Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey through these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them❤️
Events:
AA Bucky's 108th birthday Bingo
AA Kinky Bingo
Sexy September Scribbles Challenge 2025
Kinktober 2025
January Jumble Scribbles 2026
Writer in a Cryofreeze 2026
Series:
Roots and Branches (Lumberjack AU.) Ended
Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.
Toy Soldier (Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Smut) Ended.
Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.
A Hand in the Dark (Angst. Hurt/Comfort.) Ended
Summary: Somewhere in the 1950s, in a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice: he saves a stranger's life. Decades later, that stranger's granddaughter finds him bleeding out in an alley, and chooses to save him back.
Foundations (Dad!Bucky AU.) Ended
Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.
Tangled (Cecaelia!Bucky AU.) Ended
Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.
A Star Without a Sky (Western AU.) Ended
Summary: A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.
The Domestic Clause (Congressman!Bucky) Ended
Summary: Bucky agrees to a discreet cleaning service to tend to his apartment while he’s away. He never expected the care of someone he’d never met to become the gentlest part of his daily life.
Prometheus (Frankenstein AU.) Ended
Summary: Forged in darkness and marked by scars, Soldat is freed by chance. Wounded and lost, he follows the hand that touched him without command.
Plump & Ripe Collection. (Chubby! Bucky)
Three Miles to Willow Street (Alpha!Lumberjack!Bucky) Ended
Summary: Three miles from town and a world away from the life she knew, she finds herself relying on a reclusive stranger whose measured distance and iron self-control may not be enough to resist the pull he feels toward her.
The Fifth Kennel (dog-hybrid!Bucky AU) Ended
Summary: She brings home a cynical hybrid no one wanted: a missing limb, a brutal past, and zero interest in making things easy. He didn't ask to be rescued, doesn't want her pity or her stubborn refusal to back down. What begins as an act of conscience becomes a tense dance of boundaries, old instincts, and... unexpected connection.
2A&3B Collection (slice of life) Ongoing
Summary: Bucky is free, depressed, and has no idea what to do with himself. Post-Endgame slice of life oneshots, where his upstairs neighbor keeps showing up at the right -or wrong- times. He's not sure which.
SoftDark! AU (SoftDark! Winter Soldier) Ended
Soldat gets kindness for the first time since it can remember, and it deals with it the best way it can.
Crumb by Crumb (Chubby! Baker! Bucky) Ended
Summary: A fresh start in a small town brings her to a quiet bakery and a man who's built his life around routine and distance. Bucky Barnes doesn't do charm, and certainly doesn't do people, but small towns have a way of pulling strangers into orbit, and something neither of them planned for begins to bloom.
Against Protocol (handler!Reader) Ongoing
Summary: A handler, her Asset, small mercies, and all the lines they shouldn't cross... but do.
Wanted (Western AU) Ended
Summary: She came to White Creek for a teaching position that didn't exist. He needed a wife but never expected to find one like this.
Brown Sugar and Gunmetal (ABO AU) Ended
Summary: Who would have thought that an inconspicuous vent in a bakery alley would be what brought them together: the omega who never felt right with any alpha, and the asset who wasn't supposed to want at all.
Knight of Briars (Time travel AU) Ongoing
Summary: A knight from another century crashes -literally- into a florist’s life and turns her world upside down.
Oneshots:
The Weight of Choices (Slight angst. Smut.)
Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.
An Unfinished Goodbye (Slight Angst. Side-story of The Weight of Choices.)
Summary: Bucky tells himself he’s only watching over his ex-wife and son for their safety. But when someone threatens to alter the status quo, his quiet vigilance falters.
What If?... (Fluff. Smut.)
Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.
The Memory Remains (Fluff. Smut.)
Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.
Wounds and Walls (Slight angst. Smut.)
Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.
Crumbs of Connection (Fluff.)
Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.
Spells and Fangs (World of Warcraft AU)
Summary: Bucky, a grumpy worgen warrior, and his sharp-tongued mage partner are sent on a relatively simple quest that quickly spirals into chaos.
A Heart in Hiding (Angst-Hurt/Comfort)
Summary: Caught between the shadows of his past and an unexpected connection, Bucky wrestles with his demons and his growing feelings for a new Avenger.
To Mend a Soldier (Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.)
Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.
The First Star (Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.)
Summary: Christmas has never been easy for Bucky. But this year, he's trying. When she notices his minimal attempt at holiday cheer, she brings something to make him smile. It's a small gesture, nothing grand. But for someone who has so little, sometimes small is everything. Extra-story for To Mend a Soldier
Terms of Attraction (CEO AU. Fluff. Sexual Tension.)
Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.
Built to Last (Fluff)
Summary: Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.
The Price of Silence (Smut. Blue-Collar! Bucky)
A cynical, disenchanted Bucky starts working at construction sites after the Blip. Fetching the guys' lunch at the bakery as an errand, he started to come back for more than garlic bread.
Behind Closed Doors (Slight angst. Mommy Kink)
Summary: Most days, Bucky is a functional, dependable, and even deadly man. Others, when the noise in his head gets too loud, behind closed doors, he becomes Jamie.
The Trouble With Saturdays (Mutual Pining. Fluff)
Summary: Life at the Thunderbolts Tower is loud, chaotic, and full of questionable moral choices. Bucky’s used to keeping to himself, until one night, after one of those questionable moral choices was made, the guys got him high.
The Trouble With Feelings (Mutual Pining. Fluff)
Summary: Bucky wakes up with a hangover and a flood of regrets. Avoidance, assumptions, and one gala set the stage for everything to finally reach the surface.
Christmas Cheers (Smut)
Summary: Who would have thought that Santa helpers were real, not so little, and had a big appetite?
Soft-dark! Bucky (Stalking)
Summary: You think Bucky Barnes is just the quiet tenant from down the street, the one with the terrible apartment and a growing list of repairs. Bucky thinks you are the first good thing the world has put within reach in seventy years. And he has spent far too long with empty hands not to reach back.
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Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his shore -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
The next morning, she decided to switch things up. Maybe, going earlier would save her from another weird staring contest with the stranger from yesterday. So she packed her usual things -her project, a thermos, a snack- and threw on a light jacket before heading out. The air was crisp and salty, the sun still low and soft on the horizon, casting everything in golden light.
By the time she made it to her spot by the rocks, she was greeted by two small but satisfying victories.
First: no sign of him.
Second: the tide was low.
Very low.
The mouth of the cave yawned open before her, dark, cool, and tempting. She stood there for a moment, just listening to the rhythmic hush of the waves and the soft cries of seabirds above. The breeze tugged playfully at her hair as she scanned the shoreline, confirming what she had suspected, the tide was still receding. She had time.
Her gaze flicked back to the cave.
Maybe… she could finally take a proper look inside. If the locals were so set on being cryptic about the place, well, she could see for herself what the fuss was about.
Adjusting the straps of her backpack, she made her way carefully across the rocky terrain, taking her time to step only on firm, dry stones. Her shoes crunched softly against the pebbles as she went, and when she reached the cave’s entrance, she hesitated only briefly before ducking inside.
It was bigger than she thought.
Seawater pools clung to dips in the cave floor, catching the sunlight and scattering it across the rock like scattered coins. She trailed a hand along the rough wall, marveling at how nature shaped everything so perfectly.
God, this place was beautiful.
She wandered a few feet inside, careful to keep the brighter mouth of the cave within her sight, she wasn’t about to get herself lost in the dark, after all.
The deeper she went, the more she noticed little details, the way seaweed had been caught high in some places, as though pushed there by violent tides, the shimmer of shells wedged between stones, and even marks on the walls.
Scratches?
No… another kind of mark she couldn’t decipher.
----
Bucky was minding his business -lately, this meant trying to nap and failing- when the sound of footsteps echoing faintly through the stone reached his ears. His eyes snapped open, sharp and alert, and his pupils narrowed against the faint shaft of light filtering through the cave’s chimney.
Footsteps.
Too light to be a fisherman or some reckless teenager come to drink where they thought no one would find them.
No, this was different.
He pushed himself up slightly from where he’d been half-submerged in one of the deeper pools, and the water swirled softly around the dark coils of his limbs. His long hair, still damp from an early morning swim, clung to his shoulders as he turned toward the sound, tattooed fingers flexing against the rock's edge.
Then he heard it again, careful steps over the stones. Hesitant. Testing the ground like someone not used to walking there.
His jaw clenched. He knew who it was even before he heard the soft intake of breath that followed.
Her.
The one who kept coming to his shore. The one who dared to sit and hum and twist her strange threads in the sunlight like she belonged there.
He swore softly under his breath. What the hell was she doing now?
She’d never ventured this close. Never crossed into the mouth of his lair. Sliding silently beneath the surface, he moved closer to where the cave opened wide, staying in the deeper shadows, where the water was darkest and the light struggled to reach. Only his eyes remained above, sharp as a blade, watching her figure outlined against the sunlight spilling from the entrance.
She moved slowly, and wide-eyed, running her fingers along the walls -his walls- studying the cave like she had every right to be there. He felt something twist low in his gut, a mix of annoyance and... something else. Something that felt dangerously close to curiosity.
Didn’t she realize how stupid it was to wander into places she didn’t understand? His dark tendrils shifting restlessly in the water, echoing his unease.
She paused by one of the shallow pools, crouching to look at something glinting in the rocks. Shells or maybe bits of drift metal carried in by the tides, small things he sometimes kept and sometimes destroyed when he was in the wrong mood.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he watched her expression. Not fear, not yet. She didn’t know she wasn’t alone. A flicker of guilt assaulted him, uninvited. She wasn’t armed, wasn’t threatening. She looked... curious. Innocent, even.
But he knew better than to trust a human face.
He was used to watching her from a distance. Used to seeing her hands dance over her threads, hearing the soft sound of her voice when she hummed to herself.
But now?
Now she was here. Too close.
And as she straightened up and turned deeper into the cave, following the patches of light that filtered through cracks and chimneys, Bucky felt his chest tighten. What was he supposed to do with her? His fingers dug into the rock, and his muscles tensed under dark, storm-hued skin.
Maybe it was time to show her this wasn’t a place to wander.
----
When she started moving toward that alcove, -the one where her little seashell square hung, swaying gently on its line- something sharp and possessive twisted in Bucky’s chest.
No.
That was his now.
Without thinking much about it, he slid from the deeper shadows of his resting pool, moving swift and fluid along the rocky edge, like a shadow swallowed by darker ones. His lower half gripped the slick stones as he glided over them, slipping noiselessly into another pool closer to her path.
Hidden beneath the surface, only his eyes above the waterline, he watched as she hesitated, scanning the alcove’s uneven walls with quiet wonder.
She was too close.
His fingers curled over the rim of the pond, the dark tattooed lines on his arm twisting as his grip tensed. And then, he hissed.
Low, sharp, and deliberate.
The sound slithered through the cavern like a living thing, bouncing off the rock, and gaining depth and weight as it echoed through the chambers. She froze mid-step. She turned around slowly, all wide eyes as she scanned the shadows, the pools, the craggy walls.
“Hello?” Her voice was soft, uncertain.
Bucky said nothing, keeping still as stone. She stepped back, brushing the cave wall lightly with her hand, as if for support. But that was all. She wasn’t running. She wasn’t screaming. Just standing there, scanning the dim light, with her mouth pressed in a thin line.
He stayed hidden, with his body almost perfectly blended with the dark water and stone. Watching. Studying.
She lingered another minute, wrapping her arms loosely around herself as if trying to convince herself that the hiss -that low, sharp thing slithering through the cavern- had been nothing. Just some natural sound of the sea moving through the rocks.
With a slow exhale, she wisely turned on her heel and started her march toward the exit, cautiously stepping over the slick stone.
But fate, of course, wasn’t on her side.
Her foot slipped on a patch of algae-slick rock, and before she could even yelp, she went down hard, landing with a splash in a pool she hadn't noticed before.
“Shit!” she gasped, as the cold water soaked her jeans instantly.
The splash echoed off the cavern walls, bouncing sharp and loud through the space. And that sudden, chaotic movement, the crash of her body into the water, the way her hands scrambled to push herself back up, startled something.
From across the pool, where the water dipped into shadow, the rocks seemed to shift. Her eyes caught on the movement, as the illusion of stone melted away, like mist burning under the sun. There, clinging to the rocks, was him.
Not a shadow. Not a trick of the light.
A man, pale and tattooed, with long dark hair plastered against his shoulders, and wide blue eyes locked on her with equal parts shock and anger.
But it wasn’t just a man.
Where legs should’ve been, his body changed, and thick limbs -deep blues and blacks shifting like oil- curled and rippled over the stones, some half-submerged, others coiled for balance. She could see suction cups running along the underside of a few, clinging effortlessly to the wet rock. The tips flicked and twitched, betraying tension and irritation.
For a long heartbeat, neither of them moved.
What-
He looked just as surprised as she was, like he hadn’t expected to reveal his position, to startle. Then, like a storm cloud pulling itself together, his expression darkened. He tilted his head slightly as if assessing how dangerous she was now that his secret was laid bare.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The creep in the waves, she thought, as her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Only… not quite the kind of creep she’d expected. No, this was paranormal-weird. A fucking living, breathing fairy tale was perched just a few feet away, staring her down like she had personally eaten the last of his cereal.
They just… kept staring at each other.
She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his tattooed arm flexed and braced against the rock like he was ready to launch himself forward. His inhuman lower half -those tendrils, massive and sleek in stormy blues and black- gripped the rock tightly, suction cups shifting and adjusting as if they couldn’t quite decide between holding steady or moving closer.
He was uneasy.
But she was very sure he could sense her unease too.
Her brain spun wildly, running in circles like a hamster in an out-of-control wheel. A male cecaelia? A fucking octopus man, just a short walk from her house? A goddamn myth glaring at her like she had just walked into his living room uninvited. Which, technically, she had.
Okay, okay… don’t freak out…
She swallowed thickly, trying to keep her face neutral, though she was pretty sure her wide eyes were betraying every last thought. She flicked a glance to the nearest rocks, desperately scanning for an escape route. If she could get up without slipping again, and if she could make it out before he decided to drag her back under…
Her stomach churned.
Because unlike a fish-tailed mermaid or triton, this guy didn’t need the water. Those muscular tendrils looked more than capable of hauling his heavy body across the rocks, and the way they were shifting now, gripping and testing, made her feel all kinds of not safe.
If he decided she was a threat -or worse, prey- she had no illusions about being able to outrun him on that slippery surface. He could snap her neck or trap her and pull her under the water before she even got to her feet.
Feigning death? Not an option. She wasn’t a possum, and he didn’t look like he’d fall for it.
Her thoughts tumbled in panic, but something in his eyes -that strange stormy blue, watching her so intently- made her pause. There was hesitation there. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with her, either.
So, she did the only thing she could think of.
The polite, and incredibly stupid thing.
She raised her hand -fingers trembling slightly- and waved.
“Um… hi there.”
Her voice cracked a little on the last word, but she managed to get it out.
Carefully, without taking her eyes off him, she pushed herself up to sitting, legs still half-submerged in the cold pool, and bracing her palms on the rocks to stop from sliding again. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. But she kept her chin up, watching him watch her, waiting to see what the hell came next.
He didn’t move at first. He just stared, slightly narrowing his crystal-shaded blue eyes, with blown wide pupils in the dim light of the cave.
What… what kind of human waved at a creature like him? He understood her mistaking him for a man the day before, but now?
His sharp gaze swept over her face as if searching for something. Maybe she hit her head when she fell. Yeah, that had to be it. Otherwise, why would she be sitting there, soaked and trembling, but still raising a hand at him like they were having some casual chat over the weather?
His lips curled slightly, baring his sharp teeth, and a low, guttural hiss escaped his throat before he could even think about it.
She flinched -a visible, whole-body jerk- and Bucky felt a grim flicker of satisfaction. Good. Maybe now she realized what kind of danger she was in. But to his surprise, she didn’t scream. She didn’t scramble for the exit or try to throw something at him, both of which he would’ve expected.
Instead, she lifted her hands in a slow, careful gesture, palms out, like she was trying to calm a wild animal. Maybe she was.
“I- I mean no harm,” she said, with measured words like she didn’t want to spook him. Her hands stayed up, placating, trembling just slightly. "I’ll leave," she added, her gaze never leaving his, though he could see the rapid flicker of her eyes as they tracked the way his tendrils shifted and tensed against the rocks.
Bucky’s head tilted, sharp and predatory, watching her mouth as she spoke. He could understand her words. The meaning was there, swimming somewhere in the mess his mind had become.
But speaking back? That was another matter.
Once, long ago, he could speak like any human. Could hold conversations, ask questions, and give warnings. But now the words tangled, twisted up in the shadows of his mind, caught in the wreckage of what they had done to him. Thinking about them made something sharp and dark coil in his chest. His pupils narrowed.
Without meaning to, he slid forward a little, muscles rippling under pale skin as his tendrils dragged him closer, silent and smooth against the stone.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she instinctively leaned back, pressing her palms into the slick rock as if ready to push herself away, but she didn’t move. Not yet.
Every instinct in him screamed not to let her leave. She had found his lair, seen him. No human had gotten this close to him and walked away in… he couldn’t even remember how long.
Letting her go felt wrong. Dangerous. But…
Her eyes weren’t filled with the kind of hatred and greed he was used to, nor calculation. No net. No spear. No sharp weapons. Only those trembling hands and careful words. His gaze flicked to her legs, still half-submerged in the shallow pool. If he reached just a little further, he could drag her back, down into the water where she wouldn’t be able to run-
His claws scraped lightly against the stone, and the sound echoed faintly in the cave. He knew he was scaring her, could smell the sharp tang of fear on her skin. And yet… she wasn’t running away.
Maybe because she understood she couldn’t. But instead of scrambling away or begging, she drew in a shaky breath and tried something else.
"Look…" she started, "I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t even know you were-" She hesitated, darting her eyes briefly to his glimmering tendrils before snapping back to his face. "Here."
She swallowed and lifted her hands again, as if he needed more proof that she wasn’t a threat. "I wasn’t looking for you. I was just curious about the cave. You-" another pause, her brow furrowed, searching for words that wouldn't anger him. "You live here, right?"
Bucky’s jaw tensed, sharp teeth flashing for the briefest second as his mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a snarl but wasn’t friendly either.
He shifted forward again, slow and deliberate, and the water slid over his skin and tendrils with a quiet hiss. She stiffened as he moved, but didn’t retreat, watching him wide-eyed.
He tilted his head again, and for a moment she thought he might just keep glaring in silence. But then he opened his mouth as if to speak, and nothing came out but a low, broken rasp, like a breath caught on something sharp. His brows furrowed, frustrated, and his lips parted again, trying to form the words tangled in his head.
"Why..." It came out rough, the echo of a voice long unused.
He shifted closer, water dripping from his hair as he leaned slightly to one side, circling her, as if testing, watching how she reacted to every inch he gained.
"Why… here?" he finally managed. His voice was low and hoarse like it hurt to speak. His eyes pinned her, demanding an answer.
She blinked at him, surprised that he had spoken at all, but the question was clear enough.
"I-I just was curious about the place," she answered honestly, lowering her hands slightly now that she saw he was at least trying to communicate. "I moved to the cottage up the hill. I didn’t know this was your home."
Her eyes darted to the water where his tendrils swayed and curled with tension.
"I can stay away if you want," she added, softer.
Bucky watched her in silence, tilting his head slightly as if weighing her words. She could see his throat working, as though he wanted to speak again but couldn’t force the words out.
Still, he crept a little closer, tendrils rising slightly out of the water, black and blue slick shapes moving with that unsettling, liquid grace, like living shadows.
She swallowed hard, watching him shift, seeing the way his muscles moved beneath pale skin, the long dark hair falling over his shoulders in wet strands. He was... too close now. Close enough that she could see how the water slid off his skin, how sharp the lines of his jaw were, how inhumanly still he could go, like a predator assessing prey.
Her mind raced, trying to piece together anything that would make sense of this encounter. Maybe she could reason with him? Offer something, anything in exchange for her safe retreat?
Her fingers trembled as she carefully slid the backpack off her shoulder, keeping her movements slow, and deliberate, showing him she wasn’t reaching for a weapon.
“Um...” she cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak, though her voice was uneven. “I can give you what I brought with me... if you want.”
She opened the flap of the bag and hesitated for a heartbeat before reaching in. The colorful yarn spilled between her fingers, reds and oranges mostly, bright and warm against the grey light filtering through the cave’s chimney. She held it out awkwardly as if offering a peace token to some ancient god of the deep.
His eyes, flicked from her face to the yarn in her hand.
She tried to smile, though her lips felt stiff and dry. “You... want it?” she asked quietly. “You can have it. I’ll just... go.”
Stillness.
His gaze returned to her, dark lashes lowering slightly, as if thinking. Or weighing.
And then, he shifted. His body undulated with a slow, contained force as he slid a little closer, tendrils curling and uncurling at his sides like restless snakes.
Her breath hitched.
But instead of lunging or attacking, one of those black and blue limbs uncurled, hesitating mid-air before reaching out toward the yarn.
She stayed very still, with her heart thudding painfully as she watched the tip of the tendril brush lightly against the threads.
Still, she took the chance to speak again, softer now, like trying to soothe a wild animal. “I don’t mean any harm,” she whispered. “I didn’t know this was your place. I’ll go, alright? I won’t bother you again.”
His gaze flicked from the dripping yarn in his grasp back to her, sharp and assessing.
She swallowed, holding herself still, watching as he studied the mess of threads. The yarn was already soaking wet, clinging to itself in limp strands, and for a moment he just looked at it, frowning slightly, as if puzzling over its nature.
Then, she saw the way his brows pulled tighter, as the realization dawned in his sharp gaze. It was useless like this, just raw material. His tendrils flexed, curling tighter and then unfurling in a slow, almost thoughtful motion.
When he lifted the dripping yarn again, something flickered across his face. A decision. He moved closer now -gliding with that unsettling, fluid grace- and she instinctively stiffened as the water rippled from his advance. But he didn’t lash out. Instead, he extended the yarn back to her, holding it out.
She blinked in confusion, hesitating before accepting it carefully, as though she was unsure if it was a trap.
Then came a sound, low, rough, like something long-forgotten being forced out of his throat. “…Make.”
Her eyes darted up to him, frowning slightly, unsure she had heard right.
“What?” she asked quietly, as if speaking too loud might break the fragile truce between them.
His tendril twitched, wiggling the yarn in her hand, insistently.
“…Make.” He said again, with a scratchy voice. She could see frustration flickering across his features, clenching his jaw as he struggled to articulate more.
“You…” she clenched her fingers slightly around the yarn- “You want me to craft something for you?”
The way his body stilled, then the sharp nod that followed -curt, and decisive- confirmed her guess.
But before she could say anything else, before she could even think of agreeing, his voice rasped out again, harsher this time.
“No... spi—spells.”
Her eyes widened slightly. His tendrils curled tighter, and she saw the tension in his body, as though even the thought of her weaving some enchantment into a craft unsettled him.
She lifted her free hand slowly, palms out in a placating gesture.
“No spells,” she promised gently, watching his reaction carefully. “Just…” she looked down at the yarn in her hand, “Just yarn. Nothing else.”
His eyes stayed on her for a long moment as if trying to read the truth through every line of her body. Then, with a sharp exhale that might’ve been a grudging acceptance, he let his tendrils slide back into the water, though he remained close, watching.
She swallowed again. “All right,” she said quietly, clutching the yarn to her chest as if that fragile agreement between them had some weight. “I’ll make you something.”
Still, he watched, unmoving, as though waiting to see if she’d keep her word.
And, maybe because she was reckless or because something in his gaze wasn’t entirely threatening anymore, she gave a small nod.
“I’ll bring it when it’s done.”
The moment the words left her lips, she knew she had said the wrong thing.
Because his eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding, and before she could take a step back, he moved. Effortless, like a shadow sliding over stone, he surged forward, out of the water.
She gasped, stumbling a half step back as he rose up, tendrils unfurling and curling along the slick rocks as he dragged himself fully from the pool. Water streamed down the pale skin of his human half, muscles shifting under scarred flesh, and she couldn’t help but notice how solid he was, how much bigger than she had thought. If those massive tendrils below his hips were legs, and he stood at full height…
He moved with unsettling grace, positioning himself squarely between her and the only exit she had. The soft slap of his tendrils against the stone echoed ominously, and her heart was suddenly thundering in her chest again.
He was blocking her way out.
Her fingers tightened instinctively around the damp yarn, and her pulse raced as he stared her down.
“Here,” he hissed. His gaze was unblinking, cold as the sea.
She swallowed, watching as one of his tendrils lifted to tap the yarn, insistently.
“Make. Here.”
Oh, he didn’t trust her. Of course, he didn’t.
Why should he? She had wandered right into his lair, trespassed into the most private corner of his world. What reason would he have to believe she'd come back, or not run straight to town blabbering about a sea monster living in the cliffs?
She licked her lips, with her throat suddenly dry, her eyes darting from his looming form to the narrow path that led out, now completely cut off.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice a little shaky. "Okay. I get it." She kept her hands slow, deliberate, as she crouched down on a drier patch of rock, her gaze flicking up to him as if asking for permission.
He watched her like a hawk, tendrils shifting slightly against the ground as though ready to react to the smallest wrong move.
Her fingers fumbled slightly as she dug into her backpack for her hook, small and harmless, but she could feel the way his gaze latched onto it, tracking the glint of metal with suspicion.
“It’s… it’s just for the yarn,” she murmured, showing him the crochet hook in the flat of her hand before she picked up the sodden threads.
She exhaled, long and slow, trying to calm the tremble in her fingers as she looped the yarn and began to work, her mind racing even as her hands found familiar movements.
Crochet. Right. He wanted her to make something, here, now. She needed to make something fast. Something that looked impressive enough to satisfy him, but simple enough to be done before the tide decided to join them in the cave.
A jellyfish.
The thought flickered in her mind like lightning.
Last year, she had made dozens of them — some as little hanging decorations, some flat like coasters, cute and simple. The design was burned into her memory. Bright colors, curly tentacles. Easy.
Perfect.
She swallowed, adjusting her grip on the yarn and pulling her hook through the loops with more confidence now, as muscle memory took over. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him.
He was still coiled protectively between her and the exit, but now he seemed… fixated. Watching her hands, the way the thread looped and twisted under her fingers.
Her mind raced as her fingers worked the damp yarn, still feeling the weight of his stare, unrelenting, sharp, and far too close.
And then, slowly, he inched closer.
Closer.
Way too close.
By the time she was halfway done with the main body of the jellyfish, his face was mere inches from hers, darting his eyes between her concentrating expression and her hands. She tried to pretend her heart wasn’t slamming against her chest, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the way his tendrils had crept silently over the rocks to surround her, some of them curling and uncurling near her feet, others bracing close to her sides like dark, living ropes.
For a creature that didn’t trust her, he clearly had no concept of personal space. She wet her lips nervously but didn’t stop working, feeling the heat of his gaze following every flick and twist of her fingers. “You know,” she murmured, not daring to look directly at him, “for someone so wary… you’re really not giving me a lot of room here.”
She risked a glance up, and for a fleeting second, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, amusement? Or maybe just sharper curiosity. His tendrils flexed against the rock, shifting slightly closer. One of them slid forward and she nearly flinched, but it didn’t touch her. No, it reached for the trailing end of yarn, brushing the thread lightly, as though testing the texture.
He made a low sound in his throat, almost like a hum, flicking his eyes from the yarn to her face and back again.
Her hands kept working, faster now, shaping the last round before starting the dangling "tentacles”: a few quick chains and curls, loose and wavy, the way jellyfish tendrils floated underwater.
"I’m making a jellyfish, by the way," she said quietly, filling the silence between them. "Not sure what you'll do with it down here, but-” She glanced at him, seeing how his brows furrowed slightly, as though trying to grasp her words. "But," she added gently, "you didn’t say what you wanted, so… this is what you’re getting."
Still, no answer. Just those sharp, blue, and way too focused eyes on her face. She tried to ignore how close he was. How she could see the faint shimmer of water on his skin, the way his dark hair clung to his temples. Almost done. Just a few more loops.
"If I finish this and give it to you," she murmured, working through the last stitch, "you’ll let me go, right?"
One of his tendrils curled slowly near her ankle, and she tensed before it retreated again, but he didn’t answer.
The final loop tightened under her hook, and she carefully turned the jellyfish over in her hands. It wasn’t her best work, but considering the circumstances? Pretty damn good. She held it up with slightly trembling fingers and finally met his gaze.
"Here," she whispered. "It’s for you."
For a long, heavy moment, he didn’t move.
Then one of his tendrils reached forward -slow, deliberate- and wrapped around the little yarn creature, lifting it gently from her hands. He held it delicately, looking at the bright red and orange yarn, wet but still vivid, which seemed almost to pulse in the dim light of the cave.
Her breath caught.
Was it enough?
His eyes flicked back to her, sharp and unreadable, before returning to the soft thing in his hold. Then, slowly, he brought it closer. He touched it with his hand, testing its weight and texture, making the curled tendrils bounce softly with his fingers. The way his clawed fingertips brushed over the loops of yarn was almost… reverent, like someone handling an unknown relic.
And when he lifted it to his face and sniffed it, she blinked in surprise. He made a low, thoughtful sound, something like a rumble deep in his chest, before glancing up toward the alcove where the seashell square hung. Not that she knew about it.
She didn't dare to move yet, holding her breath as his dark gaze returned to her, assessing, cold and sharp, and yet... there was something else there too.
Finally, with a rough, almost reluctant tone, he said, "Leave."
She didn't need to be told twice.
"Right. Leaving. Thanks," she mumbled, starting to push herself to her feet.
But as soon as she moved, pain shot up her leg and she stumbled with a sharp intake of breath, catching herself awkwardly on a slick rock. She heard him exhale a frustrated, almost growling sound.
And before she could even react, he was moving, fast and smooth despite his bulk.
Tendrils lashed out, wrapping around her waist, and before she could yelp properly, he hoisted her like she weighed nothing, slinging her over one broad shoulder in a way that knocked the air out of her lungs.
"What the-?! Hey!"
But he was already moving, crawling effortlessly across the rocks, with his powerful limbs and tendrils gripping surfaces with frightening ease.
She realized, squirming a little but not daring to struggle much, that he was carrying her toward the cave's exit, toward the open shore.
Despite the rush of fear and surprise, part of her brain registered the strength it took to lift her like this but he was using one arm and one tendril to support her, coiling firmly but not painfully around her, while he moved fluid and controlled.
When they reached the mouth of the cave, bathed in the cold morning light, he set her down, still holding her tightly with the tendril on her waist. She realized he wasn’t letting go. She barely had a moment to catch her breath before one strong hand cupped her face,pressing along her cheek and jaw, tilting her head to face him directly.
His eyes burned into hers, too close, too sharp.
"No one," he growled, like the sound of stones grinding together.
Her heart hammered.
"I- I won’t," she breathed, eyes wide.
His brow furrowed, searching her face for any sign of a lie, and for a long, tense moment, they simply stared at each other.
Then, with a final squeeze on her waist, -reminding her just how easily he could break her if he wanted- he let her go.
She stumbled back a step, watching him as he slowly retreated into the shadows of the cave, taking her jellyfish with him like a strange prize.
----
Once alone, he slipped back into the shadows, feeling the cool kiss of the water as he submerged into his favorite pond again.
But for once, the calm he usually found there didn’t come. The little jellyfish dangled from his hand, dripping seawater, with its soft yarn tendrils swaying gently with the motion of his arm.
He lifted it again, inspecting it closer now that the human was gone.
Red and orange, bright like the creatures that danced in the deep where no human dared to go. It shouldn’t exist here, among these dull coastal grays and browns, but maybe that’s why he liked it. It reminded him of things from the trenches of the sea, strange, delicate, and dangerous all at once.
With careful fingers, he turned it, watching how the thin tendrils curled and bounced with every shift, and for a moment he wondered, how did she know how these creatures were? And, did she guess what might catch his eye, or was it just luck?
His gaze drifted to the alcove where the seashell square still hung, weathered and faded from salt and air. Frowning thoughtfully, he slithered from the pool and grabbed another thin piece of fishing line. Working deftly, he tied the jellyfish, letting it dangle beside the square, and the breeze filtering through a vent stirred both pieces gently.
The tendrils danced, twisting and swaying as if alive, and something about that made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand or didn’t want to.
She had made this for him, even if coaxed.
And true to her word, it didn’t reek of magic, no strange tingling in the fibers, no shimmer of spells on its surface. Just simple human craft. He stared at it, folding his arms over the edge of the alcove and resting his chin on his wrist, watching the little creature spin lazily in the wind.
After a while, he found his thoughts drifting back to her, the way she’d stared at him, wide-eyed but trying to stay calm. The way she’d carefully spoken to him in a soft, and unsure voice.
Her face, her eyes.
Pretty.
He huffed to himself, irritated at the thought.
Pretty, for a human. Not that it mattered.
Still…
His brow furrowed.
Did she have a mate?
The question rose before he could stop it, crawling at the edge of his mind. Maybe someone waiting in that lair on the cliff? A male that would come looking if she didn’t return one day?
But then again...
If she had a mate, why would she spend so much time alone, sitting by his rocks, working with her strange threads? His tendrils twitched restlessly against the stone.
It wasn’t his business.
He firmly told himself that, squeezing the edge of the alcove a little too tightly. She was just a reckless human. One he should’ve scared off properly.
And yet, when the jellyfish spun again in the breeze, he watched it, and behind his eyes, he saw her hands moving, and her lips parting as she worked.
----
By the time she reached the cottage, her legs were trembling, partly from the cold of her soaked clothes, and partly from the leftover adrenaline rushing through her veins. The door slammed shut behind her, and she pressed her back to it, breathing hard, as if expecting him to have followed her all the way there.
But, of course, he didn’t.
She winced as she bent to take off her jeans, feeling the forming bruise at the base of her spine, joining the throbbing of her leg from where she’d landed in that stupid pond. "Great. Add that to my collection of regrets."
Once free of the wet clothes, she wrapped herself in a soft towel, padding barefoot to the bathroom to start the shower, replaying the whole encounter.
A cecaelia.
She knew the folklore. Old stories and whispered warnings of half-man, half-octopus creatures that lurked in the deep, dragging sailors under the sea, charming swimmers to their deaths, or seducing them into the dark.
Not that she ever believed those tales. Until today.
And God, even furious and unfriendly as he was, he was painfully, otherworldly handsome, in a way that made her stomach twist uncomfortably. She didn’t want to think how could it be to look at those features when they decided to charm instead of being hostile.
She turned her back to the mirror as she waited for the water to heat, rubbing absently at her bruised backside, but her mind wouldn't stop spinning. She could understand now why those old tales spoke of these creatures luring humans to them. There was something magnetic about him, even if she didn't want to admit it.
But...
If he really wanted to hurt her, he could have.
He could’ve crushed her throat, or dragged her under the water until she stopped breathing, hell, he had carried her like she weighed nothing at all. First slung over his broad shoulder, holding her tight with his arm, and then later, when his tentacles wrapped her waist and lifted her to her feet, holding her firm as if she were a doll.
But instead, he had trusted, and warned her off. No one, he said, the words harsh and rough on his tongue.
Because if she talked… if people knew something was living out there, how long before curious fishermen came with nets? Before reporters descended on the town, or researchers, trying to trap him, study him? Or worse?
All he wanted was to be left alone. And she -stupidly- had wandered straight into his home, poking around like some tourist in a forbidden place.
She sighed, finally stepping into the shower, letting the hot water pound her skin, washing away the salt and the fear. But even as the warmth soaked into her muscles, she couldn’t stop thinking of the way his tentacles had flexed when he watched her work, how close his face had gotten when he stared at her like he was trying to figure her out.
And then she wondered, what parts of the old stories were true.
Maybe, going earlier would save her from another weird staring contest with the stranger from yesterday.
Sorry I have a feeling vaguely uncomfortable staring contests are his love language
Maybe… she could finally take a proper look inside. If the locals were so set on being cryptic about the place, well, she could see for herself what the fuss was about.
YEAH THIS IS WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT you can’t do vague shit with this woman 🤦♀️🤦♀️ WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO GO IN THE CREEPY CAVE WHERE THE STRANGE MAN HAD BEEN
She wandered a few feet inside, careful to keep the brighter mouth of the cave within her sight, she wasn’t about to get herself lost in the dark, after all.
Oh yes ofc that’s where we draw the line— can’t blame her tho a dripping wet Bucky Barnes would have me risking a cave dive too
Too light to be a fisherman or some reckless teenager come to drink where they thought no one would find them.
The teenager comment is so specific it makes me wonder what he does when that happens. Hides while they drink? Scared them off? Ate them mayhaps…
His jaw clenched. He knew who it was even before he heard the soft intake of breath that followed.
1- that’s so romantic to me, knowing her by her breath
2- there’s literally only person in town who’s gonna go in that cave and we all know who it is
Didn’t she realize how stupid it was to wander into places she didn’t understand?
No comment needed
his rocks
His walls
I love how possessive he is of such specific things and clearly territorial. It reminds me a lot of the fish from Nemo obsessed with his bubbles
A flicker of guilt assaulted him, uninvited. She wasn't armed, wasn't threatening. She looked... curious.
Innocent, even.
But he knew better than to trust a human face.
Claims he doesn’t care. Claims he doesn’t miss her. Why do you feel guilty? Why do you know what guilt feels like? BECAUSE YOU CARE 🤦♀️ I still feel the foreshadowing for his backstory is gonna hurt
Used to seeing her hands dance over her threads, hearing the soft sound of her voice when she hummed to herself.
I love how consistently he references and comes back to her voice and her humming. As if she’s the siren for him when it’s really their both sirens for each other. She’s beckoned by natural curiosity to this strange cave and strange man. And he’s beckoned in by her softness and her voice.
Maybe it was time to show her this wasn’t a place to wander.
Threatening (but so so hot)
When she started moving toward that alcove, -the one where her little seashell square hung, swaying gently on its line-something sharp and possessive twisted in Bucky's chest.
No.
That was his now.
Again that materialistic possession is so interesting to me. Why would someone so fearsome want to hoard human things? He has to already be intrigued by them even if he resents feeling that way.
Makes me wonder how that’ll reflect in their future relationship 👀
And then, he hissed.
Like a cat 😭😭 that actually explains a lot about him
Her foot slipped on a patch of algae-slick rock, and before she could even yelp, she went down hard, landing with a splash in a pool she hadn't noticed before.
Felt.
They just… kept staring at each other.
See that’s his love language right there he’s just gotta figure it out
Because unlike a fish-tailed mermaid or triton, this guy didn’t need the water. Those muscular tendrils looked more than capable of hauling his heavy body across the rocks, and the way they were shifting now, gripping and testing, made her feel all kinds of not safe.
Love Bucky, but that is wonderfully horrifying imagery of this inhuman creature just shifting across rocks at you
The polite, and incredibly stupid thing.
She raised her hand -fingers trembling slightly- and waved.
"Um... hi there."
Felt x2
Maybe she hit her head when she fell. Yeah, that had to be it. Otherwise, why would she be sitting there, soaked and trembling, but still raising a hand at him like they were having some casual chat over the weather?
It’s actually a perfectly normal reaction to realizing a mythological creature exists WHAT ELSE ARE YOU GONNA DO
His lips curled slightly, baring his sharp teeth, and a low, guttural hiss escaped his throat before he could even think about it.
Not beating the cat allegations
But now the words tangled, twisted up in the shadows of his mind, caught in the wreckage of what they had done to him. Thinking about them made something sharp and dark coil in his chest. His pupils narrowed.
Sweet baby Jesus I’m not gonna be strong enough for this 😭
If he reached just a little further, he could drag her back, down into the water where she wouldn’t be able to run-
Annnnnnnd we would be doing what down there? I’m really wondering if he eats people.
But then he opened his mouth as if to speak, and nothing came out but a low, broken rasp, like a breath caught on something sharp. His brows furrowed, frustrated, and his lips parted again, trying to form the words tangled in his head.
"Why..." It came out rough, the echo of a voice long unused.
Big scary monster, I know. But that is so precious to me. Because if you don’t care about her presence at all and you just want her out of your territory…. Why bother?
De Nile is a river in Egypt as they say
I moved to the cottage up the hill.
Now why are we telling this strange monster man that????
She opened the flap of the bag and hesitated for a heartbeat before reaching in. The colorful yarn spilled between her fingers, reds and oranges mostly, bright and warm against the grey light filtering through the cave's chimney. She held it out awkwardly as if offering a peace token to some ancient god of the deep.
His eyes, flicked from her face to the yarn in her hand.
"You... want it?" she asked quietly. "You can have it. I'll just... go."
Love that she’s bartering with him like an otter offering their shiniest rock
"..Make." He said again, with a scratchy voice. She could see frustration flickering across his features, clenching his jaw as he struggled to articulate more.
"You.." she clenched her fingers slightly around the yarn- "You want me to craft something for you?"
Oh my god I can’t. He cares so hard and is so freaking blind to it. Because he’s this ancient deep sea predator. He shouldn’t want colorful baubles or homemade treats. Oh, sad, buff little mermaid.
He moved with unsettling grace, positioning himself squarely between her and the only exit she had. The soft slap of his tendrils against the stone echoed ominously, and her heart was suddenly thundering in her chest again.
He was blocking her way out.
It’s so very petty. But he cares so much about getting this from her that he’s literally stopping her from leaving his territory. But, yeah, no he doesn’t like her.
By the time she was halfway done with the main body of the jellyfish, his face was mere inches from hers, darting his eyes between her concentrating expression and her hands.
🐈 = him
he hoisted her like she weighed nothing, slinging her over one broad shoulder in a way that knocked the air out of her lungs.
I’m done ragging on her survival instincts. If I got manhandled like that so easy I’d be paying a visit every damn day.
Despite the rush of fear and surprise, part of her brain registered the strength it took to lift her like this but he was using one arm and one tendril to support her, coiling firmly but not painfully around her, while he moved fluid and controlled.
YEAAAAAAAAH GIRL YOU GET IT
how did she know how these creatures were?
Okay, he’s talking about the crochet jellyfish here which brings about the question— does he not think humans swim?? Why wouldn’t we know what these are lol. Unless he’s referencing some other sort of deep sea creature. Which if he is yeeeeeek
Her face, her eyes.
Pretty.
He huffed to himself, irritated at the thought.
YEAAAAAH FOR SURE DONT LIKE HUMANS 😒😒
She could understand now why those old tales spoke of these creatures luring humans to them. There was something magnetic about him, even if she didn't want to admit it.
I think you’re luring him girl 🤭
All he wanted was to be left alone. And she -stupidly- had wandered straight into his home, poking around like some tourist in a forbidden place.
Thank you for reblogging♥️ Bucky had eaten humans, but a long time ago, mostly during a certain period of time when he wasn't... himself. Since he made that cave his territory, he had managed to stay hidden if people ventured there. Missing persons surely could draw unwanted attention to the place, and he was tired of wandering.
"Love that she’s bartering with him like an otter offering their shiniest rock" THIS. In her mind, she thought she could resolve things by giving him something colorful lol.
He is intrigued and has been SO alone that he can't help but want those handmade things, even if his kind don't tend to own possessions.
That color of jellyfish is something only seen in the deep. She made it with those tones just because, to make it colorful, but he has seen creatures like that, so he wonders how she knows about them- also, he doesn't know about the existence of TV or documentaries where she might have seen something like that 🤣-
Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his shore -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.
Masterlist
The cottage looked even smaller in person. Nestled at the cliff's edge, with wild grass growing tall around it and the sea stretching endlessly beyond, it felt like it had been left there by the wind itself, forgotten when the summer tourists had packed up and gone.
She stepped out of the car, and the sharp tang of salt air rushed into her lungs when she took a deep breath. The doctor’s words echoed in her head, as they had for weeks now. "Sea air will do wanders with you. Get away from the city, and spend time outside. Let your lungs remember how to work without fighting for every breath."
It hadn’t been a hard decision, not really. When she’d called her cousin asking if the cottage was free, he’d been surprised but quick to offer it. “No one rents off-season,” he had said. “But if you don’t mind the quiet, it’s yours for as long as you want. Just keep an eye on the place. Cheap rent if you can manage that.”
She could. And she wanted the quiet.
The cottage itself was weathered, with paint peeling from the shutters, but it held a kind of charm. She smiled to herself, already imagining mornings spent with tea in hand, sitting on the porch, watching the sea.
In the back of her car, her yarn and crochet hooks were packed in baskets, along with pieces she could finish and post to her shop, small comforts for strangers who would never know how much she needed this place as much as they might need her work.
The door creaked as it opened, and she stepped inside, greeted by the scent of wood and sea salt that had seeped into the walls. It wasn’t perfect -there would be work to do to make it feel like home- but for now, it was enough.
She left her bag by the door, moving to open the back window that faced the cliffs. The wind rushed in immediately, lifting the thin curtains and filling the small room with the sounds of the ocean.
Leaning on the windowsill, she breathed in deep again, closing her eyes for a moment.
----
She left the unpacking for later. The sunlight, pale and golden as it dipped lower in the sky, felt too precious to waste. After days of grey city skies, it was strange and wonderful to see light glinting off the water like scattered glass.
Pulling on a scarf against the wind, she made her way down the narrow path that led from the cottage to the shore, boots crunching against damp stones. The beach was more rock than sand, dark stones slick with seawater, and the waves hissing between them in restless motion. She took her time, picking her way carefully over the uneven ground, pausing here and there to admire small tide pools that shimmered like glass bowls filled with fragments of sky.
Further down, the cliffs rose higher, jagged and dark against the softening sky. Tucked into the rock face was a cave, half-hidden in shadow. She felt a pull toward it, something about the way the waves crashed near its mouth, and the water slid back in swirling foam made her want to go closer. But the tide was too high, waves rushing to the edge of the mouth and spilling out in bursts of white spray.
She sighed, a little disappointed, and found a flat rock to sit on, far enough from the water’s reach but close enough to feel the mist on her cheeks. Pulling her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them and watched the horizon where the sky met the sea, silver and darkening.
She didn’t notice the way the water stirred beyond the rocks.
From the shadows of the cave, he watched.
Blue eyes, sharp and narrowed, fixed on the figure that had dared to step onto his shore. A female human, wrapped in thick clothes, clearly not afraid of being so close to the water. His gaze followed her movements, the careful way she sat, her eyes distant as if searching for something in the waves.
The sea shifted around him, dark tentacles stirring the foam as he rose slightly from the depths, blending with the shadows. The skin below his waist was marked in deep stormy colors: blues that bled into blacks, silvers that caught the light when he moved, like flashes of lightning underwater. His long dark hair clung wet to his shoulders, the strands caught in the shifting current.
His left arm was marked in heavy black ink, curling patterns that wound around the muscles like chains and waves, telling stories in lines and symbols only the ocean would ever understand.
He was used to people coming close in the summer, loud and careless, splashing in the water, never looking beyond what they wanted to see. But this one was different. She was quiet. Still.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid closer to the rocks, letting the water conceal most of his form, moving his lower half with smooth, effortless strength beneath the waves. The great, coiled limbs of his true body remained hidden for now, shifting like shadows below.
His gaze darkened as he watched her. What was she doing there? Why now, when the cold months were setting in and no other humans dared to linger?
His jaw clenched as he sank a little deeper into the water, watching her as the sun dipped lower and painted the sky in bruised purples and oranges. He would wait. Watch. And if she meant harm to his waters, to his shore, he would know. But still, he couldn't help the way his eyes lingered when the wind caught her hair, or the way her small smile seemed soft and tired, as if she carried some invisible weight.
She came back.
The next day and the one after.
By the third sunrise, Bucky had already realized, with a sinking weight in his chest, that the human woman wasn’t just passing through. No, she returned, making her way down the narrow path from the cliffs, wrapped in her layers of soft clothes and her hair tousled by the wind. She walked the shore like she belonged there, like it wasn’t his.
It bothered him.
From the shadows of the rocks, half-submerged in the dark water, he watched her settle on the same stone each day, legs folded neatly beneath her as she sat with her back to the wind. Like clockwork, she always carried a bundle under her arm -sometimes a basket, sometimes a cloth bag- and inside were her strange tools.
At first, he'd tense every time she pulled them out. Metal glinting in the light, sharp and delicate. His eyes would narrow, watching the quick, precise movements of her fingers as she worked the thread -or was it wire?- into something he couldn't quite understand.
Was she weaving traps? Humans were clever like that, dressing danger in the shape of something pretty. His teeth would clench as he lingered close enough to see but far enough that the sea still wrapped him in its shield. Some days, he’d hover beneath the surface, letting the swell of the waves rise and fall over him, tentacles coiled and ready, just watching. Other days, when curiosity won out over caution, he'd pull himself closer to the rocks, blending with the dark stone, his body hidden in the foam, only sharp blue eyes peering from the shadowed cracks.
He couldn't understand her.
The tools -those thin, pointed things that glinted in the sun- moved quickly in her hands, pulling and twisting strands of colored thread into shapes. He watched her lips move sometimes, as if she were speaking to herself or singing under her breath, her voice too soft to carry over the waves.
What are you doing, human?
Some days, she worked with blues and greys that matched the ocean. Other days, softer colors: pale pinks, sandy creams, as if she were plucking the colors from the sunset and tying them into her thread.
His mind turned over the possibilities, dark and sharp as broken shells.
Offerings, maybe. Humans used to throw things into the sea, begging the water for favors. Had she come to his shore to offer something? And if so, to whom?
What was it like, to sit under the open sky, making something delicate with hands that didn’t know the weight of chains?
What did a human like her have to craft for?
He knew humans were dangerous. They made weapons and poison. They took and broke and never gave back to the sea. But watching her, with her small, careful motions and calm presence, Bucky couldn’t make her fit into the same mold.
Still, he kept his distance.
And watched.
She was a mystery, and Bucky had always known better than to trust a pretty mystery.
----
The sky was heavy that day, thick with clouds that churned low over the sea like a living thing, pressing the wind harder against the cliffs. The waves crashed louder, salt spray carried far beyond the rocks, and even the birds had gone quiet, hunkering down somewhere safer than the open air.
Still, she came.
Bucky saw her before she even reached the stones, her figure bent slightly against the wind, with a scarf whipped loose around her shoulders as she picked her way carefully across the slick path. He stayed hidden in the cave’s shadows, narrowing his eyes as he watched her approach, bracing himself as another gust sent the water lashing high against the rocks.
Foolish human. She had no business being here in this weather.
And yet, there she was, basket under her arm, as though her stubbornness could make the storm back down.
She didn’t stay long; that, at least, he could appreciate. The wind tugged mercilessly at her hair, whipping strands across her face, and even from his distance, he could see her frown as she tried to focus on her work. The little metal tools caught flashes of dull light, as she wrestled with thread that kept trying to fly away.
More than once, she nearly dropped the whole thing, muttering curses under her breath that the wind carried just out of his hearing.
Should’ve stayed home, Bucky thought darkly, though part of him -a part he didn’t want to examine too closely- felt a flicker of something like amusement at her stubbornness.
Eventually, even she had to admit defeat.
With a sharp breath, she shoved the tangled project and tools back into her basket, fighting to keep everything from slipping out as the wind ripped around her. Bucky watched as she stood, holding the basket close with one hand and pulling her scarf tighter with the other.
She turned to leave, but the basket’s lid wasn’t secure.
He caught the movement first, a small square of soft color, pale blue and cream, clinging to the edge until a sharp gust of wind tore it free.
The little piece of her work tumbled up into the air like a bird struggling against the gale, flipping and twisting wildly. She didn’t notice, too focused on her path back up to the cliffs, already moving away.
Bucky’s sharp gaze tracked the square as it flew, carried higher for a moment before the wind turned and dropped it like a wounded thing onto the rocks.
He slid closer, and the sea hissed against the shore as his dark form rose from the waves, blending with the churning water. His tentacles shifted beneath, curling and uncoiling lazily as he moved through the foam toward where the thing had landed.
For a moment, he didn’t touch it, only looked, tilting his head slightly as he studied the object. It was soft and tiny, patterned carefully in shifting stitches, with the center shaped like a seashell.
A seashell.
His brows drew together, a flicker of confusion sliding through his chest.
Was it… for him? An offering? A message?
His tattooed arm reached out, brushing the yarn with his wet fingers as if it might dissolve under his touch. He picked it up, holding it between his fingers, and turning it over. The colors were soft, like the sea on a calm morning, so unlike the stormy waters around them now.
He stared after her retreating figure, now nearly lost to the rising mist that curled along the cliffs. His fingers closed around the little square, and his chest twisted with something sharp and unfamiliar. Without thinking, he slipped back into the water, keeping the square safe in his palm as he sank below the waves, carrying it into the deep.
----
The cave had been his refuge for years now.
A place carved by time and water, jagged and vast beneath the cliffs, a labyrinth of dark stone and shifting pools. The ocean lived and breathed in its chambers, rushing in with the tides to flood the lower passages, pulling back to leave slick rock and pools deep enough for him to slide through.
Most humans never saw more than the yawning mouth of the cave, and even then, they gave it a wide berth, spooked by the way the waves churned and roared in its depths. But Bucky had made it home.
It wasn’t much. Dark. Cold. Safe.
Except now, it wasn’t just his.
He surfaced silently in one of the upper chambers, where the water only reached his hips before sloping into the damp rock. High above, a narrow shaft split the stone, letting pale daylight pour down like a spotlight. Even on cloudy days, it was enough to see by.
Holding the little square carefully between tattooed fingers, he studied it again as if it might reveal something new, some hidden meaning in its soft, woven loops.
It shouldn’t be here.
Nothing soft ever survived this place.
The sea that pounded the rocks outside was as ruthless as the men who’d once dragged him from it. His world was made of sharp edges and dark water. Things that survived here were hard, broken, and dangerous.
Not like this.
His lip curled slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was at himself or the thing he couldn’t quite let go of.
He moved to the far side of the chamber where a heavy rock shelf jutted from the wall, slick with salt but high enough to stay dry when the tide rolled in. Above it, close to the light from the chimney, an old, rusted hook still hung from a crack in the rock, a leftover from some shipwrecked fishing gear he'd dragged in long ago.
He didn’t think much before reaching for a coil of fishing line he scavenged from the sea, along with other things lost by sailors who would never know what had become of them.
With careful fingers, he tied the little square to the line, knotting it securely, and hung it from the hook so it swayed gently in the faint breeze that slipped down through the shaft.
It turned slowly, spinning on the line, and its pale threads caught what little light filtered in, soft and fragile in a world of darkness.
Bucky leaned back in the water, resting his arms on the rocks behind him, watching it move. Something about how it danced, as if defying the cold stone and salt-heavy air, set his teeth on edge.
Why did she make things like that?
Was she offering pieces of herself to the sea? To him?
His gaze darkened as he thought of her again, sitting on his rock, unaware of the way she was watched, studied like a puzzle that didn’t fit. His eyes flicked to the square once more, to the soft seashell design at its center.
It didn’t make sense, but he didn’t take it down.
Instead, he stayed there for a long time, watching it turn and twist in the pale shaft of light.
----
The next morning, she sat on the couch, sorting through her project basket with a small frown tugging at her lips. The afghan was coming together beautifully, a tapestry of ocean blues, soft foamy whites, and sandy golds, all made of tiny, careful stitches. But something was off. She counted again, lips moving silently as her finger trailed over each square laid out in neat rows.
Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…
She paused.
No, it wasn’t right.
She was sure she’d finished all the seashell tiles. It had been the last thing she worked on by the shore before the stormy weather rolled in. But now… she was one short.
Her brow furrowed deeper. Had she miscounted?
She rubbed her forehead, letting out a soft breath. Maybe she’d dropped one and didn’t notice. The wind had been fierce that day, tugging at everything: her hair, her scarf, her work, like impatient fingers.
Glancing out the window, where the sea glinted pale in the afternoon sun, she chewed her lip. She didn’t have enough yarn to do another. So, with a resigned sigh, she grabbed her bag and slipped on her jacket.
Maybe the little shop uptown still had that particular shade of blue left.
----
The bell over the shop door chimed as she stepped inside, bringing with her a breath of sea air. The shop was small, crammed with yarns of every color, stacked high on wooden shelves that smelled faintly of cedar and wool.
Behind the counter, an older woman -probably in her seventies, but with sharp eyes and quick hands- looked up from where she was rolling skeins into neat cakes.
“Well, well,” the woman said with a curious smile. “Don’t get many young folks around this time of year. Let me guess, lost a mitten?”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, nothing like that. I just… moved to the cottage down by the cliffs. I need some blue yarn.”
The woman’s brows rose. “The cottage? Arthur’s place?”
She nodded. “He’s my cousin. Said I could stay off-season. I needed… a change of air, for my lungs.”
The woman’s gaze softened a little at that, but there was something else too, a flicker of something sharper in her eyes.
“Been walking the shore, have you?”
She smiled faintly. “Almost every day. It’s good for my health. And it’s… peaceful out there.”
The old woman’s fingers stilled on the yarn, and her gaze grew more serious. “You stay away from that cave, girl.”
The sudden shift in tone made her blink. “Oh? Is it dangerous? Flooding or… rocks falling?” She had wondered, more than once, about exploring inside; its dark mouth always tugged at her attention from afar.
But the old woman just shook her head slowly, pressing her lips on a thin line. “No. It’s not the rocks you should worry about.”
Her stomach gave a small flip, though she wasn’t sure why. “What then?” she asked, her voice lighter than she felt. “Ghost stories?”
The woman didn’t smile.
“Some folks say there’s something in there. Something that don’t take kindly to strangers.”
There was a long pause between them, filled only by the soft creak of the shop’s wooden floor as the wind rattled outside.
She gave a small laugh. “Well… I’ll be careful. No caves. Just sitting by the rocks, I promise.”
The woman watched her a moment longer, then reached to pluck a skein from the shelf, soft blue with the faintest shimmer of white, like sea foam.
“Here. This the color you’re needing?”
Relieved for the change of subject, she smiled. “Perfect, thank you.” Still, as she paid and stepped back out into the gray afternoon, the woman’s words clung to her mind like salt spray on her skin.
Something in there.
Superstitions. Nothing more.
----
She came earlier this time.
The sun was still high, cutting thin shafts of light across the rocky shore. The sea was calm for once, lapping lazily at the stones, though she could already see the tide creeping in, filling the gaps between the rocks like liquid glass.
Her backpack -her new companion for carrying everything- hung from one shoulder as she picked her way down the worn path, scanning the ground with a slight wrinkle of concentration between her brows. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find.
Maybe -if she let herself hope- the missing square would be there, caught between some stones or tangled in a patch of seaweed. It wasn’t likely. The wind had been fierce that day. More than likely, it was long gone, carried off to sea.
She wandered close to the cliffside, scanning the rocks and little pools left behind by the waves. Empty. Just rocks, water, and shells.
Eventually, her path curved nearer to the cave.
She paused when she reached it, its dark mouth yawning wide before her eyes. The tide had already crept in enough to flood the entrance, and the seawater glimmered like oil in the shadows, rising and falling with a deep, constant rhythm.
She stood there for a moment, resting her weight on one leg, with her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she gazed into the darkness.
The woman’s words floated back to her, “Something in there.”
A soft huff of laughter escaped her lips. "Right. Some kind of sea monster," she murmured to herself, glancing at the waves as they lapped at the rocks. Townfolk and their stories. She guessed every place had its own Nessie to keep tourists from wandering too far. Still, her eyes lingered on the shadows inside the cave.
Not that she believed in monsters.
She found a smooth rock nearby, flatter and more comfortable than her usual perch, and sat down slowly. For a while, she didn’t even reach for her yarn.
She just sat there, watching the sea. Noting how the light broke on the water, how the wind stirred small ripples that chased each other toward shore. It was peaceful, quiet.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.
Maybe it was how the waves broke oddly sometimes, like something moved beneath them. Or how the shadows seemed deeper at the cave’s edge.
Out of the corner of her eye, something shifted, a ripple where there shouldn’t have been one, a shape half-blurred by the surf.
Her head snapped around.
Nothing. Just rocks and waves, sunlight flashing silver on the water. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and rubbed her arms, shaking her head at herself. “Get a grip,” she muttered. “You’re gonna start seeing ghosts next.”
She wasn’t afraid; it felt more like a prickle at the back of her neck, like the feeling of being watched. She shivered despite herself and finally dug in her backpack, pulling out her yarn and hook.
Hands busy and occupied mind, maybe that would help.
And as her fingers worked the stitches, her eyes kept flicking now and then to the cave’s dark mouth, half expecting to see something -or someone- looking back at her.
----
Bucky stilled. He’d been resting half-submerged, lulled by the steady rise and fall of the tide against the rocks, when her footsteps crunched over the shore. The sound pulled him from the quiet calm of the water.
His eyes narrowed when he saw her wandering closer than usual, with a backpack slung over her shoulder, scanning the rocks like she was searching for something.
Closer.
Too close.
He stayed motionless as she approached the mouth of the cave, tilting her head slightly as he observed her, cool and calculating. So, she wasn’t content to sit on the same sun-warmed rock as always. No, now she was pressing into his territory, almost stepping at his doorstep.
Something in him bristled at that.
One thing was for her to perch at a distance, near enough to watch but far enough to ignore if he wanted. But here? Where he lived, where he slept? His jaw clenched, and his arms flexed subtly in the water. His blue gaze followed every move she made. What was she thinking, wandering so close to something she didn’t understand?
He chewed on the inside of his cheek.
She didn’t look dangerous, sitting there on the rock, folding herself into a soft curve against the sharp lines of the shore. But he knew better than to trust first glances. They never looked dangerous until it was too late.
Still, she didn’t carry herself like a hunter.
His gaze slid over her form, watching as she sat and stared out to sea, with her hands resting idle, for once. Something about the way she observed the water made his chest twist with something strange and tight, curiosity, maybe.
And then, her head turned.
He stiffened as her eyes swept toward the cave, sharp and searching.
Instinct surged up fast and cold.
No.
Before her gaze could settle, he shifted, and his skin rippled as the pigments in his body flared and blended, dark blues and stormy grays swirling into a perfect mimicry of the wet stone and shadows around him.
Camouflaged, he watched as her stare paused a second longer -too long- before she finally looked away, sighing softly.
Bucky exhaled, though the movement barely stirred the water around him. He kept his skin blended to the rocks. What was he supposed to do with her?
She didn’t seem dangerous. But danger didn’t always wear a sharp smile and bloodstained hands, sometimes, it came wrapped in soft eyes and gentle fingers. They had taught him long ago that humans, even the fragile-looking ones, could destroy a life without a second thought.
Still, she hadn’t tried to harm anything. Not yet.
His eyes flicked toward her bag as if he could see through it to the soft squares she wove. His fingers twitched faintly in the water.
He didn’t like her so close to the cave, but he wasn’t ready to drive her away either. So, for now, he would watch -hidden and silent- and wait.
Wait to see if she would prove herself a threat.
Or something else.
----
It was nearly sunset the next day when she came back. The wind had picked up again, sharp and salty, tugging at her hair as she made her way down to the rocks -his rocks- like she belonged there.
He should have grown used to her by now.
But today, she wasn’t carrying her usual stuff. No soft blues or pale greens in her arms, no ocean-colored threads to match the shore.
Instead, she carried something bright.
She sat down with a small sigh, tucking her legs beneath her, and pulled out a tangled mess of reds and oranges that caught the dying sunlight and burned in her hands.
His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t like her other work.
The colors were sharp, like warning signals in nature, like the poison coral and venomous anemones lurking under rocks.
He crept a little closer, careful not to disturb the water’s surface, watching as her fingers worked the thread, pulling and twisting, weaving patterns that made no sense to him.
A net?
The thought came unbidden, and he bristled at it. Was she making something to trap fish? Or… something larger, like him?
But even as his suspicion spiraled, he looked again, and his sharp gaze caught the way the fibers slipped through her hands, soft, pliable, delicate.
No.
No one would use something that fine and fragile to catch fish. His eyes lingered on the trailing end of the project, long, thin, and useless for holding anything.
Not a net, then.
But that didn’t ease his mind. If not for catching, then for binding? Some kind of restraint?
The thought set his muscles on edge. His arms tensed, and the tips of his dark tendrils stirred faintly beneath the surface.
And then she started humming.
Low, soft, like a tune half-forgotten, not loud enough to be a song, but enough for his sharp ears to catch.
He froze.
Was it… a spell?
His gaze darkened, trying to focus on the way her lips moved, though she didn’t speak any words. Just the soft melody, drifting on the wind, as her fingers worked and pulled the red and orange threads. Humans were strange creatures, and he knew enough to fear the things they could do with words and symbols.
Maybe she was weaving magic into that thread, binding spells, summoning songs. He had seen it before, felt it before.
Still, she didn’t look like a witch.
His eyes traced her face, calm and focused, with her brows slightly furrowed as she worked. There didn’t seem to be malice there, no sharp glances cast toward the water. But appearances were deceiving.
His gaze dropped again to the burning colors slipping through her fingers, and something in him twisted.
The questions tangled tighter in his chest, and he found himself slightly leaning forward, drawn to the movement of her hands and tools, to the colors, to her voice.
His eyes stayed locked on her until the sun slipped fully behind the waves, and she finally stood to leave, carefully folding the half-finished piece and tucking it away.
As she walked back up the path, she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the shore one last time, and for a breathless moment, Bucky wondered if she could feel him there, watching.
----
The rain had finally stopped.
Three days of relentless downpour had left the shore wild and restless, and the waves were breaking hard against the rocks, spraying foam high into the air. The sky still hung heavy with clouds, but at least the water no longer poured from it.
Bucky had spent those days deep inside the flooded parts of the cave, watching the storm churn from the shadows. Alone.
Not that he minded.
Or so he told himself.
But as the days dragged on, he became restless. Irritable. He kept glancing toward the cave entrance, expecting -hoping- to see her figure appear between the rocks.
But she never came.
And he hated how that bothered him.
So when the skies cleared and, late in the afternoon, she finally made her way down to the shore again, he felt something loosen in his chest, though he wouldn't name it.
From his usual hiding spot, half in the water, half behind a jut of rock, he watched her settle down, pulling her yarn and hook from her bag with the kind of familiar movements that made him… oddly content.
Maybe he'd gotten too used to her presence. To the soft sound of her humming and the rhythm of her hands working threads into strange patterns.
Maybe that’s why he wasn’t as careful today.
Maybe that’s why, when he leaned a little too far forward in the water just to get a better look at what colors she brought this time, the sunlight caught him at a wrong angle.
Whatever the reason, he was sloppy.
Her eyes snapped toward him. And he froze.
She furrowed her brows, tilting her head as she stared directly at him. Not the vague searching glances of before. No, this time she saw him.
His heart hammered in his chest, and his pulse was loud in his ears.
She seemed confused, narrowing her eyes slightly as they traveled over his form, and Bucky realized with a jolt that to her, he probably looked like… well, like a man.
A man swimming in the cold autumn sea.
Without a suit.
Without reason.
Her gaze flicked over the rocks, then back to him, as if wondering where the hell he had come from because there was no easy way down from town, and she'd have seen anyone arriving from the path.
Still, instead of looking frightened, she just blinked at him, hesitated for a breath, and then lifted her hand in a casual wave.
A simple, almost amused gesture.
Hi, weird stranger.
He had faced hunters, poachers, and worse. Humans who would sooner try to catch him than greet him. But here she was, waving at him like he was just another odd townie swimming where he shouldn’t.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, staring at her with narrowed eyes.
And then, as if realizing he’d already messed up by letting her see him, he dipped slightly lower into the water, letting only his head remain above the surface, but didn't turn away.
She watched him for a moment longer, waiting maybe for a response, before shrugging to herself and returning to her work, pulling out a soft teal yarn this time.
Still, Bucky didn’t stop watching. His mind twisted over and over on what had just happened.
She had seen him.
Seen him.
And instead of running, instead of panicking, she'd waved.
What kind of human sat on the edge of danger and smiled into it?
He sank a little deeper into the water, his blue eyes never leaving her, as she began to hum again, soft and low.
Something about her was wrong.
----
She tried to focus on her work, crocheting the teal yarn on autopilot, but her eyes kept darting -against her will- to the corner of her vision, where he was.
Still there.
Still watching.
At first, she’d thought he was just some local oddball, and God knew, every small town had at least a handful of those, but the longer she sat, the more her nervousness grew.
Who just stared at someone like that?
She shot another glance his way, careful not to turn her head fully.
Yup. Still there.
Still looking like he had nothing better to do than burn holes on her with his eyes.
Her fingers slowed. Okay. So maybe the old woman at the shop hadn’t been warning her about some spooky town legend. Maybe she’d been trying to warn her about him. Some town creep who liked to lurk around the cave and watch women from the water.
She frowned, looping the yarn tighter than necessary.
But if that were the case, wouldn’t the clerk have just said so? Something like “oh, by the way, steer clear of the guy who haunts the shore like a creep”?
Instead, she’d talked about danger in vague, almost superstitious terms. Like people did when they talked about ghosts or monsters.
Not flesh-and-blood men.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up her spine. Her fingers worked faster now, as if the act of crocheting could anchor her, steady her nerves. But her mind wouldn’t stop racing.
He didn’t look like some frail old hermit squatting in a cave.
No, he looked… fit. Broad-shouldered, all sharp angles and lean muscle, with dark hair slicked back by the sea water and something almost wild in the way he watched her. And handsome. Very handsome.
Wasn’t he cold?
It wasn’t summer out here. Even under the pale sun, the wind still bit, carrying the ocean’s chill. And there he was, bare, like it was nothing. She swallowed, slowing her fingers slightly as her thoughts tangled worse than her yarn.
Maybe he’s training? she tried to reason. Some kind of triathlete or swimmer. That would explain…
But her gaze flicked to him again, and this time, she caught the way his eyes followed the motion of her hands. Focused. Intense. Like a predator watching something small and unaware.
The back of her neck prickled.
Yeah, if this was training, it was training for something she didn’t want to be part of.
Still, she forced herself to stay put. She wasn’t going to let some weirdo scare her off from her favorite spot. But if tomorrow he was there, she might have to think about going somewhere else.
Or maybe ask around -casually- if anyone knew who the hell this guy was. Her hook slipped on a stitch, and she cursed under her breath. With a sharp sigh, she set the half-finished square in her lap and stared at the waves, refusing to let herself look at him again.
----
After a while observing her, he noticed she wasn’t as relaxed as moments ago, wasn’t humming under her breath or pausing now and then to watch the waves.
No, she kept glancing toward him. Not directly, but in those small, sharp ways people do when they know they're being watched.
Damn it.
He should’ve known better.
Should’ve realized when she saw him, when she waved at him like some clueless land dweller, that he should’ve backed off, and stayed out of sight for a while.
But no.
Instead, some part of him -the part that had gotten used to her presence, to the strange comfort of hearing her voice carried over the wind- had watched perhaps too much.
And now she was nervous.
He saw it in the way her shoulders tensed every time she shifted. In the way her fingers fumbled slightly, like her mind wasn’t really on what she was doing.
And worse, she was pretending he wasn’t there.
Why?
That worried him as he sank lower in the water, frustration twisting in his chest.
Why pretend? Why act like he wasn’t there when she clearly knew?
Was it some human game? Was she trying to ignore him to bait him into coming closer, or was she just scared and trying not to show it?
He scowled, flexing his claws against the rock. He didn’t want her to be afraid.
Or did he?
Wouldn’t that be better? If she feared him, maybe she’d stop coming here. His gaze drifted to the backpack at her side, the threads spilling out like a tangle of seaweed, as her hands worked almost feverishly.
What was she thinking?
Was she wondering if he was dangerous or if he would attack her?
Good.
She should wonder.
Because he wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot.
Still…
He ducked lower when she shifted, watching from behind a curtain of sea foam, blending his skin into the dark rock, but the damage was done. She knew.
And now that he’d seen that flicker of unease in her eyes, something ugly and cold twisted in his gut.
Why do you care? he snarled at himself. She was just another human. Just another threat.
But no matter how much he repeated it, his eyes stayed locked on her soft and tense form and the way her hands moved faster as if to drown out her thoughts.
Bucky let out a low hiss under his breath, more at himself than anything else.
He should leave.
He should let her be.
But he didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
And when she finally stood to leave, gathering her things and casting one last glance over her shoulder -wary, searching- he sank deeper into the waves, watching her go with a storm churning in his chest.
----
The first thing she did when she came home was head straight for the shower. The warm water rolled down her back, washing away the salt clinging to her skin and the tension from the strange encounter by the shore. She stayed under the spray longer than necessary, trying to shake the image of that man watching her with those sharp, unreadable eyes.
Once she was dry and wrapped in her softest clothes, she settled into the small nook by the window, with her laptop perched on her knees, and opened her shop’s page. There were a few new notifications: a sold pattern, a message from a customer asking about shipping times, and an inquiry about custom work.
She starting to reply to the messages when her phone buzzed suddenly, making her jump.
Arthur.
She huffed out a breath and picked up.
“Hey,” she greeted, leaning back against the cushions.
“Hey, you!” her cousin’s familiar voice filled the line. “Just wanted to check in. How’s the place? Are you settling alright?”
She smiled a little. “Yeah, it’s perfect, Arthur. Exactly what I needed the air’s doing wonders already.”
“That’s good to hear.” He paused, and she could almost picture him leaning on something, probably a counter or desk at his job. “You’re not getting too lonely, right? I know it’s kinda dead out of season.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, glancing out the window at the gray sky, a reminder of the past days of rain. “Besides, I needed the quiet.”
There was a pause. She bit her lip, debating with herself, before blurting out, “Hey, listen… you wouldn’t happen to know if anyone in town trains for water sports, do you?”
Arthur blinked; she could hear it in the silence that followed her words. “What?”
She shifted, tucking one leg under herself. “I mean, like… open water swimming, or diving, or whatever. I saw someone today. Down by the rocks near the cave.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“You sure? Maybe it was just a seal or something? You said the weather was rough.”
She sighed with irritation. “Arthur, I believe I still know how to differentiate between a grown-ass man and a fucking seal, thank you very much.”
“Alright, alright,” he said quickly, but she could hear the edge of worry in his voice now. “It’s just… no one goes swimming there this time of year, or at any season, really. Is not exactly a place for casual swimmers.”
“Well, this guy didn’t seem to care,” she muttered.
Arthur was quiet again. Then, more serious, he added, “Look, just… don’t go back to that area, okay? Stick closer to the cottage. There’s plenty of shore to walk on the other side, yeah?”
She hesitated, flicking her gaze toward her backpack near the door, still full from today.
“Yeah,” she finally said, though the word tasted like a lie. “Probably won’t go back.”
Arthur sighed, clearly relieved. “Good. You know how towns are. You don’t wanna get mixed up with some weirdo. Just… be careful.”
“I will,” she promised, softer this time.
But as soon as the call ended and she set her phone down, she leaned back and stared out the window again.
Probably won’t go back, she had said.
Yeah, right.
She hated walking near the parts of the beach where people gathered. The ones who stayed all year round, the teens with their loud music and bonfires.
She liked her quiet spot.
And if that strange man -or whatever he was- showed up again…
Well.
She’d figure it out.
Maybe.
Probably.
She reached for her yarn backpack with a sigh, pulling out another project to keep her hands busy. But her mind stayed restless, wandering back to the man with sharp blue eyes and the way the sea seemed to ripple around him.
She left the unpacking for later. The sunlight, pale and golden as it dipped lower in the sky, felt too precious to waste. After days of grey city skies, it was strange and wonderful to see light glinting off the water like scattered glass.
Okay just that alone is insane. You don’t usually get settings described in fanfiction but I LOVE the comparison of scattered glass. It reminds me of getting sea glass with my uncles girlfriend when I was little lol
From the shadows of the cave, he watched.
I love how fucking ominous that intro to him is
The skin below his waist was marked in deep stormy colors: blues that bled into blacks, silvers that caught the light when he moved, like flashes of lightning underwater.
This is such a beautiful description of the colors but also lowkey reminding me of how I used to play mermaids in the pool : “I have a cool ombré tale that changes colors in the sun!!”
And if she meant harm to his waters, to his shore, he would know. But still, he couldn't help the way his eyes lingered when the wind caught her hair, or the way her small smile seemed soft and tired, as if she carried some invisible weight.
Without realizing it he seems kind of captured by her already. Noticing a smile and the weight on her shoulders in such a soft way is intriguing. Curious what he would do if she was an actual threat. Eat her? Or wrap her up in his tentacles like a snake and just kill her?
What was it like, to sit under the open sky, making something delicate with hands that didn’t know the weight of chains?
Erm…. Why does he know the weight of chains 😭 I feel like this is gonna come back to hurt me later
Bucky saw her before she even reached the stones, her figure bent slightly against the wind, with a scarf whipped loose around her shoulders as she picked her way carefully across the slick path. He stayed hidden in the cave’s shadows, narrowing his eyes as he watched her approach, bracing himself as another gust sent the water lashing high against the rocks.
Foolish human she had no business being here in this weather
She has very concerningly no survival skills.
For a moment, he didn’t touch it, only looked, tilting his head slightly as he studied the object. It was soft and tiny, patterned carefully in shifting stitches, with the center shaped like a seashell.
A seashell.
His brows drew together, a flicker of confusion sliding through his chest.
Was it... for him? An offering? A message?
He watched as it blew away and his little brain still thought… for me? On purpose? That’s precious and so so wrong lol
Brings about the question why would he bother keeping it if he doesn’t like her on his turf so much???
Nothing soft ever survived this place.
The sea that pounded the rocks outside was as ruthless as the men who’d once dragged him from it. His world was made of sharp edges and dark water. Things that survived here were hard, broken, and dangerous.
FUCK I knew that other line was just going to lead to pain 😭
With careful fingers, he tied the little square to the line, knotting it securely, and hung it from the hook so it swayed gently in the faint breeze that slipped down through the shaft.
I’m kind of just imagining his beefy hands struggling with a little knot. Personally I hate using fishing wire in crafts because it’s such a pain in the ass to tie.
BUT I digress. Suuuuuure Bucky you definitely don’t like this invader on your territory. Definitely keeping that useless piece of cloth for no reason.
The old woman’s fingers stilled on the yarn, and her gaze grew more serious. “You stay away from that cave, girl.”
Sooooo considering her absolutely horrid survival skills so far I’m gonna bet she’s taking her happy ass right to that cave
Maybe it was how the waves broke oddly sometimes, like something moved beneath them. Or how the shadows seemed deeper at the cave’s edge.
As much as I love sea creature monster fics— that is actually my legitimate nightmare and I would be having an anxiety attack lmao
Before her gaze could settle, he shifted, and his skin rippled as the pigments in his body flared and blended, dark blues and stormy grays swirling into a perfect mimicry of the wet stone and shadows around him.
HE CAN DO CAMO?!! Oooh that’s so cool. Would’ve been really funny if he just panicked and squirted ink in her face tho
She didn’t seem dangerous. But danger didn’t always wear a sharp smile and bloodstained hands, sometimes, it came wrapped in soft eyes and gentle fingers. They had taught him long ago that humans, even the fragile-looking ones, could destroy a life without a second thought.
Okay yeah so I knew this was going to hurt. But like— his poor soft heart getting turned bitter bc of betrayal… shoot me now
He didn’t like her so close to the cave, but he wasn’t ready to drive her away either. So, for now, he would watch -hidden and silent- and wait.
Yeah I don’t like her so close either. Where are her instincts? Gone. Nonexistent.
Bucky had spent those days deep inside the flooded parts of the cave, watching the storm churn from the shadows. Alone.
Not that he minded.
Or so he told himself.
Yeah no for sure. Just a lone wolf. Alone. With no one. Totally what he wants. Totally wasn’t waiting three days for her to come back.
But she never came.
And he hated how that bothered him.
This type of unknown and unaware yearning turns me on like a sleeper agent
A man swimming in the cold autumn sea.
Without a suit.
Without reason.
Still, instead of looking frightened, she just blinked at him, hesitated for a breath, and then lifted her hand in a casual wave.
I’ve been ragging on her survival skills but in this case I get it. 1. I don’t want to appear to threatening or scared in this scenario 2. I don’t want to get up and let this strange naked man see where I’m staying all alone
What kind of human sat on the edge of danger and smiled into it?
He sank a little deeper into the water, his blue eyes never leaving her, as she began to hum again, soft and low.
Something about her was wrong.
He understands me
No, he looked… fit. Broad-shouldered, all sharp angles and lean muscle, with dark hair slicked back by the sea water and something almost wild in the way he watched her. And handsome. Very handsome.
Daaaaaamn. Yeah you know what if I saw that I’d go in a creepy cave too (not really)
And now that he’d seen that flicker of unease in her eyes, something ugly and cold twisted in his gut.
Poor small fish brain YOURE WATCHING LIKE A CREEP WHAT DO YOU EXPECT 😭😭
"Alright, alright," he said quickly, but she could hear the edge of worry in his voice now. "It's just... no one goes swimming there this time of year, or at any season, really.
Is not exactly a place for casual swimmers."
"Well, this guy didn't seem to care," she muttered.
Arthur was quiet again. Then, more serious, he added,
"Look, just... don't go back to that area, okay? Stick closer to the cottage. There's plenty of shore to walk on the other side, yeah?"
Okay so how about instead of vague and veiled warnings we tell the person with horrible instincts explicitly why not to approach the cave 🤦♀️
Yeah,” she finally said, though the word tasted like a lie. “Probably won’t go back.”
In your opinion, do you think that Bucky now understands why Steve left? Made a life out of the ocean? Or he still resents it? I don’t think I read that part and I missed it. I understand his pain but also maybe now that he loves a human and started building a life with her, he gets why Steve did what he did.
Hi Anon!!! He understands. When he and Steve parted, Bucky was traumatized and in pain, and the only bond he ever had told him he was going to leave him to go to the mainland following a female of the same species who made his life a living hell.
After more than 60 years of isolation, he had time to cool his head, and after meeting reader, knowing what love is, what he had been missing, he totally gets why Steve abandoned their way of life, because it's the same he is doing now.
your answer to a recent ask that mentioned ethan’s teenaged friends got me thinking. how would tangled!bucky react to a daughter instead of a son? would the way he parented a daughter be different than how he parented a son? how would he react when his daughter got older and started dating and bringing boys around?
Hi Anon!! Kjjj, he would act totally different, even if his species' females are not fragile little things. I received a similar ask a while ago, so I'll copy-paste the answer because I'm lazy(?):
He would become an absolute nightmare. He needs to make sure this person can protect and provide for her. It doesn't matter that she has her own job, her own life, her own capabilities; he can't get past that expectation of roles. And it's not because he doesn't respect his daughter's independence. It's because he lived over 100 years isolated and connected to his feral side.
A male wanting to court his daughter? He'd better prove he's worthy, strong enough, capable enough. He's going to be hovering, evaluating, and probably scaring off at least one or two boyfriends before he gets it under control.
Obviously, his daughter would absolutely call him out on his bullshit, which makes it worse, because now she's challenging him and defending some boy, and he just can't process it.
Hellooooo!! I have a nsfw tangled question if that’s okay?
I was wondering about bucky and female receiving oral sex. I’m kind of assuming acts like that are not common for cecaelia because it doesn’t produce pups. So I’m wondering if him doing it is purely based on curiosity or how that scenario would play out. Like how he would even come to know it as an option to do during sex. (Also vice versa—how he would react to receiving oral sex because I would imagine he’s shocked it’s a thing lol. I could also kind of see him not wanting the reader to ‘debase’ herself but…she wants to do it). It’s been a while since I’ve read the series so I can’t recall if he performs oral on her. Just curious to know his take on it and if he enjoys it.
Hi Anon! glad to answer the question🤭
In the main fic, the first time it happens, it's pure curiosity. He's exploring her body and stumbles onto her clit, and he genuinely doesn't know what it is, so he asks.
She tells him it's just for pleasure, that's it, no other function. And that concept alone kind of breaks his brain a little, because the idea that something on her body exists purely to feel good, with no reproductive function at all, is completely foreign to him.
He's fascinated by it before he's even turned on by it.
Once he gets over that initial "wait, this is just for you?" moment, curiosity turns possessive fast. He wants to learn everything about it, what makes her react, what makes her fall apart, and once he realizes he can do that to her, he's hooked.
As for him receiving it, it's the same hesitation he had at first with her using her hands when she was sore, because it's not for anything procreative, so there's a beat of him not really getting why she'd want to perform it on him -even if he did it to her-. But once she persuades him to try at least once… well.
In his true form, he's big enough that she can't take all of him, has to work for it, using her hands alongside her mouth, which can only manage the head and a little more, and that visual absolutely wrecks him. There's something almost taboo about the way she suckles at it, evokes the thought of "feeding" her with his release, and has him nearly coming after just a couple of minutes of attention.
I’m very curious to know what level of PDA tangled!Bucky partakes in? Both out and at home but in front of Ethan. In the drabble of bucky behaving like red foreman, he pulls away from reader very quickly when he hears the boys coming in. That seems to be a lot of control for him given how possessive he is of her and how much he wants people to know she’s his
Hi Anon!
Tangled! Bucky's PDA levels are high, especially out in public, and especially if there are other men around.
It's not really a conscious choice, it's territorial instinct, and it doesn't discriminate by age either. Rationally he knows Ethan's teenage friends aren't a threat, but biologically his brain doesn't care that they're still in high school, they're males capable of reproducing, and that's enough to make something primal in him sit up and pay attention.
So yeah, hand on her waist, arm around her, staying close, staring, making it very obvious she's his, especially if some guy's attention lingers a second too long.
In front of Ethan it's a different story though. He's still affectionate, he's not going to stop touching her just because his kid's in the room, but he dials it down without even really meaning to.
There's something about it that makes him a little self-conscious. So it's more hand-holding, quick kisses, that kind of thing, instead of the full-on "everyone needs to know she's mine" mode he goes into with strangers.
The drabble isn't really about him suppressing his possessiveness; that's more just embarrassed dad energy. Getting interrupted mid-moment by a bunch of teenagers is a different kind of discomfort altogether lol.
I feel like with how possessive tangled!Bucky is, he would even get a little possessive over Ethan being such a mama’s boy🤭 like it’s objectively ridiculous but also Ethan’s getting a lot of her attention that he used to get :((((((((( I’m imagining the level of grumpiness to be similar to how he reacted when he was in the mood and making moves on Reader, but Ethan came home with his two teenage guys friends and bucky was soooo annoyed hahaha
Absolutely, and honestly it's kind of hilarious because Bucky KNOWS it's ridiculous, he's a grown male being weirdly grumpy about his own pup hogging her attention, and he still can't fully help it lol.
Possessiveness is just baked into him at this point; it's not something that turns off easily.
So there's definitely a version of him standing in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Ethan get scooped up and fussed over and just... simmering a little. Not actual jealousy of his kid, more like a "I used to get that" kind of sulk.
I was talking to a friend about Tangled and successfully convinced her to read it and now I’m just thinking about the story again. I love those two so much and have reread it soooooo many times now. It’s such a comfort to me, so thank you for your beautiful mind and it’s wonderful creation <3
I had a question about Ethan and bucky. I was wondering how bucky would react to finding out Ethan is dealing with a little bit of bullying from other kids at school. Maybe he’s at a young age where kids are trying to understand dynamics and experimenting with hierarchy and it’s not so concerning, just something maybe the teacher brings up to the Reader at a conference. I feel bucky would wanna march into that school and take care of the kids himself lol. But he knows that’s not how humans do it
Hi Anon! thank you so much for your words!!
I think Bucky’s instinct isn't to fight Ethan's battles for him, but to make sure he can handle them himself. Thal'kyr pups aren't coddled; they learn to hold their own pretty young, and that mindset stuck with Bucky even now that he's more human than not.
So when he hears about it, it pisses him off; this is his kid, so of course it does. But instead of thinking of marching into that school, he sits down with Ethan and starts asking questions. What happened, how did it make him feel, what did he do.
It's less "let me fix this for you" and more "here's how you handle people who try to push you around," whether that's words, standing his ground, or knowing when to just walk away and get an adult involved.
He probably struggles a little with the human way to do things, like, in his head, some -if not all- of this stuff would just get sorted out physically, but that's not exactly a viable parenting strategy lol.
Up at all hours thinking of tangled, what else is new ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Something just occurred to me… can he smell when the reader is ovulating when he’s in his true form? Does he understand what ovulation is at that point? Like what it’s for? I’m sure he learns, but when he first smells it, surely he doesn’t know what he’s smelling, right? I’m imaging it may be alluring nonetheless
Oh, this is a good one! In his true form, his senses pick up on hormonal shifts like that easily, but the first time it happens, he has zero context for what he's smelling.
He just knows something about her changes over a few days every certain period of time, and it pulls at him in a way he can't explain. He wants to be near her more, and it puts him a little on edge.
It's only later, once he discloses that info to her and she explains it to him, that he connects the dots. And once he knows what it actually means... let's just say that instinct doesn't go away just because he understands it!
I know we’ve mentioned lactation kink for tangled!Bucky before, but what have we actually talked about his reaction to tasting her breastmilk? I feel like it’d be like that scene in ratatouille when Remy eats the cheese and all of these colors start bursting behind his eyes and he’s in heaven lol. Watch him make every excuse to taste it again🤭
Hi Anon!! The Thal'kyr have really sensitive chemical receptors. In his human form, he's obviously not tasting with his limbs, but the receptors in his tongue are still way more attuned than ours.
Breastmilk carries a whole cocktail of hormones and pheromones, and his body reads those signals directly, so it not only tastes good to him but also his senses light up, so it feels really good, almost like a hit of something👀
The first time it happens with a real flow of milk, he goes quiet, eyes half-lidded, his sharp gaze just melting into something soft and dopey, like he's drunk on it.
But it doesn't stay soft for long, because those same signals are tied to instinct, and dopey turns into hunger for something else pretty quickly🤭
Hello! I absolutely love your work, the way you write various versions of Bucky is just always so unique and creative. Prometheus and the Fifth Kennel are my absolute favorites! Do you ever see yourself touching on these stories again? Thanks for what you do!
Hi Anon!! thank you♥️♥️. I'm glad you enjoy my plethora of Buckys lol. I have the intention to write a side story for them, but I don't have ideas that I really like yet, and I don't want to do it just for the sake of it because it shows. Thank you again for reaching out!
Hello, I read Toy Soldier and let me tell you how sad I felt for both of them. You wrote it so beautifully, so many emotions but I was happy at the end they had each and who better to understand their past as they went through the same thing.
Definitely touched my heart 🥺
I think Bucky’s trauma is so overlooked because he is so “hot” as the Winter Soldier and I hate when they say he had changed after Hydra, as he is weaker, like obviously he is not acting as an assassin. He did so many bad things against his will.
Thanks for putting out the work.
Question because I feel this as a writer.
Do you think your age and life experiences have influenced your writing? Because I’m in my 30s and definitely love my writing much more now than when I was 17 😂😬
Hi Anon!! People forget that Bucky doesn't want to fight anymore, never wanted to. The look on his face in Wakanda when they bring him the new arm and he asks where the fight is is heartbreaking.
He has inhibitory control now. When he fights, he is not looking to kill, eliminate the target, that is the main difference.
Regarding your question, absolutely! Not only do I have more life experiences now, but my friends, relatives, and all that enrich the mind and give you perspective about characters' situations and reactions. Also I don't go very far back in age to cringe; sometimes I read things I wrote in my late 20s and argh🙈
Thank you for reaching out and your beautiful words about Toy Soldier♥️
Hi! It's me again 😄 just wanted to ask how you're doing in general, and if you had any inspiration for mermaid Bucky story?
It's July, so does it mean you're on vacation?
Hihi! thank you for asking. I'm tiiiiiired. Winter vacation starts next week, so I'm counting the days lol.
Sadly, I'm still stuck with mer! Bucky's story, but I'm not losing hope! I know that eventually, I will think of something♥️ Maybe the days I'm planning in the coast will come in handy -or result in another Tangled side story XD-
Hii I love your stories and especially twisted and well I wanted to ask a question you said that he'll probably outlive her by a few years, but not by decades. What would she do after the reader dies until her time comes to go too? (You're an amazing writer by the way!) And sorry if it wasn't very easy to understand what I said English is not my first language (um olá do Brasil para você )
Hola! No te hagas problema, la próxima escribime en portugués porque soy de Argentina, te voy a entender🤣
I think his first impulse would be to go to the sea, to be alone and mourn.
Eventually, he'll come back, since Ethan and his kids live in town, and he'll try to focus on them.
Ope, these comments about Tangled got me rereading it.
I dislike sea creatures so much. The ocean scares the fuck outta me. But I adore this series. Literally only you and your beautiful writing will make me love AU’s i usually would avoid. Damn, you’re talented 💜💜
Asdfghjk thank you so much for your words, they really mean a lot! I'm super happy you enjoyed it, and that you are re-reading it!
It was my first attempt at writing Bucky as non-human, and I was very unsure about the reception readers might have for the story because the creature I chose -at the beginning, I wasn't even sure if it would include smut because I had never written something like that 😅- I'm glad that eventually everything went fine. Thank you again for reaching out♥️
