Thinking abt daughter reader (neglected or not, as you please 💕) wearing a fake pearl necklace and having it accidentally torn with the beads falling off... right in front of Bruce :) Bonus reader looking just like Martha Wayne, double bonus if it happens at night when reader is walking down an alleyway after watching a movie, triple bonus if the necklace breaks when reader is being confronted by a mugger, and quadruple bonus (shoutout to Dick Grayson 🙌) reader actually being super chill abt it. Like oh sure here's a hundred bucks oops oh no the fake pearl necklace I bought for flapper aesthetic just broke how embarrassing, oh hello there Mr Batman you look kinda unwell, everything okay?
Gotham, midnight. Rain slicked the pavement, catching neon like oil spills. The kind of night that smelled like trouble.
You weren’t scared.
You’d just seen a re-run of Chicago at one of the art house cinemas, vintage ticket stub still peeking out of your thrifted clutch. The pearls around your neck were cheap—ten bucks off Etsy, “Great Gatsby costume piece” in the description—but they glowed white against your skin like they were real. And maybe, for a little while, that made you feel real too.
The alley was a shortcut. Classic mistake. You weren’t stupid, just tired. Gotham could feel it. The kind of city that always knew when you dropped your guard.
“Hey.”
You turned.
The man was lanky, twitchy. Bad teeth. Knife in hand, eyes jittery with something chemical. “Wallet. Now.”
You blinked. Then sighed, pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill from your clutch and holding it out.
“Here.”
He stared. “The hell is this?”
“A hundred,” you said. “I don’t carry a wallet. Too bulky. You can buy three pizzas, get high, maybe even tip someone.”
The mugger hesitated. Then lunged for your bag anyway—fumbling, pulling, his fingers catching on your necklace.
Snap.
Pearls scattered like gunfire on the wet cement. They bounced and rolled, luminous little ghosts vanishing into storm drains.
You stared down at them, unimpressed. “Aw, man. I just bought that. Now I can’t pretend I’m Daisy Buchanan anymore.”
The mugger growled, “Are you serious?”
“I’m trying to be.”
“HEY!”
The voice hit like thunder—deep, familiar, jagged with fury.
From the shadows above, a shape descended. Not just a shape—a myth.
Batman.
Cape snapping behind him, boots hitting ground like judgment day. The mugger didn’t even get to scream before he was disarmed and flat on his back, out cold with a single blow.
You folded your arms. “Wow. He wasn’t even that good.”
Batman turned to you. Stopped.
And stared.
It wasn’t the pearls.
It wasn’t the alley.
It wasn’t even the crime.
It was you.
You looked like a ghost—Martha’s ghost.
Same eyes. Same bone structure. Same pearls—except, no, they were plastic, shattered, lost in puddles. But it didn’t matter. For one split second, Bruce Wayne was back in that alley. The one he never left.
And you—calm, perfectly dry despite the rain, blinking at him like he was the ghost—tilted your head.
“Uh… are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He didn’t speak.
“Wait,” you frowned. “...Mr. Wayne?”
That made him flinch.
“Yeah,” you said, half-laughing. “Kinda obvious. I mean, the jawline. The brooding. All that justice.” You knelt to pick up one of the fake pearls. “You okay? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
His throat worked, words caught there.
“I—You shouldn’t have been walking alone,” he finally said, voice rough like gravel. “Gotham’s not safe.”
You pocketed the pearl. “Tell me about it. I got mugged for the first time and lost my aesthetic in the same five seconds.”
A pause.
Then you smiled, too brightly for this haunted city. “Hey. Wanna walk me home? If you’re not too busy glowering.”
Batman—Bruce—nodded, slowly, still pale.
You didn’t see the way his fingers curled slightly when he looked at your hand.
You didn’t see the way his eyes followed each broken pearl like a funeral procession.
But you noticed the silence.
“…Do I remind you of someone?” you asked softly, as you walked together out of the alley.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
The rain kept falling. But he stayed by your side the whole way home.
And when he finally disappeared into the dark, you whispered behind him, “Take care of yourself, Batman.”
Later, in the Batcave…
Dick: “Bruce? You okay? You look like death warmed over.”
Bruce: “…She looked just like her.”
Dick: half-joking “Martha?”
Bruce: silence
Dick: “…You’re not serious—wait. Wait. Was she wearing pearls?!”
haiiii saw you were doing requests for isaac knight:}
was hoping to request some stalker/yandere isaac that likes taking photos of reader behind their back if that’s okay🫶
no pressure if not tho! love ur work✨
Your My Obsession (Isaac Night x Siren! Reader)
(Summary: Where Isaac becomes obsessively in love with you to the point where guys who ask you on a date go missing and the sense of somebody watching you 24/7)
Masterlist : Request Info
Word Count: 1.4k
(A/n: I am so happy with all the requests I've gotten for him. KEEP EM COMIN!!)
(WARNINGS!: Dark themes ahead, stalking, obsessive behaviour, obsessive thoughts, yandere, Siren!Reader, reads also a bit oblivious)
~~~
It started small. When he caught you with his oblivious roommate Gomez and his girlfriend Mortica and her sister Ophelia. Isaac had felt something that he had never felt before. Something he thought he could never feel but there it was in black and white.
And from just a simple glance started Isaac Night Obsession with you. Y/n L/n the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on.
It started small with barely noticeable glances in classes you had or across the quad or when you'd visit his bedroom with Mortica. Where you had formally met.
~~
"Oh, Gomez is this your new roommate?" Y/n asked as she stared at the boy at a desk. Gomez pulled back from Mortica smiling.
"Ah! Yes. Y/n this is Isaac Night." He gestured towards the guy at the desk.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Isaac." Her soft silky voice said.
Isaac turned his head upon hearing his name. And his ticking heart stopped at the sight of her. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen with piercing eyes, flowey hair, heart shaped lips.
"Pleasure to meet you as well." He said as he moved over towards her. "What did you say your name was?"
"Y/n." She replied back with a small smile.
His lips pressed together in a slight smile as his eyes trained on you as he repeated the name in his head.
Y/n
~~~~
After that day, he learnt her routine. Following close behind her as he took pictures of her. Whether it was in the quad, the lake, in the woods, hanging out with her friends, at the galas or/and formal events or any event that Nevermore had. His obsession with her became so bad that his sister mentioned something after seeing numerous pictures of her scattered around his lab.
~~
"Isaac this isn't okay. I mean do you know her at all?" Francoise said as she looked at all the pictures from nearly a year of Y/n L/n.
The girl she stayed away from for one reason and one reason only. She was a siren. A merfolk who sirens people with their song or voice in general. She's dangerous. Not to mention she hangs out with Isaac's sleeze roomate and his lover.
"Francoise, I know everything about her. She something isn't she?" Isaac said as he looked at the photos he had taken over a course of a year.
Francoise stomach coiled in unsettledness and fear. She knew that her brother became obsessed with things especially when it came to science or helping her but seeing it form onto a person that was her or blood related made her feel uneasy. She wondered what he would do? Would he go to the same lengths as he does with science and a gnawing feeling told her it was much worse that these photos aren't even the beginning of it.
~~~~
A year. That's how long she felt the eyes of another person 24/7. At first Y/n thought it was a prank or that she was being paranoid but now. It had to be something more.
Why did it take her so long to piece it together you may ask? Well she did evidently try to mention it to her friends but they all call her paranoid or something along the lines of "your practically famous from your family's name" and it was true her family went all the way back to the original sirens that once swam the sea but it shouldn't be that big of a deal but to some it was. It made her 'royalty' at Nevermore just like Morticia because of her terrifyingly self appointed mother. A legacy was what you were. But it wasn't just that later on when you would get asked on a date and suddenly something would happen and they'd cancel.
For months you've tried to figure it out but it was no such luck. She suspected Gomezs roommate at first but it could be him. Could it? She thought before shaking the thought away. No, it couldn't be he was always so kind and would even comfort her after her dated would cancel when she'd be all ready to go waiting in the quad. He'd show up either going or coming back from his lab.
Over the course of them meeting they had grown closer. Even shared a kiss a few times during her time of comfort or need. Which made them closer but not at first.
~~~
1 month ago
~~~
"They're ineffectual morons who don't deserve someone as kind and beautiful as you." He whisper in a slightly dark but comforting tone to you under the pale moonlight that lit up the quad.
She lifted your head and turned towards him. Their eyes meeting in the moonlight glow and suddenly there was a pool whether it was the atmosphere or his words but the next thing she knew was their lips meeting in a slow soft deep kiss. The kind that you yearn for. That you see in movies with so much passion but doesn't show it. It's not intense passion but a soft one. Like a flame burning in a candle.
~~~~~
Ever since that night she's been avoiding him. Ever since he finally got a taste of her lips his obsession his urge to have her be his grew more and more. Which concerned his sister more and more but she didn't have room to talk falling for a normie.
That night she's been avoiding him at any effort he had. In class she would sit somewhere else, run into each other at the quad or when Gomez and Morticia would be at the dorm she'd leave almost immediately saying she had somewhere to be and in truth he was getting sick of it. So he decided the perfect moment to get her he just had to wait.
~~~
After the kiss that they had in the quad. She's done everything possible to avoid him. Sitting elsewhere in class or even skipping classes to avoid him, dodging him at every chance she had.
She was confused about her feelings. She never had really felt the way she did with him and it scared her. Not to mention she always had the underlying feeling that she shouldn't trust him that there was a darkness to him apart from his clock work heart.
She was buried deep in thought as she walked down the empty corridor when suddenly a hand reached out covering her mouth and grabbing her. She shrieked when she hit the wall eyes closing at the slight pain but her eyes opened to see him. The same person she'd been trying to avoid.
"Isaac? Wha-" "I'm sorry. I just need to see you." He whispered. She looked into his eyes to se something she couldn't quite put.
"Why have you been avoiding me? Is jt because of the kiss? Do you regret it?" He asked as his hands slid down her arms.
"I-I don't regret it.. it's all I can think about really." She admitted tearing her eyes away from his but as she did a dark smile appeared on the tall boys face. "The reason why I've been avoiding you is because I'm conflicted and my feelings for you scare me."
Isaac stared at her for a moment his face still upon hearing those words 'feelings for you' . She felt the same way. He lifted chin making her look at him as he planted his lips on her in a deep kiss that made her legs go weak.
"You have no worry to fear. My feelings are just the same as yours." He whispered, when he separated from the kiss. Her eyes glimmered in the rooms glow.
He trailed slow light kisses to her ear that made her shutter in what she did not know. As he whispered "be mine."
She looked at him in shock. "Isaac I-"
Before she could say anything his lips found hers again making her thoughts dissipate before nodding her head 'okay'. Sealing her fate as she became his.
sephiroth can't resist the siren in shinra's labs...
━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━
includes: bottom sephiroth, top male reader, monsterfucking, siren!reader, monsterfucker!sephiroth, possible ooc sephiroth, implied loss of virginity, slight dub-con (Sephi passes out for a moment)
notes: i had to google if dead fish sink for this. also oiled up sephi is NOT safe from me.
~2.8k words.
━━━━━━━━━ 𓆗 ━━━━━━━━━
Sephiroth has seen you once before.
It was only a glimpse. He barely managed to make out your figure.
Your silhouette loomed over the rest of Hojo's lab, a void in the luminous blue water of your tank, like a statue watching over the room.
He froze when he saw you, mesmerised by just your featureless outline, yet Hojo had dragged him away after only a moment.
Ever since, he's felt urged to return to you - as if you're calling his name on a wavelength that he cannot hear but only feel.
You take over his mind every night, occupying his thoughts before he falls asleep and haunting his dreams. He imagines what you might look like. You could be hideous and will tear him to shreds as he stands in fear. Or perhaps you're something divine, something that will lure him in before sinking your sharp teeth into his unmarked neck...
He knows what your life is likely to be. He knows that Hojo will be carrying out wicked experiments on you each day, violating and damaging you. He curses that stupid man and has contemplated multiple times whether he should simply barge into the lab and set you free.
He knows he shouldn't. He knows Hojo would try and kill him for it. He knows that after himself, you're probably the scientist's most precious creature.
But that just convinces him even more. He pleasures himself every night to the thought of Hojo's greatest experiments fucking like wild animals - the thought of Shinra's greatest soldier getting ruined by a filthy beast.
And when everything breaks down for Sephiroth, he finally lets his desires take over him.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Nibelheim is in flames behind him.
Sephiroth is no longer the hero he was perfectly molded into. He has replaced that man with a murderous monster and he wants to meet his cursed kin. He wants to meet you.
He easily struck down the dozens of Shinra workers that tried to block his path to you and when he reaches the door to the room you're kept in, he barges in like he's about to raid it.
Hojo's not here, but Sephiroth hardly cares right now as he slams the door behind him and locks it, throwing various items of furniture in front of it. He is not risking any Shinra scum interrupting his time with you.
The only light in the room is the harsh blue lighting of your tank, which appears absolutely massive. The cylindrical cell takes up nearly half of the entire back wall, spanning the floor to the ceiling.
His eyebrows furrow as he notices your lack of presence, so he slowly walks over and peers into the glass. The interior descends into complete darkness, yet something tells him you're secretly curled up at the bottom, looking up at him.
Now that he's up close, he realises your tank isn't actually as big as it seemed. It's tall, yes, but quite cramped with limited space for you to move around. It saddens him to think that this has been your 'home' for at least the past few years.
Not wanting to tap against the glass, Sephiroth looks around for something else he could possibly entice you with. He spots a bucket of fish sitting on one of the tables and rushes over to it. Beside the bucket lies a clipboard with a single piece of paper attached to it. He's not in the mood to read any of it, but he catches the line that states, 'Feed time: 12:00 pm daily'.
His nose scrunches, appalled. You're only being fed once a day? Poor thing.
Without even thinking about the obvious risks of this act, he takes a handful of fish and heads up the steps leading up the side of your tank.
He takes a deep breath in preparation, then opens the lid of your tank and drops a fish into the water. He hurriedly closes the lid and peers around the front of the enclosure , watching the fish sink agonisingly slowly into the shadowy depths below.
He pouts, his goal having been to get you to swim up so he can see you.
So he tries again and watches the second fish head into the darkness on its own... then the third... and then the fourth.
He holds the last fish desperately in his hand, closing his eyes and saying a small plea to himself, before lifting the lid once more.
However, before he can drop the fish in, a large webbed hand breaches the surface and locks onto Sephiroth's arm. In shock, he lets go of the fish and it drops down the stairs as he tries to break free.
A second webbed hand takes hold of his other arm, claws scratching at his skin.
Sephiroth's instincts overpower his lust as he pulls back in fright, yelling and kicking at you, yet your grip is too strong.
"G-Get off! Stop!" he screams, tears building up in his eyes as panic sets in.
This was a terrible idea.
With a solid hold on Sephiroth and the lid of your tank open just enough, you pull yourself up, your back crashing into the lid and sending it flying backwards.
From the waist up, you're now out of the water, giving Sephiroth a decent idea of your size. You tower over him, your broad frame engulfing him. Slimy scales on your arms and neck shimmer against the glow from the tank and Sephiroth's terrified eyes follow them up your body until he reaches your face. His breath hitches.
You're absolutely beautiful.
Your eyes mirror the depths of the ocean, their mesmerising hues hypnotising Sephiroth and making him relax in your arms as he admires them.
Your majesty calms him, reminds him why he came here. It was to see you - to let you devour him as you were the only kin he feels he has.
He no longer struggles in your hold. Instead, he slowly takes off his gloves, careful not to make any sudden movements, dropping them beside him.
He then gently runs his fingers over your broad, soft chest.
A confused sound leaves you as your eyes follow his hands and he chuckles.
His touch trails down, ghosting over your waist where skin and scales meet. He takes your hands in his and guides them to his belt.
There’s a small click as the buckle is undone and Sephiroth lets the garment fall.
He looks up at you as he takes your hands to the clasps of his coat, watching your unreadable expression with eager eyes.
When they both pop, his coat opens to reveal his SOLDIER belt resting on his stomach.
He catches the way your eyes widen slightly with hunger and the thrill it gives him goes straight between his legs.
As if you're watching an oyster reveal its pearl to you, you sink back into the water until your lower half is submerged and watch intensely as Sephiroth undresses fully for you.
Each movement is slow as Sephiroth tries not to visibly shake from his nerves. Every so often he'll glance over at your still frame, his arousal pulsing as your dark eyes burn into him.
Once he's fully nude for you, he hesitantly reaches out for you with an unsteady hand, wanting you to come back to him. The pure, unmarked skin of his palm immediately tempts you and you surge towards him.
Your body weight pushes him down onto his back. The breath is knocked out of him and you tug his jaw open and force your tongue inside.
Sephiroth groans into you, letting you have your way with him as you settle between his splayed legs.
As you indulge in his delicious taste, you start to subconsciously grind yourself against Sephiroth's heat. The white-haired man whines at the feeling of scales rubbing up and down his dick, the sensation so foreign yet somehow so right.
You finally pull back, relishing in your little pearl's submission. He meets your gaze and wraps his legs around your waist.
"More...Give me more, my love..." he pants, practically humping you like a dog in heat.
He doesn't know if it's his words or his actions that you understand, but one of them gets through and you take hold of his sculpted hips and flip him around.
He moans loudly as your slick body slides between him, feeling completely helpless in this moment.
Your hands lie on his ass, roughly toying with the soft flesh. You never knew humans could be so...alluring.
Unable to resist your feral urges, you dive in and begin gliding your long tongue along his hole.
Sephiroth jerks up and yelps, yet you instantly shove him back down again with a strong hand on his back, hissing in his ear at his disobedience.
His heart races in fear and excitement, whining when your tongue finds his hole again and pushes its way inside.
Your strength surpasses his - Sephiroth can only wriggle about under your unbreakable hold, crying and gasping at the new sensations his body is experiencing.
"P-Please, m-mmph~!" he babbles, his words slurred like he's dreaming.
His legs kick up behind you as you continue to knead his thigh with your other hand.
Your tongue slithers against his walls as it stretches them wide open, only just missing a certain spot that Sephiroth is crying for you to hit. Your prey desperately tries to arch his hips up to give you easier access, but you're having none of it and press your hand into his back.
Sephiroth screams in frustration and you only stop when his frantic kicking makes it a little too difficult to carry on. As soon as your hand leaves his back, he pushes his ass up, his thick thighs quivering.
He glances back at you anxiously, as if anticipating you to pounce on him, and is met with you flashing your terrifying fangs at him in an evil grin. His dick twitches and you lean in, using that same tongue that just devoured his asshole to lick all the way up from his tailbone to his neck.
You push your hips onto his, driving his back down as you lie fully on top of him. He moans erotically as your tongue runs up the side of his neck.
"Oh, my love~" he sighs. "I've waited for this for s-so long..."
He reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand, biting his lip seductively when you make eye contact with him.
"Waited for you..." he whispers, before opening his mouth and letting you slide your tongue back in.
Despite the filth of the situation he's in, Sephiroth finds this action romantic. Almost as if it's your version of a kiss.
As you devour him in it, you both gently rock your hips together. The longer you continue this movement, Sephiroth notices the scales rubbing against his ass becoming smoother, like they're disappearing.
Just as he wants to part from the kiss to see what's happening, something hot and wet pokes the inside of his thigh.
He jumps, breaking your kiss and whipping his head around to look behind him. He nearly cums from what he sees.
He stares in awe as a pink tentacle-esque appendage, similar to your tongue only much longer and thicker, slides out from a slit between the crotch area of your scales.
You watch, amused, as his eyes widen with shock, blush covering his cheeks. Your cock slaps against his ass, smearing a mysterious slimy substance all over it.
Sephiroth gasps at the lewdity of it all and when your dick prods at his hole, he looks up at you like a lost puppy. His hand falls from your jaw to your chest, which he buries his face into when he feels you enter him with ease.
You lower his upper half back down and wrap your arms around him, essentially hugging him from behind as you start thrusting into him.
At this, Sephiroth tears up and reciprocates the hug as best he can.
This is everything he needed, everything he longed for.
The slapping of your scales against his wet skin is the only thing he can hear right now, his own cries unimportant as your warmth envelops him.
"M-My love..." Sephiroth sobs into you.
Despite being inhuman, you can feel his emotions and hug him tighter, lifting his hips up slightly to get a better angle in him.
Your dick now slips against that spot he was dying for you to hit earlier, making him roll his eyes back as he sees stars. The loud whines and whimpers he lets out are muffled by your powerful arms.
Everything about this experience is new to him - the pleasure, the comfort, the protection. All his life Sephiroth has been made to believe that he's undeserving of these things, yet you of all people have shown him otherwise.
With you, Sephiroth is not Shinra's most powerful soldier, a weapon used for war. Instead, he is vulnerable in a way that makes him feel wanted. Loved.
He's so lost in how incredible your dick and your body feel that he doesn't realise that you feel the same way. Sort of.
Your pace picks up and the man beneath you starts squirming as a different kind of heat begins to swirl inside of him.
"Oh~! A-Ah! I'm gonna-- Oh, my love I-I'm gonna--!!!" his words are nearly incoherent.
As you hammer into him, the only words he can get out are various pet names for you alongside the occasional "Cumming~~!".
And that's the only warning you get before he shudders in your arms, pearly cum gushing out of him as his orgasm takes over.
With your limited interactions with humanity, you've never seen this behaviour before, so you cease moving and loosen your hold on him, peering over his shoulder.
After who knows how long, his orgasm fades, leaving him trembling beneath you.
You push the hair out of his face to check if he's still conscious. Even if he's not, you're too impatient to wait for him to wake up, grabbing him harshly and dragging him halfway into the water.
This throws him out of whatever state he was in as he cries out in surprise.
"W-Wait, my love--!!"
He stutters as you pull out and spin him round to face you, his flushed face stained with tears.
He weakly manages to wrap his legs around your waist as you shove back into him. He hurriedly grasps your shoulders, struggling to adjust to your speed as you pound into his abused hole.
His cries and shouts fall on deaf ears as your dick pistons in and out of him. His tight ass squeezes the wet tendril, a choked 'Ah!' being punched out of him each time it rams into that same spot.
"Too much~~! 'S too much my love--!" he rambles.
Faint colourful patterns start to dance around in Sephiroth's vision. He no longer has any strength or energy to move on his own, completely relying on your body to keep his head above water.
You bask in his desperation, softly lapping and nibbling at his earlobe possessively.
This pathetic man walked into your enclosure and opened your tank like a naive child trying to feed a lion at the zoo. He has made his mistake and you will not let him back out of it.
He's given you a taste of something you have been denied for years.
You will make this man your mate whether he likes it or not.
The thought alone is enough to send a thrill down you, clinging onto his toned waist as you slam even more brutally into him.
You let out a pleased trill next to his ear as your hips stutter, ready to fill your mate up.
"W-Wait-! Ah~! A-AH?!"
Sephiroth's noises are cut off by the feeling of your hot sperm releasing into him, his own overstimulated cock weakly spurting out more small drops of white.
His nails dig into the scales on your shoulders as he clenches around you tight, focussing solely on the warmth spilling into his stomach.
"Love..." he whispers, dizzy.
Sephiroth physically cannot carry himself and his head falls onto your shoulder in exhaustion.
You peer down at him curiously, before scooping him up in your arms and lying back in the water, letting him rest on you as his own personal lifeboat.
He falls asleep within minutes, so worn out he doesn't stir when you later jump out of your tank, carrying him with you in your arms.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Shinra SOLDIERS finally manage to break into your cell, hours after you escaped with your lover.
All they discover is your empty tank with the top wide open and a rogue dead fish lying on the floor.
summary | Captain Wayne begins to search for answers to his recent experiences, and the more he learns, the more his obsession grows.
pairing | Pirate Bruce wayne x Siren!fem reader
serie mlist / part one
People say that in the beginning, when the earth still knew no borders and the seas were mirrors of the sky, the first mermaid was born.
Some, the most poetic, believe they emerged from the tears of stars that, upon falling into the sea, transformed into ethereal bodies, endowed with hair that flows like streams and eyes that retain the brilliance of the depths. Others whisper that they are children of nostalgia, wandering souls who, for love or punishment, were condemned to wander among the waves, searching in every human face for the promise of that which they can never have.
Or that story his mother told him, the story of the goddess betrayed by the man she loved with a devotion that neither time nor the gods could match. And that mortal, dazzled at first, ended up betraying her, forgetting all his promises and turning to another woman.
The goddess, broken with grief, poured out her fury upon the ocean. She turned her tears into song, her sorrow into irresistible beauty, and from that torment the sirens were born. They were not gifts, but warnings: creatures so perfect that no man could gaze upon them without losing himself, so seductive that all who heard them were caught in desire. They were a reminder, an eternal punishment to the fickle heart of man, destined to sink again and again because of his own weakness.
Those stories kept running through his head, even the one about his mother, which he thought he had forgotten over time, resurfaced from the depths of his mind. He was still confused, his mind was still processing everything. His ship had been attacked, his sailors had almost all been killed, he had almost lost his life, and yet what disturbed him most was not the blood or the storm, but that impossible encounter with one of the greatest myths of the sea.
The concern that consumed him was another.
The kiss.
All who sailed the seven seas knew the stories. It was said that sirens, with their beauty closer to the divine than the human, could drag a man to death with a single glance. But there was a secret darker than tavern tales: a siren's kiss.
A kiss that didn't kill immediately, but left a wound deeper than any sword in a man's heart. Some said it stole his soul, others that it condemned him to wander eternally between land and sea, a prisoner of a desire he could never satisfy.
“Captain Wayne, this is very serious.”
Alfred's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The old co-captain watched him with steady eyes, as if seeking to read the invisible mark of that forbidden contact. "A man can survive a battle, even a shipwreck. We need help."
Bruce didn't respond. The taste of salt still lingered on his lips, and deep in his memories, his mother's voice echoed like a prophetic tale.
Alfred, worried, knew that there was no man on the seas capable of responding to what had happened, except for one person they knew well.
Zatanna.
The ocean witch, the woman with eyes like the tides and a voice that seemed to carry within her the language of the winds and currents. Some said she was a daughter of the sea itself, others that she had tricked the gods into stealing their power. No matter the truth, everyone in the seven seas knew that if anyone understood everything that was happening, it was her.
"Captain Wayne," Alfred murmured, in that low tone he only used when life hung in the balance. "There's someone we must find. You know she's the only one who can decipher what that kiss means."
Bruce remained silent. The memory of the siren still haunted him: her cold lips, the feeling of eternity in an instant, and the trembling in his chest that didn't come from fear, but from something deeper.
Zatanna's name floated through his mind like a dark tide. Seeking her out was almost as dangerous as crossing paths with the creature who had kissed him again. But deep down, he knew he had no choice: if the kiss was truly a sealed fate, then she would be the only one capable of revealing the price to be paid.
The silence on deck grew thick, as if even the sea awaited his decision. Bruce looked up at the horizon, where the sky merged with the waters in an endless abyss.
Zatanna.
The name struck Bruce's mind with the force of a storm. She, the witch of the ocean, the keeper of secrets no one else dared speak. Searching for her meant venturing into waters uncharted, risking the few remaining crew members he had, and perhaps even his soul.
But he also knew Alfred was right: no one else could give him answers. No one else could decipher whether that kiss was damnation, salvation… or both.
The wind suddenly shifted, blowing eastward, as if the sea itself were inviting—or pushing—them toward their inevitable fate. Bruce placed a hand on the wet railing, feeling the roar of the ocean beneath his feet.
"Zatanna…" he repeated in a murmur, more to himself than to his co-captain. "If the sea wants to take me to her, so be it."
(...)
The air was thick with salt and magic. The cave where Zatanna lived seemed to rise from the heart of the ocean itself: damp walls that reflected the light in impossible flashes, candles that floated on the water, and symbols carved into the rock that moved with the tide. Every sound seemed to follow a secret rhythm, unknown to humans.
Bruce moved forward cautiously, Alfred at his side, but even his experience as a captain didn't prepare him for the feeling of being watched by something older than any legend.
The place was a huge mess, cages with animals were hanging, some skulls, large vases with contents of dubious presidency, nothing that generated a good omen for anyone who visited the place.
Behind a column of mossy stones she appeared, The Witch of the Ocean, with eyes like dark tides and hair that seemed to float with invisible currents.
"The sea whispered to me before you arrived," she said, in a voice that seemed a mixture of wind and song, more like mockery. "One of her daughters kissed you, Captain Wayne. You should know by now that the sea is very jealous; it's not good to anger the sea."
Bruce remained silent. His mind was still torn between disbelief and fascination; the memory of the kiss was still vivid, etched in every beat of his chest. "Then you know what I'm looking for..."
Zatanna smiled faintly, like someone looking at someone in a mirror and knowing everything they were afraid to see. A flash of light erupted from her fingers, materializing in an object on the rock: an ancient compass, made of worn bronze, but with its glass intact, shining as if it contained a piece of the night sky.
"This isn't just any compass," she said, bowing her head. "It will show you the way to whatever you desire, whatever your heart truly desires, even the things you refuse to admit."
Bruce took the compass cautiously. The needle spun, trembled, as if doubting its own judgment, and finally stopped, pointing toward the open horizon of the ocean.
The sea crashed against the rocks, and Bruce felt the roar in his chest. Zatanna leaned slightly toward him, her voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to rise from the abyss itself. "But everything has a price, Captain, you know that very well..." She stared into his eyes. "I want one of your tears; they are very rare and powerful."
Bruce frowned, clutching the compass in his hands. “And the kiss?” he asked in a whisper. “What does it really mean?”
“A mermaid’s kiss is never casual,” she replied, taking a step closer, and the air around Bruce turned cold and electric. “It’s not just desire; it’s a bond. A seal that ties you to the sea and what it holds, granting you something your mind doesn’t yet understand… but at a price that could be deadly.”
Bruce turned the compass over in his hands, watching the needle flutter before pointing steadily toward the open horizon of the ocean. “So I’m cursed?” he murmured, feeling a chill run down his spine.
"If you want to see it that way," Zatanna replied, her gaze as deep as an abyss. "It can grant you strength, protection, even an understanding of the ocean that no man possesses… but it can also mark you forever, leaving you bound to the fate of the sea, to its will."
And before she could answer, a gust of wind shook the cages and hanging skulls, making the mess of the place seem to come to life and the witch disappeared into the mist and shadows, leaving behind only the echo of her words, the smell of salt and a cold that penetrated to the bones.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the murmur of the waves crashing against the rocks and Bruce's breathing, who felt the weight of the sea on his shoulders like never before.
The return to the boat was silent, almost reverential. Every plank creaked beneath his feet, but the weight of the sea on his shoulders made every sound seem insignificant. He climbed onto the helm, resting his hands on the damp wood, trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of what he had just experienced.
He took the compass in his hand, cold and heavy, as if it contained a piece of the ocean itself. He didn't fully understand how it worked, but a feeling of inevitability ran through him: every turn of the needle seemed to respond to something he couldn't yet understand. Without meaning to, the object began to point in a direction, and Bruce, more out of impulse than certainty, followed the direction it indicated, letting the ship cut through the dark, calm waters under the silvery moonlight.
The horizon opened before him like a canvas of shadows and reflections, and with each wave that gently hit the keel, the air seemed thicker, laden with promises and secrets.
And then, amid the murmur of the sea and the creaking of the sails, he began to perceive something else. It was a sweet, ethereal sound, which seemed to rise from the depths of the ocean itself, mingling with the wind and the surge of the waves as they crashed against each other.
Bruce frowned, trying to hold on to sanity, but each note seemed to speak directly to him, painting images in his mind of endless waves, silver reflections, and a pair of deep eyes calling to him from the darkness. The song was hypnotic, enveloping, a mix of danger and promise, and the compass in his hand trembled slightly, as if it felt the siren's presence as much as he did.
The melody grew slowly, caressing and pulling at him with invisible strength, reminding him of the kiss he'd received and the bond that moment had created. It wasn't just a song; it was a call, a thread guiding him toward something he couldn't yet see, toward something waiting for him in the shadows of the ocean.
Bruce turned slowly on the wheel, instinctively following the direction in which the melody seemed most intense. Each wave that gently lapped the ship's keel seemed to vibrate at the same frequency as the music, as if the entire ocean were conspiring to guide him. The night mist thickened, enveloping the ship in a blue-gray blanket, and the moon's reflections on the water sparkled and danced, creating shadows that twisted to the rhythm of the song.
He took a few steps forward on the deck, the compass still trembling in his hand, pointing insistently toward an indefinite point on the horizon. The voice of the sea grew clearer, closer, like a whisper calling his name. Bruce held his breath, aware that each note was drawing him beyond his will, toward the unknown, toward the impossible.
And then he saw her. Through the mist and shadows that stretched across the waves, an ethereal figure emerged, as if carved from the ocean foam itself. Her pearly skin shimmered with silver and blue highlights, and her long, dark hair floated with a life of its own, swaying with every ripple of the water. Her eyes were deep, infinite, like the secrets held by the depths; eyes that looked directly into his, capable of reading every thought, every fear, every desire.
The siren didn't need to move to impose her presence. Every gesture, every wave of her hair, and the way the moonlight caressed her skin amplified the spell of her song. Bruce was paralyzed, caught between fascination and terror, aware that each note bound him closer to that invisible bond that had begun with a kiss.
The air grew thicker, saltier, and more vibrant, and the compass in his hand beat with the same intensity as the melody, guiding him inevitably toward her.
The siren continued her song, an ancient and seductive melody that seemed to rise from the very depths of the ocean. Each note was a whisper of waves and wind, a song that spoke of secrets of the sea, of forbidden desires, and of sealed destinies. Bruce felt his heart pounding, almost unable to resist; each note drew him in, pulling him toward her as if every fiber of his being were bound to that impossible voice.
With cautious steps, he advanced onto the deck, reaching out toward the ethereal figure floating through the mist. He wanted to touch her, feel her, understand the bond that kiss had begun, but he was barely a few steps away from reaching her when a shadow emerged from between the waves and the ship's hull.
"Captain, no!" a hoarse voice shouted. A man appeared, his silhouette silhouetted against the moon, saber in hand, eyes shining with concern. "That creature is cursed, it's dangerous."
The scream not only caught Bruce's attention, but the frightened mermaid, before disappearing into the waves, looked at him one last time with those wide, beautiful eyes. Bruce stood motionless, bewildered, his hand still outstretched, feeling the emptiness he had left behind.
The pirate's scream, combined with Bruce's confusion, was enough to alert the others. From the gloom of the deck and hold, other sailors began to appear, armed and alert-eyed, asking in whispers and murmurs about the origin of the scream and the siren's presence.
Bruce took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure, but the night mist and the echo of the chanting still held him trapped. His eyes searched the horizon, where just minutes before the siren had floated like an impossible reflection of the sea itself. An intense and dangerous feeling coursed through him: an overwhelming need, a desire that burned in his chest and clouded his reason.
The sailors' murmurs, the warning cries, everything blurred before the intensity of that impulse. Bruce felt he could cross storms, defy the night, and break any barrier to reach her. And as the compass trembled in his hands, insistently pointing toward where she had vanished, he understood with dangerous clarity that there would be no turning back: he was completely crazed for her, ready to follow her to the ends of the earth if the sea so desired.
𓇼.𖥔 ೀ─synopsis: you’re a curious siren, drawn to the enigmatic sea god who could care less about you — until the tides shift, and suddenly, begrudgingly, he can’t seem to stay away.
𓇼.𖥔 ೀ─based on this request !
𓇼.𖥔 ೀ─wc: 7.7k
The tide gnawed lazily at the jagged shore, washing brine and broken shells over the rocks where you sprawled. From here, half-hidden between a pair of slick boulders, the world seemed stretched thin — a smear of grey sky above, the restless blue below, and nothing in between worth singing to.
You’d been here for hours, watching for something — anything — that might entertain you. The last fishing boat had slipped past before sunrise, the crew oblivious to the shadow that had followed in their wake. A gull had landed near you briefly, eyeing you with a predator’s caution, but it had taken wing the moment you’d moved a finger. Even the tidepools were dull today, their starfish clinging in stubborn silence, their crabs vanishing into dark crevices at the barest ripple of your shadow.
You blew a strand of damp hair from your face and resisted the urge to sing just to shatter the monotony. You’d already been scolded enough by your elders for using your voice on “unworthy prey” — as though any mortal fisherman could hold your attention for more than a few heartbeats.
You were just considering slipping back into the water when a glint caught your eye.
Not the dull silver of fish scales, nor the sharp gleam of a blade — this was richer, deeper, a ribbon of shifting blue and opal, moving with purpose just beyond the breakers.
You went still.
The glint surfaced again, longer this time — a tail, sleek and powerful, arcing through the shallows like liquid sapphire. Whoever it belonged to moved with the ease of something that belonged to the sea itself. You watched it cut through the water toward the rocky spit not far from you, each flick of its fin scattering sunlit droplets.
Then he emerged.
Broad-shouldered, his wet hair spilling over them like ink and violet light, his skin kissed with iridescent scales at the collarbone and hips. Chains of gold and pearl draped across his torso, catching the sunlight like trapped stars. His eyes — even from here you could see them — were the impossible blue of a deep lagoon, rimmed with a faint blush of pink at the center.
You forgot to breathe for a moment.
He was not human, that much was certain. And yet… he was not quite like you, either.
He didn’t look toward the rocks where you lingered, his gaze fixed instead on the shore ahead, as though searching for something among the sand and scrub. The wind stirred his hair and he tipped his head slightly, studying the line where the waves met the land. He moved with that curious deliberation you’d seen only in creatures who knew the world belonged to them.
A sea god, you thought distantly.
The sea god.
And, quite suddenly, you weren’t bored anymore.
The longer you watched, the more the details gathered, each one sinking its hook into you. The way water slid off his skin in fine rivulets, catching the sun in bright beads. The delicate scatter of silver markings along his cheekbones, the faint gleam of opalescent scales trailing down one side of his torso before disappearing beneath the blue sweep of his tail.
He was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten — like the first sight of a reef after days in open water, or the sudden bloom of sunlight through a storm. The kind of beauty that could make you reckless.
Heat crept unbidden into your cheeks. You dipped your head slightly, as though the rocks around you could hide the betraying color in your face from the wind itself. Foolish. You were no wide-eyed mortal, swooning over the first handsome sailor to cross your path… and yet your pulse had quickened all the same.
What was he looking for? His gaze roved the sand and stone with quiet intent, each movement unhurried but purposeful. He seemed entirely absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious to the fact you were shadowing him from the water’s edge.
You tilted your head, studying the slope of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. You wanted to know the sound of his voice, the weight of his stare if he turned it on you. Would it be cold? Commanding? Or something softer, if you lingered long enough?
The question itched under your skin until you could no longer sit still. You slipped silently from your perch, gliding through the shallows to keep pace with him as he moved along the shoreline.
He didn’t glance your way.
You narrowed your eyes and let a single note hum past your lips — light as a drifting current, harmless, meant only to see if it would catch on his ear. The sound curled into the air between you, soft enough that no mortal could have heard it over the sea’s sigh.
But he stilled.
Only for a moment — a slight pause in his movement, the faint tilt of his head — before he resumed his search as though nothing had reached him at all.
A smile ghosted over your lips. So… the sea god did hear you. How interesting.
You sank a little deeper beneath the surface, letting your eyes follow the gold-and-pearl chain that traced his spine like a tether. If he truly believed he could ignore you, then clearly, he’d never met a siren with your patience.
You shadowed him for several minutes, weaving between the darker patches of water, certain you’d blended into the shifting light. Every so often you caught the side profile of his face — unreadable, intent — and the steady flick of his tail that sent lazy ripples rolling toward shore.
You’d just eased closer, close enough to see the fine filigree of scales along his ribs, when his voice cut through the air.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The words were low but carried effortlessly over the crash of waves, deep and edged like the rumble of a storm.
You froze, your tail sweeping in a slow arc. “Maybe I am.”
His head turned just enough for one sapphire-blue eye to meet yours. “I suggest you find a better pastime than spying on me.”
“That’s a bold accusation,” you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Perhaps I just happened to be here.”
“Perhaps,” he echoed, voice dry as salt air. His gaze lingered, sweeping over you in a measured, assessing way that made your pulse tick faster — and then he looked away, dismissing you as easily as the tide discards foam.
“Whatever your reason,” he continued, “it’s no concern of mine. But you’d do well to keep your distance.”
You arched a brow. “Why? Afraid I’ll bite?”
His mouth curved — not a smile, exactly, but something close. “If you tried, little siren, I’d bite back.”
The way he said it was neither threat nor tease, but something in between, and it caught faintly in your chest. Before you could decide on a retort, he flicked his tail and moved on, water churning briefly in his wake.
“Don’t follow me,” he called over his shoulder.
You waited until he was just far enough away not to see the grin spreading across your face. “We’ll see about that,” you murmured to yourself.
Whatever he thought, you had time. And patience. And a very stubborn curiosity about the sea god who looked at you as though you were both a distraction and a challenge.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The ruins were older than memory, half-swallowed by coral and swaying curtains of kelp. Pillars lay toppled in the sand like the bones of some long-forgotten beast, their carvings worn smooth by centuries of current. Shafts of sunlight slanted through the water above, painting everything in soft gold.
You drifted between broken archways, trailing your fingers over the cool stone. A school of round-bellied silverfish waddled past your path, their scales flashing.
“You’re all getting very fat,” you murmured, flicking one on its side. It bolted away with a flick of its stubby tail, the rest scattering after it in a shimmering panic. You grinned to yourself.
It wasn’t until you rounded the curve of a half-collapsed wall that you saw it — the conch shell. Nestled in the silt as if it had been placed there deliberately, its spiraling ridges caught the light in bands of pale blue and cream, dusted with iridescence.
You lifted it carefully, running a thumb over its lip. It was heavier than it looked, thrumming faintly in your palm. A shell like this would fetch a small fortune among certain traders… but that wasn’t what held your attention. There was something alive about it, like it had been listening all this time.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The voice came from behind, deep enough to vibrate through the water and into your ribs.
You jumped — just barely — and turned to find him there, hovering a few lengths away, framed by the shattered arch. His hair drifted around him in a slow, purple halo, gems and pearls glinting faintly in the filtered light. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of the myths.
“And why not?” you asked, curling your fingers protectively around the conch.
“This place…” His gaze swept the ruins, then came back to you, steady and unblinking. “…is mine.”
You arched a brow, letting the corners of your mouth curl in challenge. “You think you can just lay claim to any spot in the sea because you’re the sea god?”
“I believe that is well within my right,” he said, voice smooth as the still water before a storm, “as the god of the sea, yes.”
You rolled your eyes with deliberate slowness. “Of course you do.”
His attention flicked down to your hands. “And not only have you trespassed,” he said, his tone cooling further, “you’re stealing from me.”
“I wasn’t stealing,” you countered, holding the shell up between you. “I was just looking at it.”
“I’m sure you would have taken it had I not shown up.”
Your smile sharpened. “If I wanted to rob you blind, I’d just start singing. You’d have no idea what hit you.”
He scoffed outright, the sound short and humorless. “Do you honestly think your petulant siren song has any effect on me?”
The currents between you shifted — faintly, but enough that the strands of your hair lifted.
“Why don’t you let me test that theory?” you said lightly, tilting your head.
His eyes narrowed, but not in fear. “Careful,” he murmured, voice dropping low enough that you felt it more than heard it. “You’ll find my patience thinner than you expect.”
You only smiled wider, spinning the conch lazily in your palm.
You began to swim around him in a slow, measured arc, the way a predator might circle something interesting but not immediately threatening. Your skirts whispered against the stone floor, trailing your shadow across the walls.
Rafayel didn’t shift his stance, but his eyes followed you — cool, steady, ocean-deep.
“You know,” you murmured, leaning just close enough that the salt-sweet scent of his skin reached you, “your hair catches light even here. Almost unfair, how it still glitters when the rest of us are shrouded in dark.”
You reached out before he could lean away, letting your fingers slide into the dusky strands. The silken texture was warm against your skin, and you idly twirled a lock around your finger, watching how it curved.
He flinched. Not much — just a small, sharp motion like the flick of a fin — but enough that your smile tilted.
Then, without a word, he plucked the conch from your hands.
Your brows rose. “Hey.”
He ignored you, turning it lazily in his palm as though it had always been his.
You swam closer, reaching for it — and he shifted his arm just slightly, keeping it out of your reach. You tried again, faster this time, but he was already moving it higher, that unreadable expression still carved into his face.
By the third attempt, you were half-laughing despite yourself. “You’re insufferable,” you accused, arms stretching as far as they could reach.
“Is pestering me really that amusing to you?” he asked flatly, gaze steady as a tide that would never break for you.
“Yes,” you said without hesitation, still smiling.
His mouth curled — not into a smile, but something sharper, a flicker of disdain. “Barnacle.”
Your gasp was dramatic. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” he countered.
You tilted your head, pretending to study him. “Are you always this serious?”
“Are you always this persistent?”
“Yes,” you said again, and grinned when his eyes narrowed just slightly.
You made one last swipe for the conch, leaning across the narrow space between you, fingers brushing the curve of its pearlescent shell. Rafayel tilted it effortlessly out of reach again, that infuriating little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey—” you huffed, settling back with your arms crossed. A faint pout tugged at your lips before you could stop it.
He only twirled the conch once in his hand, letting the soft gleam of the light catch on its ridges.
“Why is this thing so important, anyway?” you pressed, trying to keep the edge of irritation from your voice.
His gaze flicked to you, slow and assessing. “You really are a nosy siren, aren’t you?”
You didn’t answer—just arched a brow and stared at him, unblinking, until he sighed in mock defeat.
“It can play a certain melody,” he admitted at last, running his thumb along the spiraled shell.
Your pout vanished in an instant. “A melody? What kind? Play it for me!”
“No.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Why not?”
“Because,” he said with deliberate calm, “I won’t just follow your whims.”
“It’s just a melody, not a big deal,” you argued, leaning forward again.
His smile turned sharper, a flicker of amusement in his sea-glass eyes. “You’re far too brash for someone so airheaded,” he murmured, “demanding so much of the sea god.”
Your jaw dropped. “Airheaded? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“It’s the most polite thing I could think of,” he replied smoothly, turning the conch over in his palm again.
You narrowed your eyes. “If that’s polite, I’d hate to hear you try for insulting.”
“Barnacle,” he offered without hesitation.
“You already used that one!” you protested. “Recycling insults is lazy.”
“Or efficient.” His gaze dipped briefly toward your crossed arms before lifting to your face again. “Unlike certain sirens who spend their days loitering where they shouldn’t.”
You leaned in with a little grin. “Maybe I like loitering in your spots.”
Something in his jaw tightened, though his expression didn’t crack. “You’d be better off finding a new hobby.”
You gave a slow, deliberate look from his crown to the swish of his tail. “Mmm… no. I think I’ll keep this one.”
For a long moment, he just studied you, unreadable as the deep. Then, with an air of absolute finality, he slipped the conch into the fold of his belt and began to drift backward.
“Hey—” you started, swimming after him a pace, but he lifted a hand in a quiet, imperious gesture.
“Don’t follow me.”
“Or what?” you challenged, tilting your head.
His eyes glimmered faintly in the dim water. “Or you’ll find out just how little patience I have for barnacles.”
You let him go this time, watching the shimmer of his tail fade into the shadowed ruins. Even from a distance, the glint of gold at his throat and the opalescent gleam of his scales burned themselves into your memory.
And beneath your annoyance, you could feel it again—that restless, humming pull toward him. He was infuriating, impossible, untouchable.
Which, of course, meant you weren’t nearly finished with him yet.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The city center of Lemuria was alive with color. Lanterns swayed on ribbons overhead, their light rippling like captured moonlight across the gleaming shells of the streets. The air smelled of salt and something sweet — candied kelp, roasting on spits in bronze pans — mingling with the warm, briny brush of the water on your skin. You wandered slowly, drawn in by the voices and music, the hum of excitement gathering for the festival to come.
At every turn, there was something to tempt you. A vendor with hair like curling seaweed waved you over to his stall, showing you a tray of delicate charms carved from coral and polished pearl.
“Each one blessed in the tide pools this morning,” he said with a wink. “Carry it with you, and the Sea God might favor your wish.”
Farther down, a woman selling skewers of spiced shellfish leaned over her counter, insisting, “These were his favorites when he walked among us. Eat one, and maybe he’ll notice you.” The shellfish gleamed, glistening in the lamplight, and you couldn’t help but smile as you accepted one, its heat warming your fingertips.
The streets were crowded but friendly, the Lemurians quick to laugh, their eyes alight with the same quiet reverence every time you mentioned the Sea God. You asked a jeweler polishing silver rings if anyone had seen him lately, if he might appear tonight. She only shook her head.
“No one ever knows,” she murmured, almost dreamily. “But when he comes, you feel it — here.” She touched her fingertips to the hollow of her throat.
You moved on, weaving through dancers practicing for the evening’s procession, their silken sleeves billowing like waves. With each step, your anticipation deepened. Everyone spoke of him with such devotion, and yet no one could say for certain if he would come. That uncertainty only made the thought of seeing him — of finding him here, somewhere among these crowded streets — all the more intoxicating.
Everywhere you went, you asked the same question, your voice mingling with the music and chatter around you. “Do you think the Sea God will be here tonight?” Some only laughed, shaking their heads. Others answered hopefully, but no one truly knew. Still, they all spoke of him with reverence, as if his presence might be felt even if unseen.
The crowd drew you toward an open square where a circle had formed. Musicians sat cross-legged on woven mats, plucking at shell-stringed instruments and tapping out rhythms on drums painted with swirling wave patterns. A group of dancers flowed into the space — men and women draped in silk the color of the deep sea, their hair adorned with star-shaped flowers.
They moved like water, every step and turn a tide rising and falling. Arms swept overhead like cresting waves; skirts fanned out like foam against the shore. You stood at the edge of the circle, the pull of the performance holding you still. The dancers’ feet barely seemed to touch the ground, their bodies turning in perfect unison, shadows flickering in the lanternlight.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d been expecting — hoping — to see a familiar figure slip into the crowd, perhaps watching from the edges with that unreadable expression on his face. But no matter how your gaze swept the faces beyond the circle, Rafayel was nowhere among them.
The music swelled, the dancers forming a whirlpool of movement at the center, their voices rising in a haunting chant. It was beautiful — enough to make you forget yourself for a moment — yet there was a faint, inexplicable ache under your ribs, a quiet longing that had nothing to do with the Sea God the others prayed to.
The festival’s light and laughter trailed behind you as you slipped away, the noise of the city fading until only the soft murmur of the waves kept you company. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping to see him — not just a glimpse, but to catch him watching you the way you’d been watching him.
But he hadn’t been there.
The sea grew darker as you swam farther from the glowing lanterns of Lemuria. For a while, there was only the rhythmic push and pull of the tide, the distant call of night-creatures. Then… a sound.
Soft. Haunting. The kind of melody that seemed older than language itself.
You stilled, tilting your head, the notes curling through the water in shimmering threads. It tugged at you, gentle but unyielding, until you found yourself following it without thought.
It led you to a narrow strip of shore you didn’t recognize, where the moon painted silver paths over black rock. And there he was — Rafayel — perched on one of the larger stones, the conch in his hands, coaxing that unearthly song from its spiraled depths.
For a moment, you didn’t move. You simply watched him, the way the wind caught strands of his violet hair, how the moonlight slid over his shoulders, turning the opalescent shimmer of his scales into something almost unreal.
You swam closer, slow enough not to break the spell, until you could rest your arms on the rock below him, chin propped atop them. His gaze flicked down at you, the melody halting mid-note.
“Don’t stop,” you said quietly, almost pleading.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but after a pause, he lifted the conch again and continued to play.
You closed your eyes, letting the sound wrap around you. Under the moonlight, his tail gleamed in deep blue and pearly hues, every shift of muscle catching the light like a school of tiny fish. The music was low, steady, and you began to hum along without thinking, matching the rise and fall of his notes.
When the song faded at last, you blinked up at him. “Why’d you stop?”
He hesitated, gaze sliding away from yours. “Your humming was… a nice addition,” he muttered, the words almost lost to the waves.
Your lips curved into a smirk. “Was that a compliment?”
“Hardly,” he said dryly. “You’re a siren. It would be concerning if you couldn’t hum a simple melody.”
You rolled your eyes, but the faintest warmth curled in your chest.
Silence settled between you, broken only by the water lapping against the rocks. Your gaze drifted lower, tracing the long sweep of his tail. His voice broke in, tinged with suspicion. “What are you looking at?”
Without hesitation, you reached out, letting your fingers skim lightly over the scales. They were smooth and cool, each one catching a different glint of moonlight. “Your scales…they look pretty under the moon,” you said honestly.
A faint flush crept over his cheeks, and he glanced sharply away. Then, with a quick flick of his tail, he sent a sharp splash of seawater over you.
You sputtered, blinking droplets from your lashes. “Hey!”
“You shouldn’t just say things like that,” he said, almost too evenly.
Shock quickly dissolved into laughter, and you flicked the tip of your own tail, sending a spray of water right back at him.
The next wave hit harder, sending a spray of cold droplets across your face. You gasped, half from the chill and half from the audacity, before slicking your hair back from your eyes.
He was still on his perch, tail half-submerged, that smug tilt to his mouth as the ripples fanned out from him.
“You dare attack the Sea God?” he declared, voice rich and mock-imperious, before flicking his tail sharply. Another spray of seawater caught you square in the chest.
You laughed — you couldn’t help it — and struck back, twisting your body so your own tail sent a surge of water rolling up toward him.
“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be?” He arched a brow, tail sweeping through the water in a sharper arc, sending a stinging curtain of spray right into your face.
You retaliated immediately, the water between you churning as the two of you volleyed wave after wave. He had the advantage of height, you had the advantage of reach, and soon the air was ringing with splashes and your unrestrained laughter.
And then, in the midst of the chaos, you caught it — the sound you didn’t expect. A low, warm laugh.
It startled you enough to pause mid-swing, the water settling around your hips.
“Finally decided to relent?” he asked, smirking down at you, a bead of seawater sliding down the sharp line of his cheek.
“This is the first time I’ve seen you smile,” you said softly, almost as if speaking it too loud might scare it away.
The smirk faltered. His gaze darted to the horizon, and he gave a quiet, gruff, “Nonsense.”
But you didn’t miss the way the corners of his mouth twitched, as if the sea itself was reluctant to let that smile sink beneath the surface again.
You tilted your head at him, letting the grin return to your face. “What, the great Sea God can’t smile?”
His expression shuttered in an instant, the warmth from moments ago dissolving into that familiar, flat stare. “I can,” he said evenly. “You just haven’t given me a reason to.”
You only hummed, wholly unbothered by his clipped tone, and swam a slow circle toward the side of the rock. With a quick flick of your tail, you hauled yourself up beside him, settling onto the sun-warmed stone. Droplets slid down your arms and tail, pooling between the two of you.
“So,” you began casually, propping your chin in your hand, “why didn’t you go to your big festival tonight?”
He didn’t look at you, instead gazing out over the black mirror of the sea. “Why would I? Those people only see me as a symbol.” His voice carried no bitterness — just a simple, unbending fact.
You nodded slowly, understanding tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Being a god must be tough. Lonely, too… being an almighty being and all.”
“Hmm,” was all he gave in return. His eyes finally slid toward you. “And you? Did you go?”
You grinned and pulled a small trinket from where it was tied at your waist — a little charm strung with blue beads and tiny shells. “Of course. I even bought this.”
He stared at it for half a beat before saying flatly, “It’s ugly.”
You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I know. But apparently it can get me the Sea God’s blessing.”
That made his gaze sharpen slightly. “So you went to the festival just to get something from me?”
You shook your head. “No. I just hoped to see you.”
He was silent for a moment, unreadable as ever. Then: “Either way, it appears you were scammed.”
You laughed again, warm and light. “I guess so.”
He tilted his head. “Are you disappointed, then? That the Sea God isn’t as almighty and gracious as you’ve been led to believe?”
You met his eyes without hesitation. “No. I think I like Rafayel more than the Sea God.”
That earned you a pause. His gaze lingered on you longer than before, something unspoken shifting in his sea-glass eyes. And then his jaw tightened.
“This isn’t one of your siren tactics, is it?” he asked, voice lower now, the words deliberate.
You leaned back against the rocky outcrop, lips curling faintly as you studied him. “Oh?” Your voice had a sudden edge, sharper than he was used to. “Just because I’m a siren, I can’t be genuine?”
Rafayel blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t—”
“You know,” you went on, your tone tightening like a coiled rope, “you’re quite arrogant. Do you think you’re better than me just because I’m a siren? What makes us so different, hm?”
The words hung between you like a challenge. His mouth opened, closed again, the faintest flicker of unease crossing his face. “I… I didn’t mean—”
“Mm-hm,” you cut in, refusing to soften, your eyes fixed on him with an almost accusatory gleam.
He looked genuinely flustered now, starting to stammer out something that might’ve been an apology when you broke into laughter — rich, melodic, unrestrained.
He froze, staring at you like you’d just grown a second tail. “What—why are you laughing?”
“I’m messing with you.” You grinned, your earlier sharpness melting away.
His brows knit, and a faint pink dusted his cheeks. “Petulant siren,” he muttered, glancing aside as if embarrassed to have been taken in so easily.
You were still laughing as you reached to your hip, pulling out the trinket you’d shown him earlier. Holding it delicately between your palms like a holy relic, you tilted your head and intoned in a mockingly reverent voice, “O mighty sea God, please forgive me for my insolence–”
Before you could finish your exaggerated bow, Rafayel leaned closer and caught your wrists, lowering your hands with a resigned huff. “Knock it off.”
But you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth, and you couldn’t help thinking you’d just won a small, private victory.
You lowered yourself back in the dark water, the moonlight painting the surface silver. “Alright,” you said, tilting your head and fixing him with that teasing gleam in your eyes, “grant me one wish.”
He paused, tail flicking impatiently through the water. “First you tease me,” he said, voice low and unamused, “and now you want to be greedy?”
You grinned, undeterred. “It’s not greed. I’d like… to show you something.”
His eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he gave a sharp, reluctant nod. “Fine. Lead the way.”
You twirled in the water with a flick of your tail, motioning him to follow, and together you swam out from the moonlit shore into the gentle swell of the sea. The currents carried you past reefs teeming with life: coral in every shade of the ocean, spiny sea urchins tucked into crevices, and fish that glimmered like scattered gemstones darting between the rocks. You hummed along with the rhythm of your tail, watching him glance around, intrigued despite himself.
“Do you always bring people through reefs like this?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like curiosity.
“Only the interesting ones,” you replied, nudging a bright yellow fish with a fingertip. “They like to follow me anyway. I think they know I’m harmless.”
“Harmless,” he repeated flatly, though the corner of his lip twitched again.
You laughed, flicking your tail in a playful arc that sent a small current his way. “We’re here.”
The cavern yawned before you, tucked beneath the cliffs along a quiet stretch of shore. The open ceiling framed the moon, silver rays spilling down to kiss the sand. Candles were arranged around the perimeter, unlit, their waxy surfaces catching faint glints from the moon. Silks and tapestries draped along the walls and across the floor, colored in deep blues, purples, and soft golds. Shelves held small gems, crystals, and shells collected over time, glimmering quietly.
Rafayel’s gaze swept the space, sharp eyes taking in every detail. “What… is this place?”
You smiled softly, swimming closer. “It’s my secret spot. I come here when I want to get away from… everything, or just find somewhere silent for a while.”
He studied you, the usual rigidity in his posture softened. “And you brought me here?”
“I thought you might like it,” you said, shrugging gently. “You’re welcome to come here too… if you ever feel like not being a god for a while.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then his gaze swept over the space again, lingering on the unlit candles. “It’ll be prettier when they’re lit,” you said, “but it will take me forever to—”
Before you could finish, the soft, low hum of energy rippled through the cavern. One by one, the candles flickered to life, their flames dancing without wind, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The crystals caught the light, scattering it in tiny rainbows across the walls and floor.
You blinked, stunned. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at him, not fully understanding the effortless grace with which he had summoned the light. He stood there, backlit by the golden candlelight, the moon glinting off his scales, each one shimmering in pale opalescent hues. The adornments along his body—pearls, gems, delicate chains—glimmered like constellations.
“You…” you whispered, eyes widening, barely aware of your own heartbeat. He looked unreal, something born of sea and moonlight, breathtaking in the glow he had created.
Rafayel’s gaze flicked to yours, calm and unreadable, though the soft light caught a subtle flush along his cheeks and the faintest narrowing of his eyes at your stunned expression.
You swallowed, still staring, lost for words, mesmerized both by the space and by him.
You turned slowly, letting your gaze drift over the woven basket tucked in the corner of the cavern. Fingers brushing across the silks and small treasures within, you finally plucked out a delicate gold bracelet, catching the candlelight in its polished surface. Twisting it lightly in your hands, you held it out to him.
“For you,” you said, smiling softly.
Rafayel’s eyes flicked down at the bracelet, then back at you, an eyebrow arched. “What… is this?”
“It’s a gift,” you replied, stepping closer. “It matches the rest of the jewelry you wear.”
He held it between his fingers, inspecting it carefully, the glow of the candles reflected in his eyes. You couldn’t resist the playful tease lingering at the edges of your voice. “Rumor has it,” you added, smirking slightly, “that you can receive the Siren’s blessing with it.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you expect me to… wear this?”
Your smile faltered, and your fingers fidgeted slightly. “I— I just thought you might like it…”
“Thank you.” he said, cutting you off with that calm authority that somehow still made your stomach flutter.
You blinked, a little confused, his words soft but firm.
Before you could ask more, he slipped the bracelet over his wrist with effortless ease. The gold gleamed against his scales, contrasting with the delicate gems and chains already adorning him. He flexed his hand slightly, catching your gaze.
“It’s… nice,” he said quietly, the hint of sincerity tucked beneath his usually curt tone.
You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, a strange, fluttering mix of delight and disbelief. “High praise coming from you,”
He only glanced at you briefly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips before his gaze drifted toward the flickering candlelight again. But the way his wrist caught the light, bracelet resting perfectly among his adornments, was enough to make your heart skip.
For a long moment, you just watched him, the bracelet glinting against his wrist, the candlelight dancing across his scales. He stood there, still and unreadable, and yet there was something different in the way his shoulders had relaxed, the faint curve of his lips that betrayed the smallest trace of ease.
And then he moved.
“I’ll be going now,” he said abruptly, his voice flat, but there was an edge to it — a quiet attempt to steady himself, to reclaim control over the subtle pull he felt toward you.
You blinked, tilting your head in mild confusion. “Oh…”
He gave nothing more, only the faintest nod, before slipping into the water with effortless grace. The gentle splash echoed in the cavern, leaving a cool emptiness in his wake.
You sat there for a moment, chest rising and falling as you processed it, a small smile tugging at your lips. Then, as the moonlight shimmered across the rippling water, you laughed softly to yourself, low and airy, shaking your head.
The Sea God — so formidable, so impossible, so utterly fascinating — had just become far more interesting than ever before.
You leaned back on your tail, eyes lingering on the moonlit water where he had vanished, already dreaming about the next time you might cross paths.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The land market was nothing like the calm, rolling tides of Lemuria.
Here, the air was warm and dry, carrying the tang of salted fish, the sharp sweetness of ripe fruit, and the faint scorch of roasting chestnuts. Stalls spilled down the narrow street in mismatched colors, awnings fluttering in the breeze, their vendors calling out prices in boisterous singsong. The crowd moved like a living current—human, messy, unpredictable—but instead of shying from it, you let yourself be carried along.
You had always liked visiting land. It was nothing like the quiet, shimmering halls below the waves, where the light filtered in blue and silver and every sound was softened. Here, everything felt sharper, brighter—sunlight gilding the cobblestones, voices rising and falling in lively rhythm, the scent of spices and baked bread weaving together in the air.
You paused at a stall where bolts of dyed cloth hung like waterfalls—scarlet, saffron, indigo—running your fingers over the weave. The vendor smiled and held a length up to your shoulder, chattering in accented Common about how the color would “bring out the gold” in your eyes. You smiled back, tucking away the compliment even though you didn’t buy.
Further along, a child darted past, a wooden hoop rolling ahead of him, laughter trailing like a ribbon. A baker leaned out from his shop to dust sugar over a tray of still-warm pastries, the scent curling around you and tugging you closer. You traded a few coins for one and bit into it while walking, savoring the buttery layers that melted against your tongue.
A fiddler played somewhere up ahead, the notes quick and bright, drawing a small crowd. You lingered at the edge, watching the way humans clapped and swayed without any concern for grace, for how they looked. It was a kind of freedom you admired—messy, uncalculated, alive.
You could have wandered like this for hours, tasting, touching, listening. Observing the patterns of land-bound life was its own kind of pleasure, and every trip ashore left you with a pocketful of small treasures: a seashell traded from a fisherman, a handful of strange coins, the lingering warmth of sun on your skin.
“You’re going to get lost if you keep staring at every stall like it’s a museum,” came a low voice beside you.
You turned, startled. Rafayel was leaning against the side of a cart piled with oranges, arms loosely crossed, an expression that wavered between faint irritation and something you suspected was amusement.
Your surprise must have shown, because one corner of his mouth twitched. “What? Didn’t expect to see me today?”
“Considering you’ve made it a personal hobby to avoid me most days—no,” you said, folding your arms in mock offense. “Color me shocked. Did someone pay you to find me?”
“No,” he said flatly, though there was the faintest pause, as if he were weighing whether to elaborate. “I had business nearby.”
“Mmh. Very convenient.” You arched a brow, studying him. “What business does the God of the sea have on land?”
You stepped closer, smiling. “You could have just said you wanted to see me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he replied smoothly, but his gaze flicked over the crowd—scanning, assessing—in a way that made you think he was lying.
The current of people surged, jostling your shoulder. Before you could stumble, his hand closed around your elbow, steadying you. He didn’t let go right away.
“This place is a nest of pickpockets,” he murmured. “Stay close.”
You should have teased him for the protectiveness, but the way his fingers lingered—warm, firm—left your voice catching in your throat. Instead, you let him keep his hand where it was, and he didn’t seem inclined to move it.
The next stall was a riot of color—silks in every shade, rippling in the wind. You reached out to brush your fingers over a bolt of deep ocean blue, and the vendor pounced immediately, extolling its quality and cut. You glanced to Rafayel, half-expecting him to scoff at the whole thing, but he was watching you instead, eyes narrowed in thought.
“What?” you asked.
“That color,” he said simply, “looks like you.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the casual honesty. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, but the words were softer than usual.
Still, when you stepped away, you found the same bolt of fabric in your arms a moment later, thrust there without ceremony.
“I didn’t—”
“I’m doing you a favor,” he said. “It suits you more than the cheap garments you drape yourself in.”
You smiled despite yourself, hugging the fabric closer.
As the afternoon wore on, you realized you’d stopped caring about the crowd entirely. Rafayel moved like a shadow beside you, intercepting anyone who strayed too close, haggling for food without you asking, even carrying the small pile of purchases you’d accumulated.
When you paused to taste a slice of honey-drizzled melon, he didn’t bother taking one for himself—just plucked the piece from your fingers, ignoring your startled protest, and popped it into his mouth.
“Rude,” you said.
He didn’t answer. He just smiled, licking the juice from his thumb in a way that made your stomach knot unexpectedly.
By the time the sun began to lower, streaking the market in gold, you’d almost forgotten why you came here in the first place. You were laughing at something he’d said—a rare, genuine laugh—and for a fleeting moment, he smiled back. Not the sharp, mocking curl of his lips you’d grown used to, but something quieter. Warmer.
You wanted to call him out on it, to poke at the edges of this strange shift, but you found yourself reluctant to break it.
Instead, you nudged him with your shoulder and said lightly, “For someone who wasn’t looking for me, you’re awfully good at showing up exactly where I am.”
He met your gaze for a long moment, unreadable. Then: “Maybe I just know where you’ll wander off to.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, letting the disbelief drip from your voice. “Or maybe you like my company.”
He didn’t answer, but as you started toward the end of the street, his hand found your elbow again—steady, guiding, unwilling to let you drift too far.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The water was cool against your skin as you slipped through the reef, the day’s frustrations trailing behind you in slow, dissipating currents. The elders had been relentless — nitpicking, lecturing — and by the time the sun had dipped, you’d escaped with a single destination in mind.
The cavern.
Its quiet always soothed you, the gentle drip of water from the open ceiling, the moonlight slicing silver ribbons through the surface. Tonight, you were craving it.
But before you reached the entrance, something else drifted to your ears.
A low, curling melody — the kind that slid under your skin and coiled there. You knew that sound.
You eased forward, peering into the mouth of the cavern. There he was, seated in the shallows, elbows resting on his knees, the conch raised lazily to his lips. His eyes were half-lidded, expression unreadable, as if the world outside the music barely existed.
He didn’t look startled when his gaze flicked toward you. If anything, it felt like he’d been expecting you.
“That’s twice now,” you said, pushing closer through the water, “you’ve shown up unannounced.”
“You offered this place to me, did you not?” he replied, unbothered. His fingers tapped the shell idly. “Sing.”
You arched a brow. “Aren’t you worried we’ll crash every ship at sea?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “If they’re foolish enough to wander this close, they deserve it.”
You laughed, and the sound mingled with the conch’s next deep note. You let your voice join in, weaving through his melody — not overpowering, but warm, threading in and around the rhythm. The cavern seemed to hum with it, the stone and water amplifying every rise and fall.
He matched you, adjusting the flow of the song, his gaze flicking to you now and then — as if measuring the harmony.
Eventually, the pace softened, the music curling into something gentler, almost private. You hummed along, your voice dipping in time with his breath, until the last note faded and the only sound was the ripple of water against rock.
Without a word, Rafayel set the conch aside and reached into the small pouch at his hip. When his hand emerged, it held a delicate necklace — a single iridescent scale set into a silver pendant, glimmering faintly in the moonlight. The colors shifted with every ripple in the water, pale blues and greens deepening into molten gold at the edges.
You blinked, lips curving. “A scale? Is this some kind of confession?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, siren,” he said, tone dry but a shade quieter than usual. “I simply dislike debts.”
You laughed. “It might take a bit more than this to repay me for putting up with you, O great sea God,”
He scoffed and stepped forward, the water swirling softly around his legs. In the shallows, his height cast a shadow over you as he reached to fasten the chain around your neck. His fingers were deft but careful, brushing against the back of your skin just long enough to send a faint shiver through you. He kept his gaze firmly averted, but the set of his jaw was tighter than normal — like he was focusing too hard on a simple clasp.
You glanced down, letting the pendant settle against your collarbone. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice slipping past its usual teasing lilt. “Thank you, Rafayel.”
The water between you seemed to still. His eyes flicked to yours for a heartbeat — just long enough for you to see the faintest bloom of color at his cheekbones before he looked away again.
It was then your attention dipped to his wrist — and there it was. The gold bracelet you’d given him days ago.
“Haven’t gotten around to taking that off, hm?”
“Haven’t gotten around to it,” he repeated, voice flat but softer than before.
The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt like the pause in a song where the next note could tip everything into something new. Moonlight caught on the scale at your collarbone, the gold at his wrist, and for a moment, neither of you moved.
When you finally drifted to sit beside him on the smooth rock ledge, he didn’t protest. The cavern’s echo wrapped the two of you in quiet as you leaned, just slightly, until your head rested against his shoulder.
“You’re getting comfortable,” he said after a moment, the words meant to be scolding — but his voice lacked its usual bite.
“Mm. You’re not exactly pushing me away,” you murmured.
He didn’t answer. And that was answer enough.
The two of you sat there beneath the fractured moonlight, the water lapping gently at your legs, until the rest of the world felt very far away.
a/n: anon i hope i captured the vibe you were looking for😭 i loved writing this, such a fun request! hope u guys enjoy! <3
PLEASE PLEASE i begg youu siren(y/n) x werewolf smut, where the wolf bf is in rutt
A Sirens Call
Hello! Thank you for the request! I'm sorry I somehow missed the part about the werewolf being readers boyfriend until I already finished it so I accidentally left that out. Still, I hope you enjoy!
While you look primarily human thanks to your father, your mother had passed on her alluring voice. Human men have always been weak-willed when it comes to the song of a siren. Being a hybrid meant you, too, could lure men with just the sound of your voice.
It was almost pathetic watching men fall for you so quickly. To see the spark in their eyes, a vision of having your body all to themselves before it was ripped away as you flash them your razor-sharp fangs. One look at the deadliness you possess would have them running. Sometimes, if you were bored, you would start singing again, watching as they became entranced and made their way back to you, only to repeat the process over and over until you grew bored again.
Today was like many others. You found yourself lying by the wide river, perched on a rock, and bored out of your mind. Your grin widened as you heard someone moving through the forest in the distance—finally, a human to entertain you on this dull summer day.
As you begin your siren’s song and hear the man make his way toward you, your body buzzes with excitement. Toying with him should give you at least a few hours of entertainment if you try to make it stretch.
As he stomps out onto the river bank and from behind the trees, your song falters, and you see it is not a human man. Instead, a large werewolf stands about fifteen feet from you. He is easily over ten feet tall and made of muscle. His shoulders are double yours, and his biceps look thicker than your thighs. His dark gray fur and bright yellow eyes only add to his intimidating appearance.
As he moved closer, you stopped your song and flashed him your teeth, waiting for him to turn away as all the men do. Instead, he gave you a wide grin, flashing his own sharp teeth as he looked your body up and down. His advances started again, and you almost turned to make a run for it when your eyes caught on the reddish-pink flesh sticking out from between his massive thighs.
His cock bobbed up and down with each step, hanging heavy. The tip is even redder than the shaft, with veins running along the long length. The thinnest part under the tip must have been thicker than your wrist, and the knot forming at the base was already larger than your fist.
Your mind screamed to turn and run, but your body stayed locked in its spot, your cunt getting wet at the sight. He reaches you quickly, towering over your body before lowering himself down and shredding your simple dress with his long claws. He pushed you back on the rock with ease before licking his long tongue up your wet slit. He lets out a growl before burying his snout in your pussy and fucking his large tongue inside you.
The moans you let out are even more alluring to the werewolf than your songs as he thrusts his cock into the air, precum dripping down his length as he devours your tiny pussy.
Your juices gush from your hole as you cry out in pleasure. He seems to dream you ready for his cock as he moves up your body, lining his cock up with your dripping hole and thrusting in his tip.
You grab onto the fur of his chest, which hovers above your head, back arching as he thrusts more and more of his massive cock into your wet heat. With one hard thrust down, he fills you completely, and you scream out at the stretch. He gives you no time to adjust as he begins fucking you with hard thrusts.
His knot slams against your entrance, and your clit gets smacked on each stroke. The werewolf groans and growls as your cunt clenches and sucks him in. He lowers his body slightly, and his fur starts rubbing slightly against your sensitive peaked nipples, only adding to all the stimulation you feel.
He lifts up slightly as he speeds up his thrust more, and you glance down, moaning at the sight. The tip of his cock bulges your belly on each stroke, his cock glistening with a mixture of your juices and his precum. Your pussy begins clenching down, and your nails dig into his chest as you gush around his massive cock.
He lets out a loud growl, and you cum around him, putting the majority of his weight on his hips until his knot manages to push inside your pussy. You scream as he locks inside you, overcome with another orgasm before the first even ends. Your insides are pumped full of his hot seed, filling your womb and stretching your lower stomach.
Your legs shake slightly as you both come down, the werewolf holding his weight above you so you don’t get crushed to death. It takes several minutes for his knot to go down, and he finally pulls out with a wet pop. The mixture of your arousal and his cum pouring out of your gaping and twitching cunt.
You slowly turn onto your hands and knees, legs shaking as you begin crawling out from beneath the massive male. Though he doesn’t let you get far before he growls and shoves his still-hard cock back into your cunt from behind, using his own body to press your chest to the rock, ass raised high to receive his brutal thrusts.
As your body begins nearing its third orgasm in such a short amount of time, you can’t help but realize that you won’t be bored the rest of the day because this werewolf is definitely in rut.
HALF OF MY INBOX IS SIREN READER !! dw, i got you guys. ( also i got a lot of love in my inbox. !! thank you so much for the support. youre so sweet , im looking at 🍃 anon ily ) summary: sevika saves your scales.
masterlist , part 1 2.1k words part 3
The night after you met Sevika, you followed her ship, even throughout the darkness. The celebratory crew could be heard on the deck, along with the clanking of glasses and music.
Although this wasn't what you were interested in, you were interested in a certain captain. You assumed she didn't bother with the celebration and got bored swimming alongside the ship.
Eventually, it had come to a stop in the late night, now sitting in the dock of a well-populated island. You eyed the people that stepped off, and your gaze landed on Sevika.
She was hard to miss, her large stature and intricate outfit stood out amongst the crew, ultimately declaring herself captain. There was a sort of swagger in her walk, perhaps from booze or maybe exaustion.
Whatever the case, you were interested.
You couldn't get too close to land, deciding to lurk around the harbor instead. You ducked under the water upon hearing any movement or voices. Being this close to population was no place for a siren, especially such as yourself.
Any fisherman or pirate alike would take take you up and pawn you for a pretty price. So you heeded in your movements. Luckily, you were a skilled enough swimmer that you made little to no sound whilst in the water, barely leaving behind a ripple.
The sun was just now rising, and you assumed Sevika would be looking for a place to stay the night. There was no way you could wait around that long for her to come back. But that doesn't mean you didn't want to.
To your delight, a group of men swarmed to talk on a dock near you, and their conversation was full of exactly what you wanted to hear.
Sevika.
They were pirates looking for a crew, and from the looks of them, quite experienced pirates.
"She's headed to Shank's motel. Shall we give her a visit?"
"This late at night, man. You've got to be spewin' some blige. She'd flog you just at sight."
"Aye. Migh' as well wait till' morn' "
You grew closer to their spot, itching to hear more. Your head nearly bumped against the old wood due to your closeness.
Suddenly, a hand was in your hair, but unlike Sevika's, it was clammy and gross.
You screeched at the intrusion, being pulled out of the water.
A fourth man.
How could you let your guard down so easily?
"Now, what's a stupid lass like you doin' so far out at bay."
You crained your head up to be met with a severely shredded bald man. You clawed at the hand on your scalp and thrashed. The sting threatened to bring tears to your eyes, and you opened your mouth for a song.
The knowing man slammed your face down onto the wood, stopping you in your tracks.
"Fuck. This one be a siren, but the harder the catch, the more the prize is what I say."
Another voice came from your left.
"Knock 'er out, and I'll grab a net."
A blunt thwack was heard before your vision went dark.
..
Sevika had tied her boat to a post before leaving her crew to find a place to eat, preferably not a bar where she knew the rest of her men were headed. Having enough to drink, she sat at a stand selling calaloo and threw a few dabloons on the counter silently, waiting for her meal.
Her mind wasn't on anything except for you. The ruler of the Seven Seas was enamored with a mer-person.
How fitting.
She thought about the way your eyes sparkled when she told you stories, looking at her like no other. How your cold hands were so gentle when you touched her. Your soft lips against hers.
I mean, how much deeper could she fall.
Having been so engrossed in thought, she barely noticed the whispers around her. Barely. She, of course, was the talk of the town.
She intimidated people just by taking a seat next to them, so casual yet making everyone at the stand turn to glance at her. It wasn't often that Sevika bothered with mundane tasks such as eating anywhere but a bar, and nobody really saw her face anywhere except for wanted posters.
Although it was a picaroon town, and there was no way anyone there would bother to turn her in or snitch, she still pushed her plate away and got up to fend off the prying eyes. (Picaroon means pirate)
Her buckled boots thudded against the dirt road, now on the way to the nearest inn. She was almost desperate for a nights sleep without rocking on the mad waters.
Upon entering, a large man stomped past her, eager to get somewhere, she was just about to grab him and slam him into the nearest counter before her attention was interrupted.
"Them chowder-headed fools caught themselves a real jem, aye?"
"Heard theys' puttin' 'er up for auction"
That was never a pretty thing to hear. It either meant low-life pirates snagged themselves an expensive treasure, or worse, a living treasure. But it wasn't rare that a fisher or pirate just so happened to find a large, human-like fish in their net and put her on the market, so Sevika paid it no mind.
She did linger on the fact that it might be the one person on her mind at the moment but quickly shook away those thoughts. You were smart, quick. Theres no way any man would have you that easily.
When she approached the counter for a key, the shop-keep laughed, "What? You want a room? I think you ought to pay the stands a visit, its the first auction in a week."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes at his words, her head dipping into her previous thoughts again.
I guess it wouldn't hurt to make sure.
So she drug her tired and heavy legs right back across town for the sliver of a chance that it might be you.
..
You awoke with a harsh throbbing in your head, feeling cold and dried up. Through blurry vision, you could make out the steel bars, closing you in. And a loud voice,
"Another bid for 300 dabloons !"
Fuck. It's what you've been dreading all your life. You got caught due to your lack of awareness and clumsiness. Inwardly cursing at yourself, you grabbed at the bars and shook violently.
"Look, she's awake. How do we feel about upping the price now that we can see her pretty eyes."
The man stuck his fingers in your enclosure and tilted your chin up. At that moment, you became aware of the metallic muzzle on your face, keeping your jaw in place. You glared up at him, knowing you'd bite him if you could.
He pulled away when you jerked your head forward, as if making the motion to bite him. He laughed loudly, and another bid came from the crowd.
"500!"
The men yelled and whooped at that. You thunked your head against the bars, the loudness ringing in your ears. You can't believe you got yourself in this mess for a pirate.
It was just hollering and laughing for a while before the man beside you spoke,
"500, Aye? Going once.. going twice.."
"A thousand."
A heavy female voice stood out amongst the rest, sounding angry and tired. Your eyes darted around, looking for the source of the voice, but another shrill voice spoke up.
"1000? Is this woman kidding? 1500."
The men's laughs roared in again, smacking the mans back and slinging booze. A tall figure stepped out of the shadow, cigarillo in hand, and spoke, "Double it."
All went quiet as they eyed Sevika, her arm crossed over her chest as she brought a mechanical hand to her lips to take a drag. She blew the smoke from the side of her mouth, making a taller male cough.
Your eyes widened, and fingers gripped the bars steadier. When you made eyecontact, you could have sworn her eyes went soft for a moment before she looked to your captor.
"Well.. any final bids..?"
He spoke seemingly frightened and pleased with himself all in one moment.
Nobody spoke against Sevika, as a captian never had a bounty over their head for a reason. And her bounty was hefty.
There were no protests as she pushed her way through the crowd, seemingly more violent than usual. She put her cigar out on someone's forehead, the small tiss, standing out against silence.
Her boots clunked as she ascended the stairs and plopped three brown bags atop your cage. You looked up at her, but she wasn't looking back. Her metal hand was grabbing the key from the mans hand and pushing him backward in one motion.
He stumbled, but you looked away to eye Sevikas human hand swiftly unlocking the cage. She held her hand out to you, dark hair shadowed her eyes, and hid her expression from you.
She was who you were here for.
You hesitantly grabbed her calloused hand, and immediately, she lifted you into her arms. Now, looking into the crowd, her menacing expression was highlighted by the dim torches that surround the stands. Her cape was draped over your tail and bare torso, shielding you from the cold, and more importantly the people.
As she was stepping down the stairs, she saw your muzzled mouth, and her expression got a tinge darker. No words needed to be spoken as she balanced you with her human arm and knee, tearing the straps of the muzzle off with a sharp finger.
It was almost instinct to hum a siren song, but before your vocal chords could start, you saw her expression and buried your face in her sturdy torso. It was the look of warning, a warning that you obeyed.
Pirates gawked at the sight of her carrying you past the crowd of people. Nobody dared to reach out and touch you. Some people didn't even dare to look at you. You kept your gaze on Sevika's clenched jaw and torn expression. The angles of her face were more prominent at this angle, you would blush at the sight but your nervousness didn't allow it.
Her grip on your tail was firm, yet gentle, human arm cradling your torso without complaining about the coldness. You weren't one to be drawn to the warmth of a human, but found yourself pressed closer against her body. You now shut your eyes to rid of the feeling of stares and judgement.
As she carried you down the dirt road back to the inn, she spoke in a frustrated tone, "You are the stupidest fish ive ever met."
"And you're the sappiest pirate ive ever met."
..
When Sevika stepped into the inn with you in her arms the keep gawked at you. You were cradled like a baby, weightless in her hold. She kept a stern gaze as he passed her the keys with a room number attached "56".
The people that sat in the inn waiting room averted their eyes, shrinking under Sevika's cold grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed, making you want to reach up and rub the wrinkle between them.
She walked up old rickety stairs, almost bending under your combined weight and turned left down the hall to the room. It was surprisingly quiet, and you were able to hear the woman's ragged breaths. Sevika was obviously worn out and tired from her day, and still came to your rescue.
How heroic.
She effortlessly shifted you to one arm, making sure your head was steady against her shoulder and creaked open the wooden door. Your tail barely brushed against the ground, her height compensating for the length.
"I need—," you spoke, before she cut you off with a grunt.
"Water. I know."
Opening the door to the bathroom, she sighed at the size. It was almost too small to fit her large frame and your long tail.
Dropping you into the tub gently, she turned the knob for cold water. "Want me to sprinkle in salt?"
You genuinely couldn't tell if she was joking, "No, no it's okay," You laughed, humming at the feeling of water on your tail.
"Why did you let yourself get caught," Sevika said, more as a statement than a question.
"I wanted to find you.. and I succeeded.. mission accomplished?"
She shook her head and bent down to accommodate for the space between you. She put a warm hand to your cheek, eyes soft and almost concerned, "Don't go looking for me like that again, danger follows me closely."
You giggled at her seriousness, despite being roughed around and almost being sold as fish food (or worse) you felt somewhat at ease. The woman at your side brought you a strange feeling of comfort, comfort that the sea never brought you.
"I guess ill just have to follow you closer."
i already have ideas for part three.... hehehehehe
again, thank you for the asks they are sweet ! and comment if you want to be on the taglist for part 3 , i do have some other works in my drafts but im saving them for when i finish this series :) but asks are open !!!
All Y/N ever wanted to do was sing her songs and be free. Yet somehow, after offering to pay for the meal of a certain boy in a straw hat she finds herself causing havoc through the East Blue.
Masterlist
Trigger warnings: violence, death, one mention of SA, torture, trauma.
Word count: 11K
Disclaimer: The songs I will be using in this fic aren't mine bc I have 0 creativity. I'm sorry.
It began with the sea.
Y/N had always loved it—its wildness, its freedom, the way she belonged to it until it didn't anymore.
Her father.
One moment, they had been laughing beneath the mangroves, her tail brushing his in the soft sway of the tide. He had this deep laugh, the kind that made you feel like the sea itself was smiling, the one that made you feel safe. The next, she was being pulled through the water by her mother's hand, frantic, terrified, forced to hide behind a jagged coral outcropping.
The Marines had come.
She remembered the way the water stilled with their arrival, how everything seemed to hold its breath. Her father stood between them and the rest of their small pod, eyes steady, chest bare, refusing to bow. He hadn’t tried to run. He was proud of what he was.
They called him a monster.
She remembered the rope—coarse and foreign—wrapped around his tail. She remembered the way he screamed as they dragged him to the surface, like an animal in front of the humans above, his tail twisting, his gills flaring in panic.
They made an example of him, they laughed at him. He didn’t scream at first. Just glared, teeth clenched, blood dripping from his brow.
But the rope pulled tighter.
She had watched it all from the surf, a small shape half-submerged, too afraid to move, too frozen to scream.
His voice broke first, his tail followed.
She woke up for months afterward, screaming in the middle of the night, the sound of his body hitting the dock echoing in her skull like thunder. Even now, floating somewhere in unconsciousness, she could still see the way his eyes locked with hers just before the end—like he was sorry he couldn’t protect her.
Then, it had been her mother.
The scent of oil and blood in the water, the metallic tang of harpoons, the click of nets unfurling beneath the waves.
Her mother had been swimming ahead with her and her younger sister, whispering directions, pushing them harder and faster through the reef caves. They had escaped raids before, so they could with this one... but the nets came from all sides, folding in like monstrous wings.
She remembered her mother shoving them forward through a narrow crevice in the rock—one barely wide enough to squeeze through. Her sister slipped through first, small and fast. Y/N started to follow, but before her mother could go with them, the net hit and swallowed her in an instant.
Tangling her limbs, cutting into her skin, Y/N turned in time to see her mother clawing at the ropes, blood blooming into the water like smoke.
Their eyes met.
“You run!” her mother cried, voice sharp with desperation. “Take her and go. Don’t look back!”
But she had looked back and the image never left her, the way the net tightened on her, the way her mother still fought, still hiss, never showing weakness until they pulled her into the pirate ship.
Y/N had heard her scream, and she had never stopped hearing them.
And finally, it was her. Y/N a little older, a little wiser, and twice as afraid.
They’d been running for days, hiding under boats, clinging to driftwood, swimming only at night. Her sister was weak from hunger. Y/N had tried to keep her spirits up, promising they'd make it to the safe island they had heard about—just a little farther, just one more tide, just one more ocean.
But the marines came again, with boats, with lights, with nets, with weapons. They could never outrun them.
But thankfully, Y/N saw them before her sister did.
She looked at the little girl she’d promised to protect, her gills fluttering weakly and she made a decision, she swam away from her sister, toward the open water, fast and visible, making sure they saw her first.
And they did.
The net hit hard, winding around her limbs, crushing her tail. She screamed as it pulled her to the surface, torches blinding her eyes.
She looked back once before disappearing into the boat.
Miri was gone.
Gone somewhere safe at least, do once they killed her, at least she knows her sister made it, but the thing is, she was never meant to die, no, that would've been better.
They hauled her aboard like a trophy.
She never even knew the name of the marine who caught her— all she remembered now was his face, sideburns, and rectangular glasses, but it didn’t matter because he did not keep her long. Just long enough to show her off, to laugh about the “sea witch” he’d dragged in. Then he sold her. No papers, no records, just Berri and silence.
The next man—the real monster—was worse.
The Captain didn’t want money, he didn’t want to brag, he wanted to break her.
He called her his “treasure.” Kept her in a cage. Fed her scraps. Ordered her to entertain him when he was in a good mood. Beat her when she refused. Called her beautiful, precious, unnatural. Sometimes all in the same breath.
He touched her like he owned her, talked about her like she was a pet, and Y/N learned quickly that silence was safer than defiance, that closing her eyes was the only way to hold onto what little dignity she had left.
She stopped counting the months, stopped singing, stopped dreaming.
She stopped believing she was worth saving.
At first, it felt like she was floating.
Weightless.
Suspended in the dark with nothing but the steady pressure of water pressing against her ribs and the dull ache in her limbs.
Y/N stirred, groggy, her mind sluggish and fragmented. Something stung at her wrists. Her arms were above her head, pulled taut. Her tail—a dull throb of muscle and bone—hung limply behind her, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. She tried to move, to shift, to swim, but her limbs didn’t obey.
Her eyes fluttered open.
At first, it was just a blur of blue-green, shifting light. Then shapes began to form, steel, glass, movement outside the curve of her vision. Her heart kicked once, hard, and she tried to move.
Chains clinked softly as her body barely shifted.
Her wrists were bound—metal cuffs bolted to the interior wall of a water tube, suspending her arms just above her. Her tail was also restrained near the base, the thick fin looped and fastened to a bar at the bottom of the tank, keeping her suspended and stretched in a loose, languid posture that wasn’t painful. Her breathing picked up, but something tight kept it from going too far.
That’s when she realized there was something clamped over her mouth.
It wasn’t cloth, it was metal, cold and fitted, wrapping across her lower face with sharp ridges etched into it like carved warning signs. The pressure on her jaw made her teeth throb. She tried to scream, to hum—anything—but only bubbles slipped free from her nose.
Her eyes darted now, frantically taking in the curved walls around her. She was inside a massive tube—maybe ten feet tall, five feet across, filled with seawater and glowing faintly with some eerie light. The glass was thick, probably reinforced, and smeared slightly from fingerprints and sea grime.
She struggled, a small, instinctive jerk, but it sent a flash of pain up her arms. The shackles didn’t budge. She kicked once, weakly, her tail brushing the bottom curve of the tank, but it didn’t help.
She was on display and wasn’t alone. through the glass, she saw movement, shadows passing by.
Fish-men.
Their voices echoed outside the glass: laughter, movement, footsteps.
There were fish-men outside. Most paused to glance her way and smirked. Others laughed, muffled by the tank, the sound distorted and cruel. She didn’t hear words, but she didn’t have to, nor did she want to. One even knocked on the glass, amused by the way she flinched.
The light shifted again, heavier this time, deliberate.
Y/N blinked slowly, vision stinging. The murky outline of passing Fish-men gave way to a larger figure, a silhouette too broad to be anyone else. The water around her seemed to chill as he came into view.
Arlong.
He stepped right up to the tank with that lazy, leering swagger, his grin wide and sharp, rows of teeth gleaming beneath dim torchlight. For a moment, he didn’t speak—just stood there, watching her like a man admiring a painting he’d nailed to a wall.
Y/N tried not to react, but her muscles tensed instinctively. The chains groaned softly where her arms strained against them.
Then he placed a hand on the glass.
“You look better this way,” he said at last, his voice distorted through the water but clear enough. “No lies. No illusions. Just what you really are—a pretty little traitor in a tank.”
She glared at him, teeth grinding behind the gag, her gills flaring in instinctual anger.
“You can thank me later,” he continued, casually circling the tank. “Not every day someone gets to see one of your kind up close. Rarer than gold, you know... And just as sellable.”
He stopped behind her, tapping a knuckle against the glass once, twice. The sound echoed inside her skull.
“I already sent word,” he added with cruel cheer. “A couple of collectors in the North Blue have been dying for a specimen like you. Pure blood, real tail, and still got that wild spirit. They’ll pay nicely.”
Y/N thrashed suddenly, tail lashing in the water, rage bubbling up fast and fierce—but the motion only made the chains bite deeper into her wrists. Her cry was swallowed by the gag, nothing but a muffled gurgle of fury.
Arlong laughed, mockingly. She tried to ignore it all, just focus on escaping... but something shifted in the corner of her vision.
She turned her head slightly, as far as the gag’s straps would allow. Just enough to see a figure further back in the chamber. Half-shrouded in shadow, lingering near one of the stone archways, her orange hair catching the light like fire.
No.
Y/N stared through the warped glass, her heartbeat loud in her ears, gills flaring slightly with every panicked breath. The cold bite of metal against her mouth had long since become part of her. She didn’t bother struggling anymore, not with her standing there.
Nami.
At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. Her mind is playing games. But no—she knew those shoulders, that walk, that way her arms wrapped tightly around her ribs like she could hold herself together if she just squeezed hard enough.
It was Nami.
Standing just behind the guards. Out of reach, but not out of place and worst of all—she didn’t look afraid, she looked… resigned.
Arlong’s voice continued to drone, something about buyers and collars and how pretty sirens were when they begged. Y/N barely heard him now. All she could do was watch the girl she had trusted— laughed with her, fought beside her, comforted her—stand silently with them.
But Y/N didn’t rage, she was stunned, maybe a bit betrayed, but not as much as could be, should be, because she understood, she had lived in cages before. She knew what survival tasted like. Knew what it cost.
If Arlong held something over Nami—her home, her life, someone she loved—then what choice did she really have? There were a thousand different cages in this world, and not all of them had bars.
Y/N didn’t blame her, but gods, it still hurt.
It hurt more than the chains, more than the tank, more than Arlong’s laughter. Because even if she understood, she had hoped— truly hoped Nami would be her friend, and now, she hoped, that she wouldn't be the one who wouldn’t look away.
But she did, and that was the worst part.
Time blurred, maybe two days passed, maybe three.
Y/N wasn’t entirely sure anymore. The hours bled into each other like ink in saltwater, soft and indistinct. Her limbs were heavy, her thoughts slower than they used to be.
She could survive underwater. Of course, she could; her body was built for it, but survival wasn’t the same as breathing. This tank had no real current, no fresh flow of water. Just stale, stinking salt and a whisper of air that barely filtered in through the cracks around the top.
She drifted in and out of consciousness, her body occasionally jerking awake in panic as her instincts screamed breathe, breathe, breathe—even as her lungs burned and the tight mask over her mouth allowed only the smallest sips of water-filtered air to pass through.
Sometimes she could hear voices—mocking, muffled through the glass. Other times, it was just footsteps, the occasional tap on the tank’s side from a passing Fish-man, like she was nothing more than a curiosity. A rare, exotic pet.
Once, someone tapped in a rhythm, like they were playing with her, a melody she couldn’t follow.
Her body had stopped resisting; her tail floated limp beneath her, fins trailing in the water like seaweed. The chains held her upright, wrists raw and bruised. Her head lolled slightly against the restraint around her face.
She could only breathe ‘properly’ when they lifted the lid to toss in food—though calling it food was generous. It was mostly scraps. Bits of raw fish or soggy kelp that drifted down toward her like refuse. But with the muzzle strapped around her face, tightly buckled at the back of her head, she couldn’t eat even if she tried.
But it did not matter, all that mattered was the air that entered the tank when they opened the lid. She’d jerk toward the surface in desperation when she saw the shadow of the lid being unbolted, only for the guard to laugh and slam it shut again before she got there.
A game.
They liked to watch her panic.
It was a slow kind of torture—not enough to kill her outright, but enough to diminish her. She could feel herself weakening by the hour. Her muscles ached from being suspended too long, her tail dragging heavier every time it brushed the bottom of the tank.
Sometimes, she would catch her reflection in the glass and barely recognize herself.
Pale skin. Bruised wrists. Red-rimmed eyes. Hair tangled like seaweed.
And sometimes she dreamed of her mother’s arms—warm, strong, always wrapped tight around her after storms. Of soft coral beds where she and her sister used to hide from the world, giggling like the sea couldn’t touch them. She dreamed of lullabies sung in whispers, voices layered in harmony beneath moonlight. Of her father’s laugh echoing across the waves, louder than any tide, full of life, full of light.
She dreamed of her people, their songs under moonlight—of voices rising together in harmony, echoed back by the sea like magic.
And she dreamed of her sister— her sweet little sister, the one she had decided to embark on this trip for, she was older now, safe and smiling out there somewhere, happy, so happy it made this all worthwhile.
In her dreams, she was safe. Whole. Free.
But when she woke, she woke to silence, to water that pressed down like lead. To a muzzle biting into her jaw. To the slow sting of shackles digging into her wrists and tail. The dreams were soft, but the waking was cruel every time.
And now, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on.
Her body ached in ways she hadn’t known were possible. Her chest was tight, her vision often fuzzy. Her tail floated limp behind her like dead weight, the scales dulled and sore. The moments of consciousness were shorter now, harder. There was no rhythm to the days—only an endless stretch of water and pain.
She hoped for death.
Not because she wanted to die, not truly. But because it would be hers. It wouldn’t belong to Arlong. He wouldn’t get the pleasure of seeing her chained and paraded before some slobbering noble. Wouldn’t get the coin for her scales, or the bragging rights for selling off the last living siren he could catch.
If she died here—gagged and silent, but still somewhat herself—then maybe she’d steal something from him after all.
Maybe that was the only freedom she had left.
She tilted her head upward, toward the faint ripple of light above the tank. She couldn’t see the sky, but she liked to pretend it was there.
Her vision had gone soft and unfocused, her limbs numb, her mind drifting somewhere between memory and nothing at all but then, she thought, maybe, she heard something, voices, shouts, the clang of metal on metal.
Fighting?
No, it had to be her mind. Her last desperate flickers of thought clawing for comfort. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Echoes. Phantoms. The old dream of battle, of freedom, just before the dark swallowed her whole.
CRACK.
A sound she felt more than heard. A sharp jolt rocked the tank, and for the first time in what felt like forever, her eyes snapped fully open.
Another hit, then another. Something—someone—was slamming into the glass.
The vibrations rattled her teeth, and a hairline fracture bloomed in the curved panel just to her left, spiderwebbing outward.
“—again!” Someone shouted as another thumb echo.
She flinched instinctively, her body jerking in the water.
And then, without warning, the tank shattered. The wall of glass burst outward with a roaring surge, sending a wave of seawater and shattered fragments cascading into the chamber beyond.
A massive force ripped through the tank as the glass exploded outward, shards spraying like sea foam. Water rushed, bursting from the prison that had held her captive for days.
Y/N’s body was dragged with it, flung forward by the pressure, but she didn’t move far since the shackles yanked her short.
She screamed, or tried to, the sound smothered by the metal still muzzling her mouth. Pain tore through her shoulders as the full weight of the water slammed forward, her body caught like a ragdoll on a line. Her wrists screamed, metal digging deeper into already torn skin.
She was still trapped, but the world around her wasn’t quiet anymore.
There were voices now, shouting, boots slamming against tile, weapons clashing.
She couldn’t breathe.
Not from lack of oxygen now but from the shock. The cold. The pain. The— hands, warm hands.
Someone reaching for her.
Through her haze she saw movement. A blur of blue and black. Steel flashing. Sanji or Zoro, both, maybe, there was blood on the ground, shouting in the halls. A blur of bodies in motion, sweeping through the chaos like a storm.
But none of that compared to the face that suddenly appeared in front of her, breathless, wide-eyed, trembling.
Nami and a key.
Y/N blinked slowly, still disoriented, unsure if this was another hallucination. But when Nami reached down, then up and touched the shackles—gently, like she didn’t want to hurt her—it felt real.
Nami’s lips were moving, but the words she couldn’t hear through the ringing.
“I’m sorry,” she was saying. “I’m so, so sorry.”
The first shackle clanked free. Y/N’s arm dropped, limp, useless. The second followed, and she collapsed forward, caught in Nami’s arms before she could hit the ground.
Y/N dropped forward—half-collapsing, her body too weak to catch itself. Nami caught her as best she could, dragging her forward as the water drained fully away.
Sanji was there a moment later, slipping an arm around her waist to support her, his grip firm but careful, the heat of him a shock against her cold, aching skin. Zoro took point, blade still drawn, eyes sharp and watching for anyone foolish enough to get in their way.
The mask.
Nami’s hands were still trembling as she unclasped the muzzle, the sharp-edged straps slick with water and blood. It clattered to the ground with a dull clang that echoed through the wrecked room.
Y/N’s mouth fell open, and air sharply rushed in.
Y/N’s lungs seized, her body spasming violently as she coughed, breath catching and breaking in her throat. The sound was awful—wet and raw, like her chest had been scraped clean. She doubled over in Sanji’s arms, coughing so hard her vision blurred, water and bile spilling from her lips as her body tried to figure out how to breathe again.
Tears blurred her vision, unbidden and hot, stinging against her cheeks.
“Breathe,” Sanji tightened his grip, trying to hold her upright. “Mon Cherie. Just breathe—you’re alright now.”
She wasn’t, not yet, still—she was free.
They set her down gently. Sanji and Nami eased her onto a dry patch of floor, just beyond the edge of the shattered tank.
She slumped sideways, her body folding in on itself, every muscle trembling from exhaustion. Her tail—still long and heavy and aching— dragged behind her, the delicate shimmer of her scales dulled by blood and grit.
She coughed again, weakly this time, and tried to curl her arms around her middle, to feel something, to hold herself together.
Nami knelt beside her, hovering. She looked pale, her hands stained with rust and seawater and shame. Her lips moved like she wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came out. She looked like she might cry, but didn’t.
Zoro stood nearby, blade still in hand, eyes scanning every shadow, as if a single Fish-man so much as twitched, he’d cut them in half without hesitation. Had Y/N been in better condition, she would’ve been overly glad to see him standing and fighting.
Sanji was crouched at her other side, one hand hovering just over her shoulder, not quite touching but there. Present. Holding space for her.
“She’ll be okay,” Usopp said, though his voice shook as he came skidding into view, nearly slipping on the wet floor. “Right? She’s gonna be okay?”
Sanji looked up, jaw tense. “She needs rest. Air. Time.”
“Which we don’t have right now,” Nami shot back, her voice sharp with urgency. “Luffy’s still in there, fighting Arlong—and that whole building seems to be about to come down.”
It was only then that Y/N noticed the shaking earth beneath her. A low rumble vibrated through the ground like something alive. The sky above was thick with smoke and kicked-up dust, and the sound of shattering stone and splintering beams echoed from the half-destroyed remains of Arlong Park just a few yards away.
They were close enough to feel the fallout.
Chunks of debris rained down from above, crashing into the stone yard like thunderclaps. One of the front pillars cracked straight through, collapsing with a roar and sending a wave of stone dust rolling toward them.
“We need to move,” Zoro said, already stepping forward.
Before anyone could object, he dropped to one knee beside Y/N, then slid his arms beneath her. One strong sweep, and he hoisted her up against his chest like she weighed nothing at all.
“Careful!” Nami snapped, rushing forward with her hand out. “She’s barely breathing—“
“She’s not glass,” he said evenly. “But she’s not walking out of here either.”
Y/N let out a soft sound—barely a breath—as her hands curled weakly in his shirt. Her tail, still heavy with seawater, trailed behind them, glistening in the light.
Behind them, Arlong Park gave a bone-deep groan.
The top floor erupted in a violent plume of dust and splintered stone, a final, furious roar echoing through the air like a dying beast. The entire structure trembled, swayed, and then collapsed in on itself with a thunderous crash. Walls buckled. Towers crumbled. A wave of dust rolled outward, swallowing the ground and sky in a choking fog of ash and smoke.
Y/N’s heart lurched, she felt the dread before she even heard Nami scream.
“Luffy!” Nami’s voice broke open, raw and panicked, cutting through the chaos as she took a step forward, staring into the cloud of ruin.
The silence that followed was deafening.
No movement.
No sound.
No Luffy.
The only thing Y/N could hear was her own breathing—shaky, wet, and rasping in her throat as she struggled to lift her head in Zoro’s arms.
Her voice came out like a cracked whisper, fragile and raw. “Luffy”
The dust settled slowly, revealing the twisted remains of what had once been Arlong Park. Nothing was standing anymore. Just broken wood, collapsed stone, and smoke curling toward the sky.
For a moment, no one moved then something shifted.
A piece of rubble slid. Then another when suddenly—just when it seemed the silence would swallow them all, something moved and from the heart of the broken rubble, through the settling dust and fractured stone, he jumped.
“Nami!” Luffy’s voice rang out like a cannon blast, loud and sure and unmistakably him. “You are our friend, and we are your crew!”
The words echoed, crashing through the silence louder than the explosion had moments before.
For a beat, no one moved.
Then Sanji barked a laugh—short and sharp, like it had been trapped in his chest for too long. Zoro let out a breath and shook his head with a crooked grin, while Usopp cackled.
Nami, stood frozen, staring at him like she’d never seen him before. Like she couldn’t believe anyone could say something like that after what she’d done, after where she’d been. Her lips parted, eyes wide, breath stolen by disbelief and something dangerously close to awe.
And Y/N, she felt it in her chest, that first real, full breath. It filled her lungs like it belonged there. No water, muzzle or fear just air.
Clean, cool, and free.
Luffy’s gaze shifted, past Nami, past the smoke, past the others, to her. Still half-curled in Zoros arms, still weak and trembling.
He walked toward her, slow now, the grin softening into something smaller, quieter.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.
Simple but heavy words.
His eyes flicked to her wrists, the dried blood, the bruises, the raw skin. Then to the dull shimmer of her scales and back to her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice quieter. “I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve—done something.”
“Y-You came b-back,” she rasped, just barely audible. “That’s what m-mattered, h-hotshot.”
He let out a breath, not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh.
“I’m not gonna let anyone take you again,” he added, softer now. “Ever.”
There was no dramatic vow but a quiet, unshakable promise of a boy who meant every word with everything he had.
Y/N’s throat tightened, her lips trembled as she forced one more word from her torn throat. It was barely louder than the breeze—but it carried.
“…Okay.”
She didn’t know how long it took—maybe an hour, maybe longer—but eventually, her body remembered how to change.
Her tail, still slick with sea salt and bruises, shimmered and shifted, the magic unravelling slowly until skin replaced scale, legs curling into themselves like a forgotten memory. It hurt, not in the sharp way, but deep, like a cramp that lived in her bones.
Usopp brought her clothes—soft, clean, and worn in the good way and she put them on, quiet and careful, hands trembling as she buttoned the fabric over her raw, bandaged wrists.
The town’s medic—a kind older woman who didn’t ask too many questions—saw to her next. She didn’t flinch when she saw the bruises, didn’t gasp at the cracked skin or the faint imprint of the muzzle still pressed into her jaw.
She just wrapped her ankles, her wrists. Checked her throat. Gave her water first—real water, cold and clean and air-filled. It tasted like a miracle.
“Drink. Eat. Rest,” the woman said gently, smoothing the blanket over Y/N’s legs. “You’ll feel like yourself again in time.”
Eat and drink, that she could do.
She picked at the food slowly, the broth warm, the bread soft. Her hands shook with every bite, but she managed.
Rest, though… That was harder.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired. She was. Every inch of her hurt. Her muscles twitched with fatigue, her eyes felt lined with lead.
But rest meant letting go. It meant closing her eyes and she was scared of what she’d see if she did.
The cage, the muzzle, the net, her father’s face, her mother’s screams.
Still, eventually, her body gave her no choice. Curled beneath too many blankets, her breath warm in the quiet, exhaustion crept in like a tide.
Her eyes slid shut and sleep took her, hours later, she woke with a gasp.
Her body jolted upright, heart slamming against her ribs, sweat clinging to her skin though she felt nothing but cold. So cold.
The room was dark now, the lantern by her bedside burned low. Her throat ached again—dry and raw. Her hands shook as she pressed them into the mattress beneath her, grounding herself in the softness of the fabric, the warmth of the blanket twisted around her legs.
She was not in the tank, nor was she in a cage, nor on a ship.
She was in a small room above a shop, on the second floor of a sun-baked building in Nami’s childhood village—Cocoyasi, if she remembered correctly.
The air was warm, heavy with the scent of sea salt and citrus trees. Crickets chirped softly outside the open window, and somewhere in the distance…
Music, some laughter and cheering. Voices full of joy and disbelief and freedom.
Y/N blinked slowly, piecing it together through the fog still wrapped around her. The Fish-men were gone. Arlong was dead—or close enough. The villagers were free.
They were celebrating.
She sat in bed a moment longer, the echo of her dream still clinging to her skin like a second layer. The warmth of the room did nothing to chase the cold inside her. She rubbed her arms, fingers ghosting over bandages, then pulled the thin covers tighter around herself, despite the summer air.
Her legs still ached, her throat was dry but her feet moved anyway.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl and stood slowly, legs stiff but solid. A moment passed before she crossed the room, barefoot on warm floorboards, and opened the door to the night.
The music was louder now—fiddles, drums, drunken shouting. The sound of people living. Lanterns lit the square below, casting the streets in golden light. Children darted past with paper ribbons trailing behind them. Villagers laughed, danced, drank.
The whole town was alive, and she just stood there, wrapped in gauze and cotton and silence.
The celebration unfolded in front of her like a dream she hadn’t earned. People danced, laughed, shouted to one another across tables piled with food and drink. There was music in the air, light in their eyes. The kind of freedom that tasted like sugar and salt and sweat and the first deep breath after drowning.
Y/N didn’t move, she simply watched from the edge of it all, the blanket tight around her shoulders like armour.
Then her gaze caught on Nami.
Off to the side, sitting by herself, watching the celebration with a soft, satisfied smile. Not one born from joy—but from relief. From the quiet knowledge that—for once—the fight was over.
Y/N moved, slow and careful, every step a little ache, a little reminder, the soles of her feet were still tender against the earth.
She crossed the square without drawing attention, slipping between the laughter, the dancing, the light, and finally came to sit beside her.
Nami glanced over, and something in her eyes flickered—surprise, then something gentler.
“Hey, pumpkin,” Y/N said, voice low, rough but warmer than before.
Nami huffed a laugh through her nose, eyes shining just a little more than the firelight explained. “You should be resting,”
“Sleep’s been… complicated.” Y/N shrugged beneath the blanket, she sighed as she looked about, “It’s beautiful, though. All this.”
Nami looked out over her village, the people she had fought so long to protect. “Yeah, It is.”
For a while, they said nothing.
The sounds of laughter and music wrapped around them, close but distant—like a different world. One neither of them had ever really belonged to, but maybe, just maybe, could learn to live in.
Nami shifted beside her, arms loosely wrapped around her knees. Her smile faded a little, and her fingers fidgeted in the fabric of her skirt.
“I should’ve—” she started, voice soft.
Y/N didn’t let her finish, she waved a hand gently, still wrapped in gauze. “Don’t.”
“But I—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve been through worse.” A dry laugh caught in her throat, not quite bitter. “And here I am.”
Nami looked at her then. Really looked. Saw the bandages, the shadows under her eyes, the stiffness in her posture, and still, Y/N was upright. Awake, breathing and living.
“You shouldn’t have had to go through worse,” Nami whispered.
Y/N glanced at her, then at the gauze on her upper arm, her lips twitching faintly. “Neither should you.”
The fire crackled somewhere behind them, someone in the crowd let out a cheer, it felt a world away.
They sat in silence again, not heavy this time but still.
The music played on in the distance, laughter echoing like wind through trees. The night air was warm and kind, the stars blinked above them like they had nothing better to do.
“You’re my best friend,” Nami said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.
Y/N leaned her head back, eyes tracing the constellations above them—patterns she didn’t know the names of, but still felt familiar.
“I know,” she said softly, lips curling just a little. “You’re my best friend, too.”
And they sat like that a while longer, the quiet comfortable now, stitched between stars and sea breeze.
Then something drifted through the air and Y/N’s nose twitched.
A warm, rich smell wrapped around her like a hook—crispy, golden, a little buttery, definitely seasoned. Something fried and definitely Sanji.
Her stomach growled, loud and shameless. She blinked, looked down at herself, then gave a small, guilty smile. “Well, that’s my cue to make the queue.”
Nami snorted, already reaching for her arm. “You need help—”
“I’m fine,” Y/N cut in, lifting a hand with a little wave of fake dignity. “Mostly, and if that’s Sanji’s cooking I smell, I’m not letting a near-death experience keep me from getting a plate.”
Nami gave her a look and Y/N gave her a look back.
With wobbly legs and a blanket still half-wrapped around her shoulders, Y/N made her way toward the long makeshift table, trailing the scent of Sanji’s cooking like a lifeline. The closer she got, the louder her stomach growled—loud enough to earn a few curious glances, not that she cared.
She slipped into the line, right next to the green-haired swordman and grinned, a slow, tired little thing, perhaps a bit hesitant and tilted her head just enough for her voice to carry. “Nice to know you’re not with one foot on the other side.”
Zoro turned slightly, one brow raised, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re one to talk.”
She chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, at least I was dramatic about it.”
“Can’t argue that,” he said, and there was something in his tone—something quiet and almost warm, like he was glad to see her on her feet, even if he’d never say it outright.
Y/N shifted her weight and swayed a little. Immediately, Zoro’s hand shot out, steadying her elbow without a word, she blinked at him and he didn’t let go.
“Easy,” he muttered, almost annoyed but not really. “You still look like a strong breeze could knock you over.”
“You offering to catch me?” she teased, breathless but grinning.
Zoro shrugged. “If I have to.”
Y/N smiled—not her old one, not yet—but something close.
"But how are you, really?" Y/N asked, voice low as she glanced toward the side of his chest, where the fabric of his shirt hung just a little loose, hinting at the bandages hidden underneath.
Zoro met her eyes again, unreadable for a beat. “I’m alive.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s not an answer.”
He smirked, but it faded quickly when he saw the way she was still watching him.
“It hurts,” he admitted after a beat, quiet and plain. “Breathing’s annoying. Moving’s worse but it’s healing.”
She nodded, satisfied, but only slightly.
“Don’t push it more than you already have,” she said, trying to sound casual, though her voice trembled just enough to betray her. “You almost didn’t come back.”
"I could tell you the same,"
“You’re prettier, though,” Y/N smirked faintly, reaching up to gently bop his cheek with two fingers. “Would’ve been a real shame to lose that face.”
He scoffed, but didn’t pull away. If anything, his jaw eased a little under her touch, reluctantly flattered but then his voice dropped, quiet enough that it cut through the buzz of celebration like a blade.
“You’re still hurting.”
The words weren’t an accusation but a statement. A truth he’d read in the way her hands curled under the blanket, in the stiffness of her shoulders, in the way she hadn’t once looked at herself in a reflection since they arrived.
She didn’t meet his eyes and just looked ahead at the line of people gathered near the food table, their faces lit by the soft golden glow of lanterns.
“Nothing I can’t handle, hotshot,” she said, the smirk still there, but thinner. Worn.
He watched her in silence, and for once, didn’t push.
But his hand shifted slightly at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach out and do something, anything, and not sure what wouldn’t make it worse. “Doesn’t mean it isn't bad.”
There it was again, that unexpected softness from him. That steadiness she was used to seeing in battle, but rarely in his voice. Y/N took a step back, distancing herself from his gaze, sharper than most people give him credit for.
Before Y/N could say anything else, the scent of garlic, herbs, and butter cut through the air like an invitation, and then came his voice.
“Ooh. Back for seconds?” Sanji drawled from behind a steaming wok, one hand expertly flipping a ladle of creamy risotto into a dish without missing a beat. His eyes sparkled with teasing heat as he glanced up. “Must’ve liked it.”
Zoro didn’t flinch, he just stepped forward and handed over his empty plate with a shrug. “Yeah. It was okay.”
"That plate says different." Sanji grins teasingly and takes the plate.
"Gotta keep my strength up, even with your cooking," Zoro said as Sanji dished risotto onto his plate. “It’s the least you can do, considering I saved your ass from those fishmen.”
Sanji’s scoff was immediate. “What? I saved your arse.”
Zoro shrugged like it was barely worth debating. “You didn’t even get your hands dirty.”
“At least I don’t need three swords to prove I’m a man,” Sanji said, handing the plate back with flair.
Right then, Y/N stepped up beside them, blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape, cheeks still a bit pale, but her eyes glinting with tired mischief. Her smirk was crooked—almost full strength.
“You two flirting,” she rasped, her voice low and hoarse, “or should I come back later?”
Sanji turned to her instantly, his face changing.
“Y/N, Mon Cherie, Mon étoile, my darling,” he gushed, suddenly starry-eyed, already fetching a fresh plate like it was the most urgent task in the world. “You shouldn’t be on your feet—what can I get you? Risotto? Bread? Something sweet? I made a citrus glaze for the pudding just for balance.”
Y/N rested a hand on the edge of the serving table, steadying herself. Her smirk stayed, but it softened around the edges. “Surprise me, chef.”
“Gladly,” he said, presenting the dish like it was a crown jewel, eyes softening just a bit beneath the usual flair. “You deserve nothing but the finest this humble cook can offer.”
Y/N took the plate with both hands, letting the heat from the porcelain seep into her fingers like a quiet promise of comfort and for a moment, she just stood there, breathing it in.
“Smells heavenly,” she murmured, voice still a little hoarse but gentler now. “No doubt it’ll taste the same.”
Sanji practically beamed, hands clasped over his chest like she’d just recited poetry in his honour. “You wound me, Mon Cherie. You should doubt it—it’ll taste better.”
Y/N gave him a faint, amused look. “Careful, chef. Flattery’s a dangerous spice.”
“Only when it’s not deserved,” he said, wink and all.
Behind them, Zoro made a dramatic show of clearing his throat, still chewing his second helping. “Are you two done? Some of us are trying to eat without choking on sugar.”
Sanji shot him a glare. “You know what doesn’t go with risotto? Your attitude.”
Y/N rolled her eyes fondly and nudged Zoro with her elbow, the gesture soft but insistent.
“All right, come on,” she said, nodding toward the fire.
They made their way over together, slow but steady, coming to a stop beside Luffy, who was already grinning widely. Usopp stood tall—well, tall for Usopp—with a crowd of villagers gathered around him, utterly enraptured.
"There I was," Usopp declared, chest puffed out, "completely alone, surrounded by fishmen—dozens of them! The Great Captain Usopp, staring death in the face!"
A few villagers gasped on cue. Usopp soaked it up.
"But I knew I couldn’t give up the fight—not with the fate of Cocoyasi Village hanging in the balance!" He took a dramatic step forward. "So I pulled my trusty slingshot—" He mimicked the motion with flair, holding an invisible weapon aloft. "—and I fired on ’em till my fingers bled!"
He made a loud pew! noise, followed by a full-body BOOM! explosion sound and flailed backwards like he’d been hit by the memory.
Sanji sauntered up behind them with his own plate in hand, and Nami, ever the picture of cool amusement, followed a moment later, folding her arms as she took her place at Y/N’s other side.
"I didn’t stop until I had single-handedly defeated Arlong and his deadly crew!"
He paused, letting the gasps and wide eyes wash over him, then his gaze landed on the small group of his crewmates near the fire.
“…With a little help, of course,” he added quickly. “I mean, I guess I wasn’t completely alone.”
Y/N chuckled, taking a bite of risotto and shaking her head. “Modest as ever.”
Sanji snorted beside her, and Luffy suddenly jumped to his feet, arms stretched high.
“Three cheers for Captain Usopp!” he whooped. “We couldn’t have done it without him!”
The villagers cheered, Usopp beamed like he’d been crowned king, and Y/N laughed again, softer this time, but fuller.
Her shoulders began to relax, she felt at peace for once, with food in her hands, fire that danced between and her crew. It was nice... util--
“Marines! Form lines!”
The voice cut sharp across the square, the music faltered, the laughter stuttered to a halt.
Y/N froze, her eyes narrowing as the cheers gave way to the clatter of boots and the metallic rasp of rifles being shouldered.
She turned her head slowly, rising just enough to see the unmistakable wave of white uniforms approaching from the far edge of the village—shiny coats, stiff hats, smug faces. Like they’d waited specifically for the moment things felt safe again.
Y/N sighed and closed her eyes, lifting her face to the night sky as if asking the stars for patience.
“Can’t we get a fucking break?”
She opened her eyes, and froze, because there, at the center of the formation, tall and solid as a warship carved from stone, stood an older man.
His coat was long, his presence impossible to ignore, and even from a distance, there was no mistaking the weight he carried, it was sn admiral.
But not any admiral, Luffy’s grandfather.
“So these are the Straw Hat Pirates,” the man said, arms folded, eyes scanning over them like they were an interesting stain. He gave a small huff of amusement. “Huh.”
Then, with a flick of his wrist: “Marines, arrest them.”
Before anyone could so much as reach for a weapon, a voice broke the air.
“Sir!”
Koby.
The soft-spoken boy Y/N had met weeks ago back in Shells Town stepped forward from the ranks, practically swallowed by the line of taller soldiers.
“The Straw Hats didn’t destroy Cocoyasi Village,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “It was Arlong.”
Luffy’s grandfather didn’t even look at him at first.
“You have your orders, cadet,” he said flatly.
Koby hesitated, visibly trembling, but then, to Y/N’s shock, he stepped forward again. “No, sir.”
Heads turned and the tension cracked.
The admiral’s head tilted slowly. “What did you say?”
“I said no, sir,” Koby repeated, awkwardly tall, like his courage barely fit inside his body.
“You do realize,” the admiral said, voice edged with warning, “there are severe punishments for disobeying direct orders.”
Koby looked unsure but still said, “I disagree with those orders, sir.”
Y/N blinked, honestly stunned. Well, he grew a backbone, it seems.
“Me too.”
A second voice, he stepped forward, stiff and awkward as ever—but unmistakable, Helmeppo.
Y/N almost laughed but not out of mockery, out of pure disbelief. Of all people, he had come a long way.
The admiral turned slowly, surveying the pair of them—two young cadets standing against a sea of uniforms and a man who could destroy them both without blinking.
He scoffed, the sound halfway between irritation and amusement, then, to the rest of the Marines.
“Anyone else like to follow their lead?” He glares at Koby. “Or do you all want to follow orders instead?”
A group of Marines stepped forward.
Boots pounded the stone as they formed a sharp line between the crowd and the Straw Hats. Rifles raised in unison, black barrels gleaming beneath the firelight. Fingers hovered over triggers, the villagers fell silent, backing away.
And above it all, Garp’s voice rang out like a cannon blast. “Any of them moves—make sure it’s their last.”
Y/N’s stomach twisted.
Her hand curled around the edge of her plate, knuckles whitening. The warmth from the food had long since faded, and suddenly the air didn’t feel so kind anymore.
Garp moved slowly, but deliberately, every step echoing louder than the last as he approached Luffy. His gaze locked on him—sharp, stern, unflinching.
“Come here, boy,” he said, voice quieter now, but heavy. “I gave you every opportunity to follow my path. To become a respected Marine. To serve justice. But instead, you chose to become a pirate.”
Luffy didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. He just grinned—that same wild, unshakable grin that had carried him through sea creatures and warlords and the weight of an entire world.
“No, Grandpa,” he said simply. “I’ve always been a pirate.”
The words landed like a spark on dry grass. Garp’s jaw tightened.
“No more running,” he said. “Last chance. Give it up. Walk away from this.”
Luffy’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it widened. “That’s not really my thing.”
Y/N’s heart kicked in her chest, the air shifted as Garp reached up and unclasped the heavy cloak from his shoulders, letting it fall behind him like a curtain dropping before a fight.
“Then show me what you’ve got.”
Luffy lunged first, fists clenched, body twisting with raw momentum, but Garp barely moved.
With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, the old Marine side-stepped, then drove his fist hard into Luffy’s gut.
CRACK.
The impact echoed like a cannon blast, and Luffy flew backward, slamming into the dirt, the air driven clean from his lungs.
"This is what you wanted, right?" Garp asked as he stepped forward, each footfall a rumble. “To be a pirate. Well, I’ll show you what Marines do to pirates.”
Luffy groaned, pushing up on his elbows, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to fight you, Grandpa.”
“You’ve been fighting me your entire life.”
Garp struck down again, but Luffy rolled to the side just in time, dirt spraying beneath him. He scrambled up, shaking it off, and launched another punch, then another—fast, furious.
But Garp dodged each one like he was swatting away the wind. “When are you gonna learn you can’t win?”
BAM.
A single blow to the chest.
Luffy flew backward, straight through the wall of a small house, wood splintering and stone cracking on impact.
“Luffy!” Y/N choked, the sound tearing out of her as she stepped forward before she could stop herself.
Usopp watches with concern. Sanji moved slightly, tense beside her. Zoro’s hand hovered over his swords. Nami didn’t blink.
From the dust and debris, Luffy rose slowly and placed the straw hat gently back on his head. His chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, but his eyes burned with something fierce and clear.
Garp shook his head, a mocking scoff in his voice. “I thought I trained you better than this.”
“You did,” he rasped.
Without hesitation, Luffy stretches and grabbed two pieces of wood for impulse. “Gum-Gum..."
"Rocket!” His arms stretched far, snapped back tight, and he launched himself through the air toward Garp.
But Garp was waiting; his fist met Luffy mid-flight, sending him spiraling backward with bone-rattling force.
Y/N flinched hard, a sharp breath catching in her throat but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“You don’t know how dangerous the world is,” Garp said as he moved toward Luffy, the dust from the last blow still settling in the air. Luffy struggled, limbs shaking beneath him as he tried to rise again.
“The Grand Line isn’t some child’s game.”
With a sharp, practised movement, Garp reached down and hauled him up by the front of his vest—like he weighed nothing, like he wasn’t bloodied and bruised, barely able to stand.
Luffy coughed, face twisted in pain, but his voice came out steady--thin, but steady.
“You can hit me all day long…” he said through grit teeth, “…but I’m never giving up on my dream.”
Garp’s grip didn’t loosen. “Is that so?”
Luffy looked him dead in the eye, no fear, just fire. “I’m going to the Grand Line. I’ll find the One Piece. And I will be…” he paused only long enough to take a shaking breath, “King of the Pirates.”
Luffy, then, began to laugh. A short, ragged sound that caught in his throat at first, then spilt into the open air.
Garp then let go of Luffy.
The boy dropped to the dirt with a grunt, and Garp stepped back, arms loose at his sides, still shaking his head and to everyone’s shock… he laughed too.
A deep, rolling laugh that cracked through the tension like lightning.
Y/N blinked, frowning, eyes darting from Luffy to the man towering over him. Her heart still pounded in her chest, unsure if this was a reprieve or the start of something worse.
“Have it your way,” Garp finally said, the fight gone from his voice.
To Y/N’s immense relief, he added, loud and clear, “Lower your weapons!”
The Marines—startled but obedient—reluctantly lowered their rifles.
Garp turned on his heel, addressing the small armada now waiting behind him. “What are you all standing around for? Arlong’s pirates are still on the loose. Hunt them down. Arrest them. Now.”
Without hesitation, the Marines snapped to action. Orders barked. Feet pounded. They scattered like a tide breaking on rocks, surging toward the jungle and the sea.
But of course, not all of them were so quick to move on.
“What about these Straw Hats?” came a sharp voice.
A tall Marine—whiskered and sharp-eared, with far too much smugness for someone that resembled a house cat—stepped forward, blocking Garp’s path.
"What about them?"
“Arrest them too!” he snapped. “They’re the real crimin—"
THWACK!
Nami’s staff came down hard and fast on the back of his head. The Marine hit the ground like a sack of flour, unconscious before he landed.
Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Gods. Maybe they really were going to survive this.
Garp didn’t even flinch. He turned back to Luffy, gaze steady, unreadable.
“I knew I’d never be able to change your mind,” he said, voice quieter now. “You’re stubborn. Just like me. But I had to make sure you knew who you are, boy.”
Luffy blinked, bruised and battered.
“You were testing me?” he asked, half-whining. “Couldn’t you have gone a little easier?”
Garp scoffed. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Then, with surprising gentleness, he stepped forward and placed both hands on Luffy’s shoulders. “You’re on your own now.”
The words settled heavily in the air but as Garp turned to leave, Luffy’s voice rose again, loud and clear, “No. I’m not.”
Garp paused mid-step, turning to face him. Luffy grinned wider, standing tall despite the bruises and dirt, his eyes sweeping over the crew—Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji and Y/N. “I have my friends.”
Y/N’s lips curved softly, and for the first time that day, her smile reached her eyes.
Garp didn’t speak as he turned to leave, but she caught it—the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Barely there but still there.
She tilted her head, watching him go, then called out casually, loud enough for the whole square to hear. “Well. That was the most violent grandfather-grandson bonding session I’ve ever witnessed.”
About a few days later, after final preparations for their next voyage had been made, which had a couple of surprises for Nami and Luffy, Y/N leaned casually against the kitchen island, her guitar resting comfortably in her hands. The afternoon light poured in golden across the floor, catching the gleam of clean wood and salt-polished boots.
Nami, Zoro, Usopp, and Sanji were gathered nearby—sharing the moment, waiting for Luffy, enjoying one of the last stretches of stillness before the sea called again.
“So… you’re a siren?” Usopp asked, cautious but unable to help himself. “Didn’t think there were any left—y'know, after that World Government started that whole hunt-them-into-extinction campaign.”
Everyone except Y/N immediately turned to glare at him. The collective look said Really, Usopp?—a nonverbal slap upside the head. But true to form, he just blinked and held up his hands.
“Hey, I’m just saying what’s already out there!” Usopp defended himself. “Everyone’s heard the stories. The bounties. The purges. I figured sirens were long gone.”
Y/N laughed softly, plucking a lazy chord as she adjusted a tuning peg.
“It’s alright,” she said, voice calm, musical in its own right. “For all anyone knows, we are extinct, just a few of us left, and most don’t come out to the light of day. So let’s keep that under wraps, yeah?”
Usopp nodded quickly. “Yeah—yeah, of course. Totally top secret. Like, buried treasure level.”
" Good," Y/N grinned and plucked a few easy strings, then let her voice carry through the room with a rhythm that matched the roll of the waves outside.
I carry a dream, soft and small,
It helps me rise when I might fall.
If I believe in stories bright,
I’ll chase the dawn beyond the night.
I trust in hope, in stars that gleam,
And when it’s time—
I’ll chase that dream—
"Guys," Luffy came bounding into the galley, holding something clutched tight in one hand, grinning like he’d just found treasure.
“Check it out!” he said, practically bouncing as he slammed a rolled-up paper down onto the table in front of Y/N.
She blinked, then leaned over as he unrolled it with a flourish.
It was a wanted poster, a freshly printed one.
Luffy’s face beamed from the center of it, captured mid-wave with that silly, toothy grin and wide, unbothered eyes.
“Thirty million berri!?” Y/N gaped in horror, her mouth falling open as she stared at the number printed beneath the smiling face of Monkey D. Luffy. “Is that real?”
"Of course it is," Luffy grins proudly.
Before anyone could answer, Usopp let out a triumphant sound. “Hey, look! I’m famous!”
Sanji frowned, leaning over his shoulder. “What are you on about? That’s Luffy’s wanted poster.”
“Not just Luffy,” Usopp said, jabbing a finger at the bottom corner of the paper where—sure enough—the back of his head was just barely visible.
He mock-laughed and puffed his chest out proudly. “Sorry, guys. Maybe if you work a little harder, you’ll get a bounty too.”
“That doesn’t count,” Sanji muttered flatly.
Usopp shrugged, full of smug satisfaction. “It’s okay to be jealous. Feel what you need to feel.”
Y/N would’ve laughed—honestly, she wanted to—but her eyes were still locked on the number. Thirty million. Not just a bounty—a statement. The government had noticed them now, and they didn’t send posters unless they wanted people to start hunting.
“I… mmm…” Sanji sighed, waving a hand and shaking his head. “This is stupid.”
Zoro, ever the realist, crossed his arms. “This is gonna make things harder. With that price on your head, every bounty hunter in the East Blue will be gunning for you."
“Not just Luffy,” Nami added grimly. “They’re gonna be gunning for all of us.”
“Ah, shit.” Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face.
She turned toward the window, staring out at the sea. It shimmered, calm and bright, but now, it didn’t look peaceful to her. Her fingers twitched as if searching for her guitar, something steady.
Because this? This changed everything.
“Then it’s a good thing we’re not staying in the East Blue,” came Luffy’s voice behind her, all sunshine and certainty.
Before she could turn, his arm wrapped casually over her shoulders, tugging her back toward the table like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like she wasn’t unraveling, just a little.
He grinned—that grin, wide and weightless. “We’re going to the Grand Line.”
Like it was the easiest thing in the world, like there was nothing to be afraid of.
Right. Right. The Grand Line.
That’s why she came with him in the first place. Not just for music or mischief but for Miri.
Later, once they were sailing steady across open sea, the island behind them and the horizon stretching wide and wild ahead, Y/N made her way to the helm.
Nami stood there, arms loosely crossed, wind in her hair, eyes fixed on the compass and the charts, always calculating, always guiding.
Y/N came up beside her and gave her a light nudge with her elbow.
“Hey,” she said, that familiar spark in her voice. “Come on. We’ve got a surprise for you, Pumpkin.”
Nami raised an eyebrow, suspicious but curious. “A surprise?”
Y/N nodded, stepping closer. She reached out, her hand warm on Nami’s shoulder as she gently started steering her toward the far edge of the ship. “Yup. Come on, it’s worth it.”
Nami let herself be guided, casting a sideways look. “If this is a prank, I’m throwing you overboard.”
“Pfft,” Y/N grinned. “Please, if it was a prank I’d have made Usopp do the setup.”
She paused, smirk softening into something thoughtful. “Also... I really think I should change that nickname.”
“Well,” Y/N said, steering her gently toward the other side of the deck, “seeing as you come from a citrus island, I think Pumpkin is the wrong fruit to call you.”
Nami snorted. “Wow. The thought you put into this is astounding.”
“I take my nicknames very seriously,” Y/N replied with a straight face. “Which is why I’m proposing… Tangerine Queen.”
Nami gave her a side-eye. “Pass.”
“Okay, okay. What about… Zesty Babe? Or—wait—Orange Lightning!”
“Absolutely not.”
Y/N grinned wider. “You’re no fun.”
“I’m just sane,” Nami muttered.
“Fine, fine,” Y/N said, pretending to ponder as she tapped her chin. “Citrus babe? Sunkiss Sass? Marmalade Monarch? I can go all day.”
“You better not,” Nami warned, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
“Alright, alright,” Y/N relented, holding up her hands. “Pumpkin stays for now, but for the record, you’ll always be my favourite fruit."
Nami rolled her eyes. “Just get to the surprise before I--"
She stopped for below them, nestled in carefully rigged wooden planters near the stern, were tangerine trees.
Small, sturdy, sun-kissed—hers.
The very same trees she’d grown back on Cocoyasi, now swaying gently with the rhythm of the ship, their leaves bright against the deep blue sea.
Sanji leaning agasint the wall.
Zoro stood leaning against the railing, arms crossed, pretending like he wasn’t watching her reaction.
Luffy stood proudly between them all, hands on his hips, grinning like he’d grown the trees himself.
“So what do you think?” he asked, beaming. “It’s a little piece of home to take with you on our journey.”
“And I can whip up tangerine tarts anytime you want,” Sanji added smoothly.
Nami didn’t answer right away.
She stepped forward slowly, her boots soft against the deck. The breeze played with her hair as she crouched beside one of the crates. Her fingers reached out, gentle, brushing over a cluster of leaves like she couldn’t quite believe they were real.
“It’s perfect,” she said at last, voice low but steady.
No tears, but that soft, stunned kind of joy that comes when someone remembers the part of you you didn’t ask them to.
Luffy gave a little bounce in place, like he wanted to say more but was holding it in, for now. Y/N leaned against the railing beside her, arms crossed but eyes soft.
“Well,” she said, “I did consider tying a bow around them, but you know... subtlety.”
Nami snorted and shook her head, the smile lingering as she turned away from the trees.
Then her eyes flicked to Luffy, and after a quiet look shared with Sanji, Zoro and Y/N, her smile grew just a bit wider.
“Actually…” she said, stepping toward him, “we’ve got something for you, too.”
Luffy blinked. “Huh?”
“Come on, stud” Y/N grinned, already moving up toward the main deck. “Trust us.”
He followed without question, of course, because Luffy never needed much reason when it came to following his crew.
As they reached the centre of the ship, Y/N cupped her hands around her mouth. “Champ, set the main!”
“Setting the main!” Usopp called back, dashing over to the rigging.
With a few practiced tugs and a whistle of rope through pulleys, the sail unfurled. The canvas above began to unfurl with a soft fluttering thump, snapping to life as the breeze caught it and there it was.
The new Jolly Roger.
Painted bold and proud across the sail—Luffy’s straw hat perched atop the crossbones, grinning wide like it could face down the whole world and win.
Luffy's jaw dropped comically wide, a huge, unmistakable grin stretched across his face as he stared at the fresh white canvas—clean, bold, and newly painted.
He stood there, stunned, like he couldn’t quite process it. Then, true to form, he bolted across the deck and then he let out a yell of pure joy, arms flailing in the air.
Y/N looked up at the flag as it flapped in the breeze, sunlight catching the edges of the paint, and let herself smile too.
The day had stretched long and easy after that—sun-drenched and salt-sweet, the kind of day that felt like a breath after the storm.
The crew had scattered across the ship, each falling into their own rhythm. The tangerine trees swayed softly in the breeze. Nami charted their course with half a smile. Usopp was back to tinkering with something he swore wasn’t going to explode this time. Sanji was probably humming while cooking. Zoro napping, swords within reach, of course.
Y/N was perched on the back stairs, guitar balanced on her knee, thumb drifting lazily along the strings in a steady, easy rhythm, the kind of sound the ocean liked to listen to.
“Straw Hats!” came Luffy’s voice, high and bright and full of that something that always pulled them in. “All hands on deck for a cast-off ceremony!”
Y/N blinked and paused mid-strum, eyebrows lifting. She let the chords hum out beneath her fingers, one last soft echo as she stood.
A cast-off ceremony?
Y/N blinked, curiosity piqued. She gently set her guitar down beside the stairs, giving it one last affectionate tap before pushing herself to her feet.
By the time she made it to the main deck, the others had already gathered. They stood in a loose semicircle around something in the center—a barrel.
Y/N furrowed her brow, confused for a second, until Sanji stepped forward, one hand in his pocket.
“I’m gonna find the All Blue,” he said simply, and with that, he placed his foot on the barrel.
Y/N’s eyes flicked to the others.
Ah… I see.
Luffy was next—of course he was. Practically bouncing in place, he slammed his foot onto the wood with all the excitement in the world.
“I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”
Zoro followed, calm and certain. “I’m gonna be the world’s greatest swordsman.”
Nami, with a grin that could split storms, put her foot up “I’m gonna draw a map of the world.”
They all turned toward Y/N, expectant and warm. She stared for a beat too long. Her mouth opened, then closed again.
Because of her dream, the real one? It wasn’t one she was ready to say aloud. Not yet, not when it meant saying her sister’s name, not when it meant remembering what she’d left behind.
So instead, she smiled, soft, bright, with just a hint of mischief.
“I’m gonna sing in every corner of the Great Blue,” she said, planting her foot firmly on the barrel with a satisfying thud.
That left only Usopp. He hesitated, eyes flicking between them all, nerves tugging at his mouth like he wasn’t sure if he belonged. "I..."
But then—after a breath—he stepped forward and placed his foot on the barrel too.
“I’m gonna become a brave warrior of the sea!” he declared, voice wobbling at first but steady by the end.
A beat of silence followed—then they all broke into laughter, grins spreading like wildfire. It wasn’t mocking. It was something else, somethinf warm and solid.
A moment filled with pride, maybe or the kind of giddy courage that only comes when you’re standing right at the edge of everything.
Then, like a match to kindling, someone snorted and just like that, they all started laughing, chuckling, grinning, elbowing each other like kids daring fate to try them.
“This is it, crew," Luffy said, his voice steady with that unwavering spark only he seemed to have. He looked at each of them—Nami, Zoro, Usopp, Sanji and Y/N “The Grand Line.”
He grinned wide and lifted his arm high, fist clenched toward the sky. “Nothing’s gonna stand in our way! Yeahhhh!”
Usopp, Y/N, and Sanji whooped into the air alongside Luffy, their voices loud and unfiltered, carried off by the wind. Zoro just smirked, while Nami gave a small, crooked grin, cooler than the rest, but no less proud.
They were really doing it. The Grand Line. The start of something big, wild, and probably insane.
Y/N glanced around at the circle, her fingers brushing the edge of her guitar, the warmth of laughter still clinging to the air. This—this loud, ridiculous, mismatched crew— was starting to feel like home, like something worth holding on to.
And deep down, beneath the excitement and bravado, she found herself hoping—really hoping—that whatever came next, she wouldn’t lose this.
Y/N:
OMGGG WE ARE DONE WITH SEASON 1!!!! Thank you all SO SO SO SO much for reading. I'm sorry it took me so damn long to post this, I just started working and I have little time for literally anything, but at least I enjoy what I do, so I'm happy with it.
I'm debating to write a filler chapter?? Maybe some romance between Y/N and a crew member? Maybe a few headcannons of Y/N idk what do y'all think?
Once again, thank you all so so much for reading, like seriously, thank you for the support. <3<3<3<3<3<3
