next to you, putting the spear aside. There was no judgment in his eyes, just a patience that contrasted with your growing desperation.

“I know,” he said in a whisper. It was the first time you heard him in such a low tone, so different from usual. He ran a hand over his face, thoughtful. “We all want to leave, right? No one wants to be stuck here, not knowing if the others are okay, not knowing what’s going to happen. But… what can we do now? We can’t do anything.”

You took a breath, trying to calm yourself, but frustration was consuming you.

“And how are we supposed to survive if this keeps up?” Your voice was shaking, but you refused to let the rage control you. The sun was burning hotter than before, and the sting of the heat only accentuated your irritation. “I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know if anyone will come to rescue us, I don’t know if… if I’m even okay. I’m not strong.”

He looked at you for a moment, as if considering something, before speaking softly.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time. No one is.” He paused, his tone serious and deeper. “And I… I don’t want to be here either, but we are.” And we only have one choice: hold on. It’s not easy, but if we stick together, we’ll have a chance of getting out of here.

His words made you feel a little calmer, but not enough. You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, but also a kind of silent determination that he hadn’t shown before. For a moment, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you could rely on him to keep you afloat.

“What if we can’t?” you asked, doubt in your voice. “What if we don’t survive?”

JJ let out a sigh and looked at you, this time with a small smile.

“Then we’ll have died together. And honestly, that doesn’t sound so bad when you say it out loud.”

Her attempt at humor didn’t entirely ease the tension, but for a second, the words made the weight of the situation not so crushing. It was okay to feel weak, to be scared. The important thing was not to give up. Not now.

The rest of the day passed in a state of constant activity. You and JJ searched for more resources, more fruit, trying to gather as much as you could from the island. You didn’t talk much more about what you both wanted, but the mutual understanding of the situation was there, heavy but present. Sometimes, JJ would ask you small, almost everyday questions, as if he were trying to keep your mind occupied, as if conversations were the only temporary refuge.

As evening fell, you sat by the fire again, staring into the flames with a lost expression, but this time with less despair. It was strange how everything changed, how anxiety would creep into your bones and then slowly dissipate, only to return later.

By the end of the fifth day, you realized something: you didn’t know how much longer you could keep that constant tension in your chest, but if there was one thing you could do, it was to hold on to the moments when you felt capable of surviving. Like that night, as the sun set and the stars began to come out, sitting next to JJ, breathing deeply.

“You know what?” you said quietly, looking up at the sky. “Maybe this isn’t the worst place I could be.”

JJ didn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at the sky as calmly as he had from the beginning.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, how about we rest? Tomorrow will be another day.”

You nodded and followed him.

The island seemed darker that night. The fire flickered less intensely, and the sound of the jungle felt louder, closer. The leaves rustled with every breeze, and the small sounds of animals moving in the undergrowth made your heart beat faster than usual. Despite your exhaustion, you couldn't sleep. You were lying on the sand, eyes fixed on the starry sky, when you heard JJ move beside you.

“You can’t sleep either?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, not taking your eyes off the sky.

“No. All of this…” You gestured towards the jungle and the dark ocean. “It doesn’t leave me alone. It’s like something’s lurking.”

JJ sat up, propping himself up on his elbows, and looked at you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“It’s normal. The island can be intimidating, especially at night. But you’re safe here with me.”

Something in his tone made you look at him. JJ had that carefree air even in the worst of situations, but this time there was something more in his words. Something that made the air between you two seem thicker.

“What if we’re not?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. It was a question you’d avoided asking, but now it seemed inevitable.

JJ didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved a little closer, sitting completely in front of you. His blue eyes sparkled in the firelight, and his expression softened.

“Then I will fight to make sure we are,” he finally answered, with a seriousness he rarely showed.

That answer, that promise, made something inside you crack. You had been holding so much in, fighting fear and uncertainty, that you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel anything else. But now, with him so close, the impending danger didn’t seem so terrifying. There was something else, something that had been growing between the two of you since the moment you found yourself trapped on this island.

“JJ…” you whispered, and his name slipped from your lips with a softness that surprised you.

He didn’t say anything, but his gaze intensified. You could feel the tension building, an invisible pull that tied you together, growing stronger. His hand moved slowly, brushing against yours, and that simple contact sent an electric shock through your body.

“You know?” he said hoarsely, his eyes fixed on yours “I never imagined we would end up like this, alone on an island, fighting to survive.”

JJ had always been a close friend, someone you shared adventures and laughs with, but you’d never seen this side of him. Vulnerable, honest, and with an intensity that made you forget everything else.

“I didn’t expect it either,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly. “But… I don’t know what I would do if I was here alone.”

JJ cracked a soft smile, and his hand came up to caress your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path over your skin. It was such an intimate gesture that it took your breath away.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered, leaning into you slightly.

Your breathing quickened, and for a moment, everything stopped. The jungle, the sea, even the fire seemed to fade away, leaving only JJ and you. When his lips finally touched yours, it was like all the weight of the world melted away. The kiss started softly, almost like a question, but soon intensified, a passionate response to the fear and tension you had both been suppressing.

His hands found your waist, gently pulling you towards him, while you tangled your fingers in his hair, losing yourself in the moment. The heat between you was scorching, stronger than the sun that had punished the island during the day. Every touch, every caress, was an affirmation that you were alive, that despite the danger, you were still here, together.

When you finally separated, you were both breathing heavily. JJ rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as his lips curved into a small smile.

“That… was unexpected,” he murmured, with a mix of amusement and seriousness.

You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Yes, but… I liked it.”

JJ opened his eyes and looked at you with an intensity that made you shudder.

“Me too…you're shaking” he murmured, his fingers brushing your arm with a touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

“It's the adrenaline” you replied, although you both knew it wasn't just that.

There was a moment of silence, heavy with tension. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the way his breathing seemed to sync with yours. JJ leaned closer, and this time he didn’t wait. His lips found yours again, but there was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was intense, urgent, like you both knew this was inevitable.

Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer to you, while he wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, as if he was afraid you might disappear. The fire burning nearby seemed insignificant compared to the warmth you shared. Everything else disappeared: the island, the jungle, the fear. There was only the two of you, lost in a whirlwind of emotions.

JJ guided you towards the sand, his movements careful but firm, as if he wanted to make sure you felt safe at all times. He pulled away for a moment, his gaze scanning your face as if he wanted to memorize every detail.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and heavy with emotion.

You nodded without hesitation. There was no room for uncertainty. What you felt at that moment was so powerful that it eclipsed any doubt or fear.

“Yes. I'm sure.”

That was all he needed to hear. His lips returned to yours with renewed passion, while his hands explored your body with a mix of tenderness and desire. You felt every caress, every touch, as if the entire world depended on this moment. Your own fingers moved across his skin, discovering every muscle, every scar, every part of him that you had known for years but now felt completely new.

The sand beneath you was warm, but the heat you shared was much more intense. His lips left a trail of kisses from your neck to your collarbones, while his hands moved with a skill and delicacy that made you shiver. Every touch, every whisper, made you feel more alive than ever.

Time seemed to stand still as you both gave yourself completely to each other. There was a deep connection, something beyond the physical, as if the danger and loneliness of the island had created an unbreakable bond between you. It was a moment of vulnerability and total surrender, where you both let go of any barriers that might have existed.

When it was all over, JJ laid down beside you, both of you breathing heavily as the sound of the waves filled the silence. There was no need for words. The way he laced his fingers through yours said everything you needed to know. You looked up at the starry sky, feeling more connected to him, and to yourself, than you had ever been before.

“I guess this changes things,” JJ finally said, a soft smile as he turned his head to look at you.

You laughed softly, still feeling the warmth of his body next to yours.

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s for the better.”

Dawn came with the soft glow of the sun reflecting off the ocean. Warm colors lit up the island, but despite the quiet outside, you and JJ felt caught in a whirlpool of emotions. You had shared something deep, something that went beyond words, but the light of day brought with it a reality that was hard to ignore.

Sitting by the campfire, the two of you were silent, watching the flames slowly consume the pieces of wood JJ had collected. Ashes rose into the air, disappearing with the wind. There was something about that scene that reflected exactly how you felt: consumed, but not empty.

JJ was beside you, his hands resting on his knees, his expression lost in the fire. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, laden with a concern he couldn’t hide.

You nodded slowly, though you knew the answer was much more complicated.

“I’m… trying to process everything.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes filled with emotions he couldn’t verbalize.

“What happened last night…” he began, but stopped, choosing his words carefully. “I wouldn’t change it for anything, but I know things are going to be different when we get back.”

That last sentence echoed in your mind. When we get back. Despite everything, you both knew you couldn’t stay on the island forever. There was a life outside of this temporary shelter, a world full of complications and relationships that you couldn’t ignore.

Before you could respond, the sound of an engine in the distance interrupted the conversation. You both stood up quickly, your hearts beating fast. JJ ran to the shore, his eyes scanning the horizon, and then you saw it: a speedboat approaching, with the familiar figures of his friends on board.

“It’s them!” JJ shouted, with a mix of relief and excitement.

You froze for a moment, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions. The joy of being rescued mixed with a sense of loss, as if you were leaving something important behind.

The speedboat stopped near the shore, and Pope was the first to jump in, followed by Kie and finally John B.

“They’re alive, damn it!” John B yelled, running over to JJ to hug him.

Kie quickly came over, and before you could say anything, she hugged you tightly as well.

“We thought we lost you,” she murmured, her voice shaking slightly.

You and JJ exchanged a brief glance. There was no time for explanations, and perhaps that was for the best.

The ride back to civilization was silent. Although John B and Pope tried to lighten the mood with some banter, you and JJ barely participated.

Arriving home everything felt different. Hugs and expressions of relief from friends couldn’t erase the feeling of awkwardness growing inside you. Especially when you saw Kie approach JJ with a beaming smile.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, hugging him with a familiarity that made your stomach turn.

JJ hugged back, but his fleeting glance at you told you everything you needed to know. He was struggling with guilt, too.

The next few days passed in a kind of haze. JJ and Kie seemed to grow closer, laughing together and sharing moments that made you feel like an intruder. But, despite that, you couldn’t help but remember every detail of the night you’d shared with JJ. Every look, every touch, was etched into your memory.

One afternoon, as you sat alone, JJ came over. His expression was serious, and you sat up straighter, preparing yourself for whatever he was going to say.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly, sitting down next to you.

“I know,” you replied, not looking directly at him.

There was a long silence before he finally spoke.

“I know this is complicated. Kie and I…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “Things with her are…confusing. But what happened between you and me…it was real. I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring it.”

You looked up at him, finally meeting his blue eyes.

“JJ, I know it’s not easy. But I also know that we can’t change what happened. The only thing I’m worried about is… how we’re going to move forward.”

JJ nodded, his expression showing a rare moment of vulnerability.

“I don’t regret anything,” he confessed. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone either.”

That confession hit you harder than you expected. You felt the same way. There was no regret, but the guilt was still there, a constant weight that you both shared in silence.

“I don’t regret it either,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper.

The air between you both grew thick once again, but this time there was no physical contact. Just a mutual understanding that what had happened on the island had changed you, even if you could never talk about it openly.

JJ slowly stood up, and before he left, he gave you one last look.

“I’ll take care of you, always. Even if we can't talk about this, you know that, right?”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat.

“I know, JJ.”

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x kiara carrera #obx season 4 #obx fic

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taylorman2274 · 11 months ago

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We Care About You (Part III)

Those who have been with you since the beginning discuss the differences they've noticed with and without your presence.

Content Warning(s): Jean, Kaeya, & Albedo Story Quest Spoilers; Mondstadt Archon Quest Spoilers

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader; [T/N] = Traveler Name

Word Count: 2.1k

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Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3;

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The sun had fully risen over the horizon by the time all the stores in Mondstadt's main plaza had opened for the day. Blanche was finishing setting up her fruit trays on the counter by the time Marjorie and Timeaus arrived at their respective stores. Sara, on the other hand, had already opened up Good Hunter half an hour ago. This was in case there were any early birds or if any of the aforementioned shopkeepers wanted a quick bite to eat before work.

Today, the Traveler and Paimon were examples of early birds, as the two were enjoying breakfast from Good Hunter. However, as they were eating their respective meals, they were approached by Raymond, a Knight of Favonius.

"Morning, Traveler. Morning, Paimon," he greeted. "Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I'm here to inform you that your presence has been requested by the Acting Grand Master. She requests that you head on over to headquarters immediately."

Paimon groaned. "Does Jean really have to summon us this early? Paimon hasn't even finished her Fisherman's Toast yet."

"I apologize once again, but it would be rude to keep the Acting Grand Master waiting," Raymond replied.

The Traveler shook their head. "No worries. I'm just about finished anyway." They got up from their seat. "Would you like for me to get you a to-go box, Paimon?

"Get a to-go box? Has Paimon not already proved to you what she's capable of? Watch this!" Paimon proclaimed before chowing down the rest of her Fisherman's Toast as quickly as Paimonly possible.

...Said way involved burying herself nose-deep in her plate and practically inhaling all the food left on her plate. The Traveler and Raymond even had to hold their hands up to their faces to protect themselves from any flying food.

Maybe they shouldn't have bought her a triple stack...

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Despite being invited by Jean herself, The Traveler decided to knock on her office door. It was only proper manners.

"Enter."

They opened the door and allowed Paimon to enter first before letting themselves in. As soon as Jean recognized them, she gracefully got up from her chair and walked around to the front of her desk.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Honorary Knight. I know you must be tired.”

The Traveler shook their head. "It was no trouble. Paimon and I were already up to begin with."

"Is that so? It's a shame my cuties didn't think to greet me in the library first thing in the morning. Your company can certainly revitalize this mage's energy." Came a voice to their left. Both newcomers swiveled their heads to look at the other visitor partially hidden in the corner.

"Lisa? Were you called here by Jean as well?" questioned Paimon.

"I was," Lisa confirmed, perplexion etched on her face, "Though I haven't been told why yet."

"I called you both here for the same reason. However, not everyone has arrived yet. We're still waiting on two more people. Once they’ve arrived, I’ll explain everything," Jean explained.

To pass the time, the Traveler, Paimon, and Lisa began to catch up with each other on what had happened since they last met while Jean leaned against her desk and peeked at the ticking clock on the wall from time to time.

She wasn't worried about the other two members being late. They each were fellow Knights of Favonius members after all. They know the standards that need to be set in order to maintain their position.

A few minutes later, everyone in the office could hear rapid footsteps from outside the room. Not even a second later the door was thrown open by Amber who quickly entered the room and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

pant ... pant ... "Sorry I'm late, Jean. I got caught up with something."

Jean shook her head. "Not to worry, Amber. We haven't started talking about anything yet." Jean snuck a peak behind Amber towards the open door. "Did you happen to see Kaeya on the way here?"

Amber straightened up and nodded her head. "I did, actually. He's..."

"Right here."

Kaeya smoothly walked into the office and quietly shut the door Amber left open behind him.

Jean gave a quick nod. "Good. That should be everybody." Everyone gathered around Jean in a semi-circle. "I bet you're all wondering why I've called you here this early."

"To put it simply, I'd rather get this discussion out of the way before we all start work for the day. This mainly concerns the Traveler, but I promise you all are important to this discussion as well."

Jean turned her attention to the Traveler. "First off, how are your adventures going?"

The Traveler looked at Jean in confusion. Jean called all of them here just to ask them about their adventures? "...Pretty well I guess. I've hit a few obstacles here and there but it was nothing I couldn't handle."

Jean nodded. "That's good to hear. And what about this latest obstacle you're facing?"

Now it was Paimon's turn to be confused. "Latest obstacle...?" she murmured, "Oh! Do you mean [Y/N]?"

Amber, Lisa, and Kaeya all widened their eyes in surprise as they looked at Paimon. Jean nodded once again.

"Yes. That's exactly the reason why I've called you all here. Although I may not know much about [Y/N], I understand that you all have had some experience with them. If you could tell me all that you know about them, I'll get a better understanding of what our next action should be."

The Traveler nodded in understanding before looking around at the others. "Should I go first, or do you all want to share your thoughts now?"

Amber was the first to reply. "Sure! I'll go first. In my opinion, the Traveler and [Y/N] are the same person, but also different people. When I first met the Traveler outside of the Whispering Woods, they introduced themselves as [Y/N]. However, once we dealt with the sources of Stormterror's power in the abandoned Four Winds' Temples, they seemed much livelier. That was when they explained that they were actually [T/N], and [Y/N] was this 'ghost or entity-like thing' that possessed them against their will.

Lisa nodded. "It's true. When we were traversing through the last temple, I felt as if my body was not under my control, but I was still conscious to witness what I was doing. It was scary at first, but after a while, I kind of got used to it."

Jean raised a skeptical brow. "And why is that?"

"Because [Y/N] and I were trying to achieve the same thing. They guided me through the temple, defeated all of the enemies, and destroyed Stormterror's crystal, all things that I originally intended to do myself."

Jean brought a hand to her chin. "Interesting..."

Kaeya raised his hand, signaling to speak next. "It's not just that, either. Later on when I had the Traveler lure some Treasure Hoarders to some ruins, one of them accidentally activated a Ruin Guard while attempting to flee. We managed to take it down, of course, while being guided by [Y/N], but I noticed that I had gotten stronger in between fighting the treasure hoarders outside the ruins and fighting the Ruin Guard. We defeated the Ruin Guard a lot quicker than I thought we would."

Jean furrowed her brows. "But Ruin Guards are a lot harder to defeat than mere Treasure Hoarders. Surely you must be exaggerating?"

Kaeya chuckled. "I can assure you, Jean. The strength I gained when guided by [Y/N] is no exaggeration. Surely you must've felt their presence yourself?"

"Outside of the day when I got burnout, no. But even then, I didn't exactly feel I was much stronger."

"Oh!" Amber blurted out. "Speaking of getting stronger, I've noticed that [Y/N] has improved some of my abilities as well! For example, the day before we pulled that whole sleeping stunt on [Y/N], we were helping them complete some commissions around Mondstadt. While we were completing them, I noticed that I could suddenly fire two arrows with one shot! Not only that, but I was able to manually detonate my Baron Bunny by shooting at it!"

Amber frowned. “The only downside is that I haven't had much success replicating these abilities when I'm not with [Y/N].”

"So you've noticed as well?" Lisa asked. "I thought I was the only one to notice." She turned her attention back to Jean. "You see, [Y/N] typically has me defeat hydro slimes whenever they appear, and with them I'm normally able to defeat them in one or two hits. However, I wanted to test a theory I've been thinking about recently. So I went to go find a hydro slime and see how many hits it took to defeat it. Just as I thought, it took nearly double the number of hits before it was beaten."

"I see. And is this something that we should look into?"

"No. I just thought it was something worth mentioning."

"Alright then. And when [Y/N] does guide you, is it only to complete commissions?" Jean inquired.

"Oh no!" Amber eyes sparkled. "We've been helping the Honorary Knight and [Y/N] all across Teyvat! It's amazing!"

Jean smiled. "Then you all must be enjoying your adventures, I presume?"

"But of course!" exclaimed Amber. "I've always wanted to see the world beyond Mondstadt and it's just as grand as I imagined."

"That's good to hear." Jean then looked down at the floor and sighed. "...Honestly, there are times when I wish I could throw my work to the side and travel alongside you, Honorary Knight."

"Paimon is certain that [Y/N] would love to have you join their Adventure Team! If it becomes possible, Paimon will put in a good word for you."

Jean chuckled. "Thanks, Paimon." She turned her attention to the Traveler. "And what about you? What do you know about [Y/N]?"

"It's a pretty long story. The first time I ever got a clue as to who [Y/N] was was when I was in the middle of helping Albedo with his research. During the middle of some experiments, I felt their presence leaving. However, almost immediately after they left I saw a bright light in the sky. It only lasted for a few seconds, but when the light went away, I saw that it had come from Celestia!"

Jean looked shocked for a moment but quickly composed herself. She had an image to maintain after all. "Really?! From Celestia?"

"Yes. Albedo saw it as well and it piqued his curiosity. To make a long story short, he found out that for a brief moment, the light that spawns from Celestia forms as if one is opening a door to an unlit room. He hypothesizes that whoever [Y/N] is, they are not from Celestia but somewhere beyond it. Maybe even another world entirely."

Kaeya smirked. "From another world, eh? So does that mean [Y/N] is an alien?"

The Traveler shook their head. "I don't think so. Most of the worlds I traveled to before Teyvat were inhabited by humans. I would assume that if [Y/N] is from another world, they would be human as well.

"How certain are you?" inquired Jean.

"I'm like 90% certain they're human," the Traveler confirmed. Amber hummed in thought.

"Do you think they might be a god?"

“A god whose eyes are focused on a world separate from theirs? Sounds unlikely to me,” countered Lisa.

"Regardless..." Jean interjected. "[Y/N] has been absent for a while now, correct?" The Traveler nodded. "Have you thought about continuing your journey without them should they not come back?"

"I've had the thought. But I'm willing to wait however long is necessary if it means I get to see them again."

Jean put a hand to her chin. "Are you sure? I would gladly be willing to have Amber, Lisa, or Kaeya travel with you for the foreseeable future."

Paimon nodded. "It's been almost a week since that incident, and yet Paimon has never seen the Traveler lose any determination at all!"

Jean nodded as well. "I see. In that case, I believe that is all I have to say for this discussion. It was nice meeting you once again, Honorary Knight."

"The same goes for you, Jean.”

Everyone exchanged goodbyes with each other and, minus Jean, prepared to leave the office. However, just before they left...

"Hey. Is it just me, or is it getting brighter outside?"

Kaeya looked towards Amber. "I'm sure it's just the clouds moving past the sun."

Amber shook her head, keeping her gaze towards the window. "No... I didn't see any clouds when I first came in..."

The room was silent. Some looked to the window while others kept their attention on Amber.

Suddenly, Paimon gasped.

"Paimon!" The Traveler shouted in surprise. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"...They're back..." she whispered.

The Traveler tilted their head. "Who's back?"

Paimon was too stunned to speak, but it didn't take long for the Traveler to figure out why. Their eyes grew wide in shock.

"[Y/N]!!" They suddenly exclaimed as they bolted past everyone. Everyone quickly followed the Traveler outside.

Once they all gathered outside. They quickly turned their gaze towards Celestia. Just as they thought, a light, though less noticeable during the day, was slowly getting brighter.

"Sorry, Jean! We've got to go! Don't wanna be late!" Paimon quickly said before everyone aside from Jean was teleported away.

---------------------------------------------------------

"It sure is taking a long time to check for updates," you thought.

After countless research, note-taking, and several anxiety breakdowns, you were finally ready to hop back onto Genshin and meet up with the people who you now realize are alive and sentient.

"I hope all this makes a good impression on them."

The door appeared.

With one click, you would be back to where this trouble all started…

Breathe in… Breathe out…

click

The door opened.

---------------------------------------------------------

Author Side Notes: I looked at my fanfiction and decided that it needed LORE™

Once again, I'll be editing this chapter over the next upcoming days. I sort of prefer it as opposed to keeping this in my drafts. I don't want you all waiting for the next part too long!

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #sagau x reader #sagau #sagau genshin #platonic genshin x reader #platonic #gn reader #gender neutral reader #genshin impact

1K notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

Text

The ropes that bind me

Pairing: Fisherman!Bucky x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Being a creature of the sea, you are bound to a life beyond the surface, always in sight of the human realm, yet forever out of grasp. But after centuries of this finned existence it’s a fisherman coming to the docks day after day that compels you to bridge the gap between your worlds, despite the warnings about humanity being ingrained into your kind your whole life. Will you meet the same tragic end as several of your sisters before?

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder; capture; death; a terrible father; slow burn

Author’s note: This is part one. I planned on writing this as a one-shot but I felt like it got a little too extensive, so I decided to split it up. I'm working on the second part but I can’t promise y'all anything about when I will publish it.

[Divider from @silkholland ]

Masterlist

It’s a risk. You know that.

Your kind rarely ventures out of your sacred sanctuary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Humans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You craved it. You wanted it.

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

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

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

So, you continued watching those men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What could you say?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This outcome is something you’ve never envisioned.

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

Your sisters hadn’t noticed your absence that day.

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

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

You just wanted to see him again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It kept you from making a possible mistake.

Perhaps the same one your sisters did before you.

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

Yet, each time, you quelled the urge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are everything that Bucky isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if this is to be the end.

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

It would be almost poetic, wouldn’t it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is not the faceless terror of the human shore.

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

Somehow, that exception is enough for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s you.”

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

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

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

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

****

You’re no longer the only one observing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He came earlier the following days as well.

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

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

It stunned you.

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

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

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

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

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

He is currently out on the water again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes, feeling tension build.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re restless, nerves tingling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your pulse stirs anew.

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

It is Bucky’s.

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

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

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

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

You can’t let that happen.

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

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

****

Bucky seems different this morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart hammers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

As if he might hold onto it forever.

As if he can’t bear to let it fade.

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

- Lauren Eden

#bucky barnes fanfiction #mermaid #fisherman!Bucky #mermaid!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #marvel bucky barnes #mermaid!au #bucky barnes x reader angst #buckybarnes #bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #fisherman #The ropes that bind me

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twistedsanctuary · 4 months ago

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𝐀 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Fish on the beach near where you live are mysteriously disappearing. Your father, a fisherman is still working hard to find some, to get income. And you, his only child, want to help. Nobody had thought what type of fish you'd see.

Genre: Yandere

Media: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Floyd Leech, Jade Leech

Note: English is not my first language. Expect grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. Hopefully, this will suffice. This is my very first story that will have different parts.

Warnings: Not proofread, Disturbing content.

I. Curiosity

If you look at it this way, the irony of fighting your exhaustion is that it also requires energy to fight back against it. Bored and tired. That's what you are right now. You've already studied and done the assignments for your class tomorrow. The only available things to do at home are play with the neighboring kids outside. And yet you don't feel like playing, despite their protests to join.

The kids had come to the extent of crying out that they'll play your favorite game just to make you play with them. They've mentioned how dull the game of tag and hide-and-sink would be without you. Somehow, like the light of the party. Listening to the calming crash of waves and the ear-piercing squawking of seagulls flying by, it's been a therapeutic experience to let the sand sink over your bare feet. The water ever so relaxingly gazes at your toes, its warm waters have given somewhat like a salon for the rich people.

Basking in the sunlight, the sun slowly going down; there still rests (Name). Admiring something in the distance of the ocean, you've come to notice the sky. It's almost past 4 P.M.

It's windy today. The children's shrill laughter drowns out because of the waves that sounds ever so therapeutic— Strands of hair flap on your face gently, following the direction of the soft wind. With a blank mind, your eyes stare up.

One... two... three... four... birds. Three fly in the same direction while a single one went on a different path, your eyes followed the direction of the singular bird, until it's lead you to see your father in your peripheral view. Your eyes land on him as he throws in his net in his Johnboat, plopping his bucket hat on his head with no care of it's untidiness. It's almost night, so why is he setting off for sea, when he usually does it early in the morning?

"Papa, are you leaving to fish again?" Taking a break from your little relaxation, your palms push down the sand to support yourself to stand up and stride to your father.

Noticing your presence, his head turns to where you are, promptly giving you a wide eyed stare before reverting back to his usual-slight empty smile. He nods and continues to pack his lures. "I'm having trouble findin' fish today," said by him as his smile dropped slowly. There were a few mumbles that came out from him that we're audible to you.

"As well as my other fisher friends." His eyebrows furrow with pure concern and confusion, his eyes glint a perplexed emotion while staring at the horizon of the dangerous waters beyond. "I'm gonna go check 'gain, this time... farther than my usual fishing boundaries." He then goes on to push his boat into the water. Before the boat fully floats on the water, (Name) proposes to be of help to capture fish alongside him.

"Papa, wait I'll help!" Stretching out your hand to reach out for nothing, as if stopping him to catch up by doing one step closer. Boredom is a killer and it always finds you. What else to do, when you're just sitting in the sand waiting for something to happen?

"Sure kiddo." He ushers you with a gentle smile, pointing at the boat with his head to indicate for you to get in the boat. Smiling widely, you hurriedly get in the boat as your father pushes it.

"Okay kiddo, can you help pull the net?"

"Not that I'd expect fish to show up..." He mumbled.

"I'll try..!" You exclaim and hear your father chuckle while you stared at the ocean and beyond. Gripping on the edge of the boat in anticipation. When the boat started to be carried by the waves, he jumps in and starts maneuvering the boat with two paddles. The ocean breeze blows softly against your skin, a few seagulls flying along with your boat, as if guiding your journey until it redirects into another direction. Soothing, one might say. A few shared silence between you two as you bask in the silence of the sea, away from shrieking children, away from the vendors in the village. Silence.

"Enjoying it too?" interjected your father, rowing the boat while keeping track of the distance between the boat and the land. It was but a mere speck to your point of view, a dot. That was how far the place was. Only a small island with mountains and places that your people had built for entertainment and cultural significance.

You feel the boat slightly sway; preparing to throw, your father stands up; net in hands and tosses the it in the air, which takes a form of a pancake-like structure, landing in the water and sinks down. Your head peers down at the bottom of the sea, subtly seeing fishes swimming away, fast. You help your father pull the net that wasn't heavy. Hearing the sigh of disappointment from him, your eyes train at his face, displaying signs of stress and anger. "I knew it, we can't find more of 'em when we get farther." Seeing him like this, aches. Deciding to look away from his saddened state, your eyes move to the side as you focus on your surroundings instead. Something catches your attention in the water, something.

Something moved. It was not the water, it's under the water. You didn't see it, for it quickly dived back down. Your heart skipped a beat for a moment. It wasn't as big as the fish your father would catch; it was much bigger. You'd imagine something like your big dining table at home, you could only estimate at that size.

Only, however; your imagination gets the best of you as fiction fogged your mind.

You might not see it, but it sees you. You could have sworn that there is a head of a person. But you knew nobody else set sail except for your father. Nobody set sailed, it was just your father that left to fish.

And no human would be able to submerge underwater without breaching out for oxygen, staying there for a long time.

Floating in the still water with just a glorified wooden bowl, you squint your eyes in the direction where you saw the moving being. You've yet to tell your father about what you think you saw... but bothering him would not be such a good idea. Burdening him further with your imagination would just give you a patient smile and a pat in the head.

He's currently fixing the net, emptying it and placing the barely collected fish that plopped in the boat. Ignoring his mumbling, you lean into the side of the boat to get a clearer view. Something barely emerge from the waters, spotting half a head, hair that droops down to their face, eyes and forehead above the water, watching you. It was a boy. His skin seemed unnatural, it had green tints. Despite being far from your reach, an unnerving stare was exchanged between you and him. An unknown message behind his emotions. And despite that, you don't know what expression you were wearing; too lost in his unwavering gaze. You've no idea of the threat about to befall you when you're leaning closer to the edge of the boat.

You are curious.

Closer, and closer, and closer you got. Almost falling off the boat. You swear you could see the creature, the boy; smiling with it's eyes squinting ever so slightly as his brows raises.

As if broken from a trance; the boat shakes, a strong grip reached out for you, tugging you back with your wrist. "You could've fallen, be careful!" You turn around seeing your father's worried face as the boat sways back and forth because of your father's erratic footsteps towards you. you turn to face the creature again, only to realize it's gone...

But it's somewhere nearby. You're curious, so it was too. It has to be. He must've seen how close you were to the water. Sitting up straight and shaking your head, strong heartbeats pump out from your chest, you clutch it with a shaky hand, "Sorry, Papa." You try to laugh it off, stuttering while looking down at the boat. Your father smiled and pats your head, flashing you a slight smile as a sign of comfort. "Be careful next time, 'aight?" Sitting back down, you nod in agreement.

The boat starts to sail once more, paying no mind to the relaxing scenery or the wind that blows with delicacy. Next time. Thinking... will it come back? Will you see it again if you come with your father when fishing? You want to see it again. Try to understand it.

You keep staring from where you saw the boy, until you see something floating near the boat. Gasping at it... because it's something chubby?... You're tempted to reach and grab it, but before you could take an action, you see it disappear under the surface of the water before going deeper. "Eh?" Thinking it was just an illusion from your wild imagination, you shake your head to hopefully clear your mind. Your love of the ocean is taking a toll on you. Rowing back to the island, you can only hope to be part of another expedition with your father to see those things once again.

That lingering feeling of curiosity stays on you, and so did the boy about you.

As they say, curiosity killed the cat.

However, cats have nine lives.

What was the problem with using one?

II. Newfound addiction

When returning to the shore, you're still searching for signs of the mysterious boy. But you didn't see anything... until a few days later. The sun is still shining brightly; the sky is bright and blue, filled with a tint of white from the clouds gazing down upon you. The soft sound of waves hitting the shoreline returns you to your senses, as these past few days have been dense. So... peaceful... calm. You take a deep breath as the feeling of plump lips kisses you from behind on your temple, your head softly held by their touch. "Mama..." You whisper as she stands behind you, breaking the interaction and silently gazes lovingly at you from behind. You don't look back, simply staring at the ocean with wonder.

She holds your hand in return, whispering sweet things to you, and responding. "Yes, dear?" Looking up to glance at her face with a faint smile, she gave you one of her beautiful grins and squeezed your hand gently with eyes that softly stared back at you. "I wanna go explore the island today... Can I?" No amount of games could satisfy your growing boredom. You know how to play each of them and win them all. There's no challenge anymore. Nothing to overcome. Perhaps a new pace of hobbies would change it?

Not breaking contact with you, she acknowledges it with a closed-eye nod and caresses your cheek lovingly. "Of course, dear. We could stay here long." She takes a small pause, humming to herself in thought. "I'll wait for you here back here, m'kay? Be back before nightfall." Excited and thankful for being given permission, you smile sweetly and nod. Your mother lets go of your face, falling to her sides. You sprint towards the shore, your mother smiling behind you warmly as she waves for the temporary goodbye.

You've been eyeing this cave near the mountains that connected to the shore, it seemed like a good place to stay in the meantime... If you don't mind the crawling crabs there. It isn't submerged in the water, in fact, the cave is still near the sand. If your guess is correct, the water would only reach until your calf.

Enthusiastic about the thought of having a cave for yourself, you saunter to the entrance- watching where you step, you momentarily look up to see your father tying the net. You stare in his direction for quite a while, thinking of when you could join him once more on one of his expeditions. After that experience, you didn't feel like playing with the others anymore. You were seeking adventure... maybe that's why you were interested in exploring.

Maybe... just maybe, you want something new.

Being deep in thought and frozen in place, your father had already noticed you. Deciding to acknowledge you, he smiles and waves. Despite being far, he had already seen you clearly by your stature. You wave back at him, sharing the warmth of the greeting. It was cut short when you spotted another person, possibly a fellow fisherman speaking to your father. Finally deciding to continue your small adventure for the day.

However, forgetting to look down on the shore... you step on something that felt like broken glasses. Looking down with discontentment, you lift up your foot to see a broken beautiful shell.

Oh...

Oh, what a waste. A pretty shell like that would've been so good in a collection... Well, it still could be. You can still collect broken shells. It'll be a special collection, unlike any other.

A sea shell collector that collects broken shells.

You bend down to grab the seashell, grunting as your hand becomes wet with saltwater as you gather all the broken parts and bits of the seashell. Dusting off the remains of the sand in the item, you stood back up and admired it up close. It glints an interesting hue of blue and purple that gives a harmonic mixture of colors.

Trying to find where to keep this precious item... You pause. You don't have anywhere to place it, or keep it. You keep in mind about your clothes that have no pockets on them. There is another you've forgotten. You look up and the winks of sunlight make your eyesight blurry. The sun is about to fall, indicating the soon-to-rise moon. This shore gives a feeling to those theatres you and your family have gone to. Where everything seems like it's out of place, and then everything comes together.

You look around one last time and collect more shells before turning your back to the sea and start walking to where your mother is. Hands clenching on the broken shell, it pierces through delicate skin with its sharp edges, threatening to draw blood around it. Dangerous, you'd think. Preventing yourself from adding more pressure further. This shell was a reminder to you. You wanted—needed to see more. Exploration.

Like the forest. The forest is always beautiful.

When you and your mother arrived at your small hut, it was quiet. The candles lit in all corners of the room. The prominent smell of burning wax digs into your nostrils, taking in its scent. The fire pit had also been burning, in the center of the room. Your father must have felt cold from the upcoming weather. You notice your father in the corner, sitting down on the floor reading a book. Once again, like instinct he looked up with glee, then looking down at what was in your hand.

"Enjoyed collecting?" He asks and you nod unreservedly, quite proud of what you have achieved today without anybody. You hear your mother walking to the kitchen to prepare for supper later. His hearty chuckle fills the room as he gestures for you to sit on the floor next to him. In which you comply, still holding out the broken seashell. "So ya'v started to collect sea shells, ha?" He continues, closing the book he was reading. "That's how me 'n your mother started out.~" He smiled fondly at the memory he's replaying on his mind. He stopped, realizing it's been silent when he started to daydream about the memory.

"Did you make new friends?" He asks very eager for your response, looking up and placing a finger on his chin, pretending to think about what you would say.

"No." A very blunt and dry response was only given to him. Your father sighs and smiles, like surrendering. "That's 'aight. It's hard makin' friends." You smile in agreement. That was exactly what you thought too. Yes, you've had your fair share of friends... but... it gets tiring to keep socializing. You just want to shut everyone out and start from scrap.

Maybe someday. Just maybe. You think back to when you saw the boy.

III. A Friend

Once more, you see yourself back at the shore to hunt for sea shells. This time, you have come prepared. A small bag to carry for your future seashell collection and a bucket. It was all you could borrow from your mother when you asked her for an item to carry your seashells. After that, you asked for permission to let you explore, in which she's allowed you.

You walk inside the cave, further noticing that it was indeed just until your calf, which is safe... hopefully. You've made further exploration inside the cave only to find out it wasn't large at all. Only 10 steps ahead and you're already at the end of the cave. You've claimed this cave as your castle. Thinking of how to make it yours, you decided to decorate it using the rocks available; given to you by Mother Nature herself. With all your might, you grabbed all the big rocks you were able to carry and placed them inside the cave. You arrange them and place them one by one so you can block the water from entering the side you've blocked it from. It took skill to successfully keep the water away from the other side. A little break later, you're ready to continue once more by scooping out the water using the bucket you have. It gets you and your clothes wet in seawater in the process.

Now, there's finally space for you to place your soon-to-be sea shell collection. But you separated the destroyed shell out of all the others. Exhaling with contentment, you leave the cave to find more shells to add. You've gone a pretty long way in finding new shells. Using the bucket to dig and find some, but nothing popped up. But that did not render you to stop. You keep going and continue your search.

And you see one, glistering with an orange hue with brown spots all over. Near the water, almost ready to be dragged away to the ocean and never to be seen again. Observing it farther as you walk closer to it, with eyes that squint; it looked like it had the same design as the one that you crushed. You dared pick it up before it got dragged into the ocean, grunting as standing up felt so... lazy. You look up and... then you see it.

The boy from under the ocean.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

The Depths 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The water crashes onto the coast. The sound is dulled by the distance of your perch. The sky melds into the lake's surface as the sun hides behind a swathe of clouds.

You lean in to squint at the strokes on the canvas, sweeping your brush in repetition of the rippled horizon. You use the wnd of the brush to scratch your cheek.

Almost...

You peek above the easel and watch the small speck growing larger as it moves across the water. The fishing boat is there so often that you've added its silhouette to the acrylic tides. A stalwart to your early mornings and listless afternoons.

Day after day is layered before you in shades of cerulean, slate, and lavender. The grey sky with a tinge of golden sunlight, the waters stirring in sparkling shades of aquamarine and pearl, the coast rippled in fawn and umber. Another eye might see it and deem it finished but not you.

You step back to let the paint dry and rinse your brushes in the jar. Hmm. You're out of clean water.

You close up the easel and hook the canvas on the backside, carrying it like a briefcase as you pick up your canvas bag with your roll of brushes and pots of paint, your palette around your index finger.

You make a slow descent down the cliffside and curl around towards the shore. You veer away from the dock and head down into the silt. You put your stuff on a flat rock. You take the used brushes and palette to rinse in the shallows.

The water laps over your sandals as you linger in the soothing cool foam. The approach of evening skews the water with emerald and jade. You shake it all off and step back to dry it with a paint-blotted cloth.

You rearrange the bag so it all fits and hook it over your shoulder. You look down at the your linen apron. You can recall where every splotch and streak came from.

You take your easel and canvas and head back up along the dock. As you reach the post, the fishing boat knocks against the other end. You peer over at the man that lays a board across the spanse between.

You see him every night. You couldn't forget a man with snow white hair and golden eyes. His age is less than his locks might suggest and his eyes seem to look through you, not at you.

You smile, like you do every night. He doesn't react. Just like every other time.

The smell of fish wafts in the boat as he drags his net across the wooden ramp. You turn and press on. He's much to busy for you. It doesn't bother you. You came out here to get away from people.

Your feet leave divets in the dirt as the rock of the boat knocks in a rhythm against the dock. The man's toil adds to thunks and thuds and they fade behind you. The peace here is immaculate, you wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone else.

Past the seaside houses left vacant in the colder seasons and the smaller basins of the lake, between the rocky ridges and grassy knolls, you return to your little house.The cornflower paint chips from the wooden siding and the stairs are worn in the middle from the tramp of feet. A bench stands on the other side of the white railing between a plinthed flowerpot and folding table with a book forgotten on its slats. Home.

The spindly wreath on the front door rattles as you push through and the screen door snaps behind you. The evening breezs drifts in through the mesh as you set your easel down and rest the canvas on crate just beside the mat. You put your bag in front of the wooden stand and bask in the calm.

You hang your wicker hat and untie your apron. Your hands are covered in paint. You'll wash them before you eat. You leave your wet sandals at the door.

You pull out the pot of chowder you made two nights past from the fridge. You put it over a burner and wait for it to warm. The fare lasts you near a week when you take the time to put it together. Every ingredient must be used to its last, especially when it is so far to market. And expensive.

You scoop out a bowl and eat it on the front porch. Your eyes are too tired to read. When you finish, you recline on the bench and yawn. You lay in the dimming hue of the evening as the stars wink down at you.

A whistle carries on the wind. You sit up and look for the culprit. They are close enough to hear but that could still be far. It could even be a bird.

You take the empty bowl inside and rinse it. You retreat to the bedroom and change

You open the window to let the night in. Around here, you can do that. Not like the city and its grated windows.

You laze in the dusk shade and drift slowly into yourself. Sleep enshrines you atop the cushy bed, the water stirring from afar, the loons calling into the dark. Tomorrow you'll figure out the exact right colour for the undertow.

You're more than due to sell a new piece. You need to if you want to stay in paradise.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #au #series #drabble #the depths

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princessbrunette · 5 months ago

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⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … DUMB & POETIC ♡

track eight of the short n’sweet series. pairing: dbf!johnb + reader. based loosely off the song dumb & poetic by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱

word travels fast when you’re hopelessly in love with your dads best and youngest friend.

rain was starting to spit down on the crown of your head as you marched your way up the dry grass to the chateau. a storm was headed your way, and john b was probably to give you a real earful at the fact you’d even walked here so late in the evening with a storm on the horizon but that didn’t matter. it seemed a feeble thing now, too focused on the tugging of your heart strings.

“old john b’s got himself a date.” your father had chuckled into his newspaper that morning and you froze at the sink, pouring milk into your coffee. your skin felt hot, eyes prickly.

“what?” you ask quietly, trying your hardest to sound unshaken by the news.

“the guys down at the garage stitched him up. i didn’t get involved, was too busy working but… yeah. finally getting himself out there. was wonderin’ when he might. times ticking for him.”

your milk pours over the rim of your now overflowing coffee mug and you curse, lurching to clean it up.

now you’re knocking at the older man’s door, shivering from the icy droplets that are tickling your hot skin. you feel feverish, wrong, all muddled up. john b was yours.

he’s frowning when he opens the door, and you don’t let him speak.

“is it true?” you yell over the wind, voice cracking and he pulls you inside by the arm.

“uhm, did you walk here in a storm? are you— what, have you lost your mind now?”

“is it true, john b?” you don’t lower your voice even though you’re inside now, infact your words are punctuated by a harsh shove at his chest. he stills, staring down at you solemnly and shamefully.

“i assume your…dad told you—”

“so this — us, it just means nothing to you?” you go in for another push, crying now and he catches your wrists, eyes softening sympathetically as he pulls you in.

“you know that’s not true. look, listen to me—”

“who is she?” you wail and he holds your wrists tighter.

“listen to me!” he raises his weathered brow, hands loosening around your wrists just enough to swipe his fingers gently in windscreen wipers on the skin. you stare up at him expectedly — fat tears even frozen on your cheeks and his shoulders drop slightly. how was he meant to compete? it wasn’t fair when you looked at him like that. “the guys at the garage set me up.” he explains calmly and you’re quick to cut him off.

“and you agreed! you could have just said—”

“i have to! okay i—” he takes a breath, ripping his fisherman cap off to run a hand through matted brown hair, streaks of silvery grey through the sides illuminated in the warm orangey light of the chateau that made your heart clench with fondness and familiarity. “its not right that i’m feeling this way for someone so much younger than me, and more importantly — it’s not right that you’re dating someone so much older! you should… i don’t know, be out there! experiencing the dating pool! going on dates with guys that are allowed to be seen with you! not… your dads friend.” he shakes his head, defeated.

“i don’t care about all that!” you step up to him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“well i do!” he bellows back, and just like that it dies.

you crumple, heels of your hands coming to press into your eyes as you lower yourself to the floor. you mewl in devastation, salty tears burning into your retinas and he watches in heartbreak, heaving out a long sigh before lowering himself to the floor with you.

“its not fair! its not fair— just because shes older than me doesn’t mean — it doesn’t —”

“i know.” he mutters into your hairline, pressing a kiss there. you clutch his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you tied down gravitationally to earth.

you get real worked up into hysterics so soon he’s calming you down the only way he knows how, straw-feeding you water as you sit in his bed wearing his clothes, still snivelling. he shuffles in beside you with a book, pulling your head to rest down on his shoulder and shushing you when you fight.

“you think y’know everything john b.” you croak, glaring at the dumb pretentious poetry book on his lap.

he clears his throat, flipping to a random page.

“though the night was made for loving, and the day returns too soon, yet we'll go no more a roving, by the light of the moon—” his husky voice begins to read, lulling you into that calm safe space that only he creates. there’s a lingering sadness in your chest when you drift off, knowing it could be the last time and between his words you’re sure you whisper a “dont go”. but you’re not sure whether or not you dreamt it.

you wake up at noon somehow. all that crying wore you out and it goes without saying with the situation you’re in, you didn’t have the greatest sleeping pattern. sticky eyes flutter from the alarm clock, to the absence of john b in his own bed beside you. you hope for the reassuring sound of coffee being stirred or the tv in the living room but the chateau is deathly quiet. once your eyes focus, you’re confronted with a note on the bed side table.

his familiar scrawl, it reads —

‘I’m sorry. I just have to see for myself.

— Yours, J.B ♡’

#john b prompt #dbf!johnb #angst??????? this series is so angsty lowkey like wut…..#short n’sweet series 🧁

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wystiix · 6 days ago

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❥ pairing: siren!robin x sailor fem!reader ❥ synopsis: The ocean listens keenly—you should have known that. You were a curious individual, so you decided to test out an old fisherman's tale. A silver offering, a song at sunset, and a voice that hums back from the deepest parts. You should have never sought an answer—but now, the sea has heard you. ❥ cw: major character death, slight mind manipulation ❥ additional tags: second person perspective, siren au ❥ word count: 3.3k ❥ notes: haha i saw the hoyofair art... holy shit robin is gorgeous i just had to write about it. yeah uh ig this is my first hsr work. not sure if i'll write more. i hope to god i didn't mischaracterise her cuz i was just writing about how sirens usually act. and yes i know i know I KNOW SIRENS WERE ORIGINALLY DEPICTED AS HALF BIRD IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY. i was mainly basing this off on how the philippines depicted these creatures (sirena), because "sirena" in tagalog means "mermaid". so ya!! i would also like to give a special thanks to bbg @papiliotao for proofreading this for me <33 love you rei, to the moon and back /p

The ocean was no stranger to you—you had known it throughout your whole life. Since you were a little girl, staring at the shimmering surface turned into a routine. You admired how it seemingly stretched out an eternal expanse of azure blue that met with the sky’s horizon before you.

You’d dip your feet beneath the shallow waters and allow them to sink into the sand without a care in the world. The tides would crash and the waves licked up your legs. The ocean was your comfort. It was your home.

And yet, you often wondered: what laid beyond the reef?

You had come from a long bloodline of those who were masters of the sea, men and women who lived and died by the waves. Like the masters they were, they taught you everything you needed to know—how to read the stars, predict the tides, how to navigate your way through the waters to avoid getting lost. But above all, they never fail to warn you about the dangers of the deep.

Countless legends and stories have been told to you about the lives of your ancestors being taken by the same waters you had come to love. Monsters, storms, mistakes which eventually led them to their demise. However, one tale above all haunted your family’s stories.

They said the waves would often get mischievous. They led sailors’ boats further astray into the mist where the rocks waited. Among numerous creatures of the deep, none would come as close to dangerous as the ones your ancestors perceived to be beautiful singers.

They had voices like honey, sweet enough to drown out any coherent thought. They often appeared to sailors as women who were part-fish—beautiful beyond words with skin that glittered like the sea itself.

But looks can be deceiving. For those who followed their songs never returned.

However, it didn’t stop there. Some believed that you didn’t have to wait for them to find you. Apparently, you could summon them.

It was stated that when the sun bled into the water with hues blossoming red and gold, the summoner should bring a gift—something precious, an offering of silver. Toss it into the waves and wash your face on the shore as the waves slowly take it away. Hum a tune, preferably one expressing your deepest yearnings and desires, for it will attract and bring them closer. Then, wait for the sea to answer as the sun fully sets.

Old fishermen warn you not to cease your melody, for the sea listens keenly. These creatures aren’t particularly known for their patience; silence could summon their wrath instead. Keep your melody alive and listen closely. When you hear a tune drift back to you from the depths, you know you’ve been heard—the ritual is then deemed successful.

If you were lucky, a benevolent creature may grant you mercy. It was a common belief that they may offer you a kiss—one that could grant gifts and blessings. Stories claim that this kiss could fill your lungs with the ocean’s breath and grant you the power to swim as one of them.

But luck was a dangerous, fickle thing to gamble. More often than not, when these creatures appeared, these gifts weren’t given freely. If they came at all, they never left any witnesses behind. They were more of a misfortune than a boon.

Now, you were a skeptic. You weren’t one to believe in such things. They were merely fairytales to you, and you knew that the ocean was more forgiving than that as long as you didn’t go beyond the reef. Though, you couldn’t help this lingering curiosity eating away at the back of your mind like a swarm of pests.

And so, you decided to test this theory.

One evening, you found yourself standing at the rocky shore. You knew the stretch of this coast well, the rocky areas always seemed to slope faster into the deep strangely. This seemed like a perfect spot to do the bidding.

In your hand was a hooped silver earring, one from a pair you had lost a long time ago. It glinted as it caught the last rays of sunlight as you watched the sun set. While it was precious, it was merely a trinket. You could live with its loss.

This was foolish. Childish, even. Testing an old sailor’s tale? You should have laughed and left it at that.

The faint smell of the salty breeze met your senses as you took a deep breath. Your pulse quickened with anticipation—or was it fear? Either way, there was no turning back now, not after all the trouble you went through to find a trinket you thought no longer mattered and to travel all the way to the beach.

You let the earring fall from your fingers. The silver flashed briefly before the tide claimed it, and it evanesced into the water.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you crouched by the shoreline. For a moment, you hesitated. What if they were right? What if these warnings weren’t just tales after all?

No, you were here now. This was merely a ridiculous test because you had nothing to do. Nothing was going to happen. Even if it were real, you weren’t one to give in to temptations so easily. You were not exactly easy to impress after all.

The cool water lapped at your hands and you splashed it onto your face with the salt stinging your skin. A stray drop had managed to slip into your lips and you immediately spat it out, grimacing at the bitter taste that settled on your tongue.

Then, you parted your lips and sang.

A gentle tune floated from your lips. Simple and familiar, no grand notes or anything. It was the kind that was second nature to you as if it had always belonged to the waves itself.

The sun continued setting slowly, and the waters were painted with deep crimson and orange. The final note left your lips and you waited. You were unsure if you had done it right. Would anything happen at all? Did you make a fool of yourself?

Your ears strained as you listened. To keep the melody alive, you hummed the whole song over again. The last rays of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the ocean seemed to grow still when you finished.

Nothing. You heard nothing. You almost felt foolish.

A frustrated sigh spilled out of you and you stood up. You had just practically tossed your silver jewellery into the water to test out some absurd myth. There was no one to blame but yourself in this situation. You turned on your heel, about to walk away with humiliation.

Until you heard it.

The waves crashed against the rocks. You backed away from the edge so the waves wouldn’t catch you, but you listened closely.

A note. It rose faintly from the waters, and the sea seemed to hum it.

Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray…

Your blood froze.

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay.

You weren’t alone.

Conversing with a young lass who seem'd to be in pain,

Saying, "William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again.

Your heart thudded in your chest painfully as you glanced at the water with your eyes wide, straining to see among the shifting tides in the darkness. And there, you espied something.

A head popped out from beneath the surface. Lilac-silver hair and emerald eyes stared straight at you. Confused, you blinked a few times and rubbed your eyes, unsure if your vision was deceiving you. But when you opened your eyes again, it was gone. The water was empty, and the eerie hum of the ocean was the only sound to be heard.

Your pulse quickened.

Had you imagined it? Something told you that this wasn’t a coincidence.

This time, you decided to be a little risky. You stepped near the edge, feeling the moss and jagged rock beneath your feet to take a closer look. Your eyes fixed on that one spot where you had seen the head.

There was… definitely something beneath the surface. Something was moving, and it looked like a fish tail. Ripples lapped gently at the water’s edge as the head emerged again.

This time, however, it was closer to you, and you could see a few more prominent features. A crown of coral adorned her head, and gills of fish rested by her ears. The same emerald eyes stared at you as if her gaze was piercing into your soul.

“Hello?” you blurted out almost foolishly. “Did I disturb your swim?”

Her intense gaze made you nervous and made your heart race. The figure simply tilted her head as she looked at you, almost with deliberate slowness as if she was sizing you up. Then, she smiled.

“You summoned me.”

A chill ran down your spine. You blinked momentarily, your mouth parting as you thought of what to say. And then the realisation hit you, and you smacked your forehead in embarrassment. Fool, you scolded inwardly. Why in the seven seas would you ask such a thoughtless question?

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. “I didn't think it was… possible?”

She merely chuckled and rose slightly from the surface, sitting on a rock just close to you. Droplets of water dripped down her face and neck, and for the first time, you could see a creature like her in full display. Her hair swayed gently as if caught by an unseen breeze. Her hair colour reminded you of periwinkle flowers; ethereal, elegant and eye-catching. The three E’s.

Her tail glistened with rich shades of violet and curled around her as she sat. Its scales were arranged perfectly with iridescent patterns that shifted in the light, creating a stunning display of brilliant colours. Were those tiny wings hanging behind her ears? Your ancestors hadn’t provided many details on these beings’ appearances.

The sight of her made your breath catch in your throat.

“Did you think I was going to leave without greeting you?” she asked, breaking you out of your trance. Her voice was smooth and soft like silk, and it almost sounded like a lullaby.

You swallowed hard. The weight of your reckless curiosity was starting to sink in.

“No…” you mumbled. Her fixed gaze on you wasn't making this situation any less frightening. The darkness didn't help either, as the sun had just set. It was as if her eyes were the brightest thing around, glowing faintly.

The sea listens keenly. You should have heeded that warning from your masters.

“I had no idea what I was thinking,” you continued sheepishly, attempting to salvage every last bit of your dignity. “I guess I wanted to know if the old tales were real—”

“Tales.” Her smile widened. “You didn’t think they were true?”

Not until now. The truth had punched you in the gut and you were left feeling lightheaded. Of course they were true.

You didn’t know whether to cry, laugh or flee. Or all of the above. Perhaps the ground could open up a hole and swallow you instead, that’d mostly be preferable.

The silence stretched for a long moment. Then, she spoke again, breaking that silence.

“My name is Robin,” she said lightly, as if offering the name was some casual gift. “And what’s yours, sailor?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, unsure if you should be terrified. However, provoking these creatures wasn’t exactly encouraged. Swallowing, you crouched down and answered nervously. “[Name].”

Robin eyed you for a moment before smiling. “[Name], how lovely,” she hummed looking down at her reflection in the water. “Well, [Name], how fortunate for you that I’m feeling quite generous tonight.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “Generous?”

Her finger traced lazy circles on the surface of the water. “What is it that you desire the most?” she asked. “You had a reason to summon me, did you not?”

“Oh.” Shaking your head, you waved your hands dismissively. You had completely forgotten about that. “No, not at all. This was… merely a test of courage.”

“Shall I reward that courage?”

“What?”

Her tail flicked, scattering droplets into the air as she slid off the rock and sank into the sea once again. “Shall I grant you a blessing to reward your bravery?” She pressed herself against the crag and leaned in just enough to make your pulse quicken. “A curious sailor like you deserves such a gift.”

The water curled towards the rock at your feet. Had you heard her right? A gift? Something about it made you suspicious, yet her gaze seemed sincere.

When you didn’t answer, her eyes gleamed as she continued, “I don’t offer my gifts lightly, dear. A kiss from me, and you could have it all. Swim with the tide, breathe beneath the waves, see the ocean as I do…” Robin sighed and rested her head on her hand. “It’s a rare offer. One that most sailors would beg for.”

“That easy, huh.” You eyed her warily, crossing your arms. There had to be a catch.

Robin’s smile didn’t falter. “Would you rather I make it difficult?”

You blinked a few times before shaking your head. “No, I—” A sharp exhale slipped out of you.

You were going to say no. You were sure of it. So why couldn’t you?

“So what’s wrong?” she asked, watching you closely. “You troubled yourself to come all the way here and summon me. Surely you wouldn’t just leave empty-handed? Ridiculous. Why hesitate?”

The waves lapped slowly at the rock and the rhythm of your pulse quickened. The ocean seemed to stretch endlessly behind her.

Why hesitate?

The question should have been easy to answer. So many answers, so many reasons. Yet, you just… couldn’t seem to name them.

“You’re thinking so hard,” she mused. “Is it really so difficult?”

You stiffened.

Yes, it was.

“I-I just…” you murmured, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I would much rather have my feet stay on land.”

Silence enveloped the both of you like a blanket. Robin narrowed her eyes at you, putting her hand down, and her eyes were locked onto your face which made you more nervous. It seemed like she was examining you. Closely.

Did you perhaps tick her off?

Dark waves rolled in like silk as the ocean shimmered. The air felt a lot heavier. It clung to your skin, thick with salt and something else you couldn’t name. Words are unable to be formed and for a moment, you swore you heard the tide humming.

A haze settled into your mind, thick and intoxicating. The stars had just come out, and they shone in a way that felt unreal. In fact, your surroundings felt unreal.

She was closer now, humming a soft melody to like the lull of the ocean itself. When had that happened? Her cold, damp fingers brushed against your cheek which made your breath hitch.

“You’re trembling,” she spoke softly. “You're not afraid, are you?”

Afraid? No, not at all. In fact, the fear had eroded away the moment you heard her sing. There was something about her voice, something that allowed each note that spilled out of her lips tug at the threads of your heart. Any thought seemed to wash itself out as you drowned in the pools of her emerald eyes.

You felt her hand gently caress your face, inclining your head closer. Before you knew it, soft lips brushed against yours in a tender kiss. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears and your head spun as the kiss lingered for a moment, unable to bring yourself to pull away.

It was an unexplainable, intoxicating allure that had you trapped, rendering any attempts of resisting fruitless. Her lips tasted like sin itself, enticing you deeper—and you wanted more of it. Your mind melted as the world around you seemed to blur at the edges. It just urged you to lean in a little more, fearing that to pull away would shatter this utter bliss.

“Still with me?”

Robin’s voice was a sweet and sugary lilt as she murmured against your lips, and it wrapped around your senses—lingering like the taste of salt on your tongue. You nodded, unsure if you even remembered how to speak. Or think. Or breathe.

Her lips were warm. But why was the water so cold? You could feel it rise to your ankles. Then your knees. Then your chest.

Wait—when did you step into the sea?

Your body swayed and it felt weightless. Somewhere far away, you heard the tide singing and Robin singing along with it. You could feel her hands cup your face and tilt your head deeper into the kiss. A low hum rattled in your chest, vibrating throughout your bones.

The ocean listens keenly. You should have known that.

Your lungs felt full as she pulled away. Not tight. Not desperate. Just… full.

She was still so close. You hadn’t moved, had you? But you were closer. You blinked slowly at her as she swam in and out of focus. Were her eyes glowing? Or were yours just dimming? It was hard to tell. She hummed a soothing melody that eased your thoughts.

“I thought you sailors were clever.”

Huh?

The realisation came in slowly like thick syrup, a heaviness that settled in the pit of your stomach. You were sinking. Or had you already sunk?

Something delicately grazed your cheek. A strand of hair, drifting freely into the water. Yours or hers?

…Had you been holding your breath all this time? The ocean was in your ears. Your lungs. Salt was burning your throat and your mind. Your head tilted back instinctively to take a breath as you struggled.

But there was no air left to take.

You tried to lift your legs, but they felt heavy and sluggish. The cold ocean wrapped around you like a blanket, pressing against your skin.

The only thing you could see was Robin’s face. Crown of coral adorning her head, and gills of fish resting by her ears. The same green pools of eyes you drowned in pieced into you.

She was smiling.

“Close your eyes,” you heard her say. At least you think you did. “It’s easier that way.”

The pressure in your chest was heavy but no longer frightening. It felt familiar—like the hundreds of warnings you have heard from your masters the moment you were old enough to walk. They echoed in the back of your head.

You remembered the tales, the stories. How they had lured those before you. How the sea listened so carefully to their songs they were later consumed. You remembered the warnings passed down from generation to generation. The fear it was supposed to ignite.

But now, as you sank deeper, there was no fear. Only acceptance.

Robin’s hums echoed in the depths. It seeped into your bones to your very essence. It was the same melody you heard her sing, the same lullaby your ancestors must have heard. The one they couldn’t escape. You thought you were clever. You thought you weren’t easy to please. You thought you could even have a chance of escaping. You thought wrong.

You parted your lips, perhaps to call out the name of your family, perhaps to scream for help, but your words got lost in the water. They were swallowed by the depths.

Now you understand. Now you understand why they didn’t run, why they didn’t escape—the allure was not just the beauty, but the temptation. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t resist it. The sailors were left with no choice. Neither were you.

The ocean listens keenly. And, like it did to your ancestors, it answered.

You felt Robin’s hand graze your cheek as she gazed at you with that deceptive, soft look in her eyes. You both then shared one last kiss. Her breath—the sea’s breath, rather—filled your lungs.

And you let it. You succumbed to what was promised eternal bliss. It was easier that way.

#☆ wystys ink #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x female reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #robin x reader #hsr robin #robin hsr #hsr robin x reader #—stellaronhvnters.

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strawberrystepmom · 3 months ago

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shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | two

cw: discussion of an injury reader has with mentions of blood, pus, and infection. reader is also described as smaller/shorter than law. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 3.1k, reading time: approx. 15 min.

note: this is a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: one, three, four, five, six

A gulls cry has been the constant alarm clock through your adulthood for as long as you can remember. It has also become your background music and dinner bell; the cry that reminds you that you’re alive even on days when you aren’t as pleased to wake up as one perhaps should be.

Mundanity can have that effect on a person or at least that’s what you’ve read in some of the silly self help novels you’ve been able to procure from the small island library.

You don’t have enough free time to do much but reading is how you prefer to spend those few precious moments. Nobody will admit it on the island, least of all the librarian, but they ask other islands to send new-to-everyone here books solely for you to enjoy.

The gull woke and led you out to the shore this morning. It was a late night spent spearing flounder and coming up short. You’ve cast your net twice this morning, catching a few unimpressive but big enough to be sold mackerel.

You’re unlucky today but at least you’re at peace.

A contented sigh escapes while casting your net back into the shallow, turquoise water a third time. Your eyes aren’t looking down at the foamy waves, they’re locked onto the horizon. If the sunrise were less spectacular you’d be upset to be here. Everything feels drenched in a glow that no other time of day can replicate and you get to enjoy it all by yourself, uninterrupted.

This is the type of loneliness you wish you felt perpetually. Happy to be alone, embracing the world around you with no expectations upon you. Instead that pang comes in the middle of a long night or when you can’t reach something on the top shelf at home or when you see one of the few other young women on the island hand in hand with the one they’ve chosen to fill their time with.

You learned to more or less accept loneliness as a consequence of freedom years ago, not long after you finally felt accepted by your fellow fisherman on this little gem settled amongst the waves. Arriving here as a stranger and a young one at that raised everyone’s hackles but you proved yourself trustworthy and hardworking, simply pleased to be away from the shackles your life would’ve become if you’d stayed where you came from.

Drawing your net back up to shore, you sigh when it comes up empty yet again. Footsteps pad through the sand and their cadence sounds familiar to you, similar to the ones heralding the man you assured you’d tend to your wound three days ago.

As assumed, you did not tend to it at all. You’ve been too busy to focus on how it throbs, the current fishing season passing quickly and your stall as busy as it always is.

A chuckle rings from behind you. It’s quiet enough you’d miss it if others were around. It mingles with the waves lapping at your feet, encouraging you to look over your shoulder even though you refuse out of spite at this point.

You know it has to be this enigmatic man, Law, based off of the way your skin prickles with awareness of his stare just as it did a few days prior. Something about him makes your body react. It could just be an overreaction to someone new. Your best guess is that you are anticipating his imminent lecture and that’s why everything about you feels off right now, your usual go with the flow approach failing.

“How’d redoing those stitches go?”

Now you turn around, dropping your net at your feet and pursing your lips. He looks charmingly mussed up, wearing a tan button down shirt with too few buttons fastened instead of the blue t-shirt you saw him in prior. The unenthused look on your face remains although your traitorous eyes take a peek at the tanned, tattooed skin he’s showing off.

You’re caught in the act, of course. He rolls his shoulders when he catches your roving glance and you almost believe you see the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, those hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pants that are as unique as the rest of him.

It’s the closest you’ve come to a smile or really anything that isn’t, in your opinion, overt disinterest from the man. It brings back that same feeling you had during your first meeting, stomach turning and feet itching to get away.

You promptly look away while pretending to busy yourself with your net, cheeks warm. It makes you wonder why he approached at all if only to give you a hard time which only makes your face heat further.

“Didn’t have the time. I’m a busy girl, you know.”

Grunting his initial response, he takes a few steps to close the distance between you two. You jump back a few steps, pretending that they were necessary to untangle your net. Law pauses, eyebrow raised.

“Does your health mean nothing to you?”

Sighing, you drop the net at your feet and fold your arms over your chest in an ill guided attempt to puff yourself up. He’s intimidating, not just in expression and brusque conversation, but in stature too - broad and twice your size. You’re no stranger to dealing with men who talk a big game but an eerie feeling in your gut makes you believe that this man could back it up.

This stranger who insists on disrupting your day, your silent, peaceful beach time with you and the foam and the fish. Agitation gnaws and you tilt your head to the side curiously, brows raised.

“Why do you care what a woman you don’t know does with her body?”

It appears you have finally taken control of the situation judging by the way he slowly blinks like he’s processing what you said. Then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes enough that it’s your turn to catch it and scoff.

“I’m a doctor. It’s my responsibility to care.”

Although that isn’t enough to explain to him why he cares. As a principle, he believes men like him should not take a vested interest in the wellbeing of civilians. Pirates live a life that few can understand and certainly not simple fisherman on an island that he and his crew are currently taking a brief respite on.

“Then care about someone else,” you shoot back with a smile, finally bending to reach for your net and walking a few steps closer to shore, back toward your unexpected guest. The gentle morning waves wash over your boots. He watches as you toss, seabreeze ruffling the end of your shorts.

Unburying one hand from his pocket, he scrubs it over his face defeatedly. You’re just an honest person trying to make a living as difficult as you are. That’s why he cares. Not this strange draw he feels, a little poke between his ribs every time he thinks about the unique woman from the fish stall.

“My ship has an infirmary. I can take care of it since you apparently refuse to.”

You glance over your shoulder, a single brow raised.

“I try to avoid following strange men anywhere.”

Law sighs, exasperated.

“We aren’t strangers, we’ve met before. You even know my name.”

You shake your head, heaving your net back toward shore. “And that suddenly makes you perfectly upstanding and trustworthy?”

He doesn’t miss the wince that flashes across your face when the knotted fibers drag across your arm and subsequently the wound. Looking into the weave, you frown when no fish are flopping around and prepare your arm to cast again but stop when your arm twinges.

The doctor shakes his head, pulling his other hand from out of his pocket and folding his arms over his chest. If he can’t reason with you, he believes he may know another way to convince you yet.

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. Let it fall off for all I care.”

Worked like a charm. That caught your attention, the ever astute man notices. The defiant smirk on your face falls, eyes widening in horror instead.

“Can that really happen?”

Internally he’s nearly aghast at your naivety but he nods once, face unchanging. He could sever it himself if he were to use his abilities, it would probably be less trouble than getting you to take him seriously would be but something tells him to be patient. You are a little prickly, perhaps distrustful, but you don’t seem to lack sense enough to dismiss his help a second time.

“Fine. But promise you aren’t going to steal my organs or hurt me in any way first.”

He snorts, shaking his head.

“I’m not promising anything. You can let me look at it or you can suffer, those are your options.”

You contemplate the suffering option for a second until your arm aches again. This draws a dramatic groan from you, your empty net tossed over your shoulder. It’s so rare that you need help from anyone for any reason but this is out of your wheelhouse. It’s time to take what’s being offered to you, albeit reluctant.

“Lead the way then, doctor.”

Thankfully Polar Tang isn’t submerged and waiting terribly far from where you stand right now. It’s how he stumbled upon you anyway, walking the shore before the rest of the crew decided to greet the day.

Things are already off to a strange start but once he gets this done, he can stop worrying about you completely and move on with his life.

—----------

You’ve never been aboard a submarine before and admittedly, you kind of would be alright not doing it again. Or maybe just not this one, its grumpy captain leading you inside and instructing you to remain quiet and walk straight in the direction he’s pointing which must be toward that infirmary he talked about.

When the two of you finally arrive, he shuts the door tightly behind you and instructs you to sit down near a stainless steel bench attached to the wall. While you do so he grabs his glasses off of the bench and a pair of gloves and snaps them on, leaning over you and grabbing your arm to stretch it across the table.

“This won’t take too long.”

You nod once, sitting in the stool and looking around at the incredibly clean environment he calls his own. It’s strange and you never would have considered looking at him that this is how he maintains his space. It seems like a direct contrast to the man in front of you who seems at least a little bit rough around the edges.

You suppose the same could be said about you though, precise in your work despite everything else about you being flighty at best, so you keep your opinion to yourself. It’s kind enough of him to see you in the first place that you don’t want to make him mad and potentially end up without an arm if his claims were to come true.

Noises on the other side of the steel walls capture your attention and Law groans, looking up from his work for the briefest moment.

“Go away. I won’t tell you again.”

He doesn’t raise his voice because he doesn’t have to, the low growl clearly enough to send the several pairs of feet eavesdropping outside of the medical bay door scurrying. You giggle, shaking your head.

“Friends of yours?”

Law’s face is unchanging, glasses perched on his nose while he leans back in.

“My crew. I assumed they’d still be sleeping but apparently I was wrong.”

“Oh, a crew!” You exclaim and he shoots you a warning glance encouraging you to be quiet lest they catch wind of the fact not only a stranger but a female one is onboard. “Sorry, I was kind of excited to hear you aren’t traveling all alone. You seem like the type that does.”

A strange thing to say but he chuckles so quietly you believe you imagined it, that same thumb from three days ago holding your arm as though it’s made of glass. That feeling of being seen and not simply viewed returns, settling strangely while you kick your feet back and forth where they dangle.

“Do you guys go around the world and help people like this all the time?”

Reaching for his scissors that are in a cup on the table behind you, he shakes his head once but his eyes never move from your wound. He cuts through one of your poor stitches and then another, the tension keeping the cut closed finally releasing and showing you just how much pain you’re about to be in. You play it cool, kicking your feet a little harder to focus on something besides how bad it hurts and finally, he speaks.

“No. We’re pirates.”

Staring wide eyed at the man, you try to will your face to change before he can look up and catch the expression. Unfortunately, you failed and he looks over the top of his glasses, mouth set in a flat line.

“What? Are you scared?”

“No no no, just surprised is all,” you chirp, playing off your anxiety. “You’re helping me so I have no judgment either way. Besides, I don’t have much a pirate would be interested in anyway.”

Trafalgar could name a few things about you the pirates he knows would be very interested in but he keeps them to himself, squeezing the edges of your wound together to release any lingering pus. You wince but swallow it down, tough girl that you are, gnawing your lower lip and flaring your nostrils as you breathe through the sting.

“How did this,” he nods and you know what he’s nodding toward. ”happen?”

You swallow thickly, blinking fast to keep from crying.

“Uh, it was nighttime. I was by myself and something was caught in my nets that wouldn’t come out. I tried to cut it out and ended up cutting myself instead.” Sniffling, you wrinkle your nose to keep any further show of pain or emotion from arising. “Cut the net too which really sucks.”

The pain is immense but manageable while he cuts through a few more of the stitches, gently squeezing as he goes. It’s bad but it isn’t as infected as he thought, fighting off annoyance at your utter recklessness like he should care or something.

“I hate to break it to you but maybe you shouldn’t be doing things on your own if this is the outcome.”

Contrary to the immediate offended glare you cast toward him, you have to admit to yourself that he may be correct. This time wasn’t the first you’ve ever injured yourself alone and as long as it isn’t the last, you have always sort of just considered things even but this is bad. It aches. Every stitch he pops releases the tension of the thread and you hiss through your teeth.

“You’re probably right,” you admit aloud, feet no longer kicking out and instead planted firmly against the legs of the chair to brace yourself for the worst of the pain to come. “But all I have is me so I do what I have to.”

The remark about his crew suddenly makes more sense. He hums, reaching for cotton and disinfectant solution to clean now that it’s squeezed out and the stitches are gone.

“Then you need to be more careful,” he warns, that cursed thumb finally letting go of you so he can use both hands to soak the cotton with the solution. He gently swipes it across the surface and he feels the tension in your body return.

“This is what happens when you get hurt and ignore it. It’s a pain in the ass and it hurts when it comes time to fix it.”

Frowning, you can hardly hide your displeasure over his poor bedside manner. Not that you’ve been to many doctors in your adulthood outside of the one who occasionally comes to do semi annual checkups for everyone who lives here but you assumed being a doctor meant you kind of had to be nice.

“I’ve learned my lesson.”

Your words are dripping with sarcasm but he ignores them, stepping on the trash can pedal beneath the bench and tossing the cotton in there. He moves as swiftly as you’ve ever seen anyone work and procures a needle and thread also from the bench behind you. That thumb touches the outside of your arm, again, and he pauses a moment to look up at you.

It’s obvious that you’re in pain and pretending like everything is fine. He gets the sense you do that a lot. Not that it’s his problem but he feels obligated to take the best care of you that he can while this situation is happening so he speaks slowly.

“This is going to be the worst part.”

You nod.

“It was when I did it too.��

At least you can laugh about it.

Gently poking through one side of the wound with the needle, he pulls it through and you see a tidy line of thread left behind. Far better than the messy, knotted, too big stitches you had before. He continues his pattern - poke, pull, weave - and you marvel at the quality of his work. It’s clear he takes his duties as a doctor seriously and a wave of gratefulness washes over you. Sure he hasn’t been the nicest man alive but the fact he’s done this at all tells you that he isn’t all that bad no matter how he acts.

“Thank you.” You want to leave it there, mouth opening and then closing again, but you don’t feel right saying that and nothing else. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this but I’m not good at asking for help or accepting it either. Most people give up after I shoo them off the first time so I guess thanks for not taking me seriously.”

Finishing the final stitch, he cuts off the thread and looks directly up at you.

“Yeah, well it’s not like it was hard or took a lot of time.”

Averting his gaze back down to his work to give it a final inspection, he considers telling you he’ll check in again to make sure it’s healing right. It isn’t his responsibility now that the work is done but your honesty has convinced him you aren’t very good at looking out for yourself.

“Alright, I’ll walk you back up to shore.”

You’ll have to figure out how to do it without him because once you leave this ship, he won’t bother trying to see you again.

#trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law x you #law imagines #kendall writes #shifting sands and the fingers they fall through

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