#(if everything is the same shade of grey then colors are better fixed (there are exceptions to the rule of course))

[katyspersonal]

A while ago I doodled a couple of designs for Eileen and I was not able to choose (nor were my friends), as both felt good enough for me so uh... Well, I chose to NOT choose! I think that's more or less solid for me!

[save-the-spiral]

Appliqué

(buy me coffee?) (Maliswap AU Masterpost)

Content warnings for depersonalization, derealization, dissociation, minor self harm, memory loss.

You are sitting in a cozy room. You know, intrinsically, that this room is in your flat, your home, in the same way one gets information in dreams, by just somehow knowing.

The walls are a pale grey, framed photographs and a few mementos on shelves to break up the bleak emptiness. You blink at the small wall hanging depicting an animal you can't name the species of, some brown furred thing arched and stylized as if for heraldry.

Two windows also disrupt the monotony of the walls. One looks to a brick wall, and is stuck shut anyway. The glass is warped beyond movement, making the strict lines of mortar waver. The other window has newer glass, still likely older than you, but it distorts less. Sunbeams the color of aged parchment stream into this room in the late afternoon, hours gilded and ephemeral, and you have a vague recollection of someone enthusiastically chirruping and cheering over this phenomenon at some point.

The concept of the memory dissipates like candle smoke.

The texture of worn cotton fabric comes to your attention, fingers absentmindedly skating against the surface of the bed's top quilt. A variety of shades meet your eyes, shaped into something important you can't perceive, sewn together from triangles of fabric.

You lick at your bottom lip in one small motion, trying to think. Your lips are ragged and torn, chapped from the cold and strips of delicate skin ripped by your teeth into strips. Little pains you do to yourself without thinking. Little wounds that aren't fit for a colorful bandage or a kiss to make it better. Little raw patches of skin that will weep but one bead of blood, rolling down skin, fated to be smeared and washed away.

Your teeth rake over the uneven skin, harsher than you usually are as you try to think. Fingers curl clawlike until nails bite into the meat of your palm, all those small delicate muscles aching with the strain.

If only you could just think.

Everything seems to swoop in your vision, blurring.

You know, just as you know this is your room with your windows and your quilt and your body, that you aren't drunk. You aren't sick. You aren't dreaming. You know there is a reason for you to be unable to think.

After all, you've thought perfectly fine for years upon years, as many people do. You think a lot, too much even. And yet now not a single thought is expressing itself, you can't even construct a sentence. Stringing words together to mean something is beyond you. Connecting images and concepts is too much.

All you can do is know, in that dreamlike way. You aren't dreaming, though. Some part of your mind would reject it and you would wake by now if so.

It seems to be late afternoon. Light is streaming into the room from that window. The room is suffused with warmth.

The light is not the color of faded parchment, or butter, or cake batter, or anything else.

You know you cannot see color, but also that at some point you were able to, and chose to give it away. This is what truly jolts you from this listless state.

Ignorance is not bliss, then. I hadn't thought it true, but you wished for it and I am doting in my care. I've taken too much to take the knowledge of your sacrifice as well. When I do it leaves you like this, near catatonia.

I'm sorry it didn't work. I wanted it to. I want some solution where we both are content with our lot, but it seems more and more improbable with every attempt.

Our shared existence isn't a pained one, and doesn't have to be. Unfortunately the circumstance of our joining is of pain, and the knowledge of it a wound that cannot heal.

Never have I been unable to fix my problems, but then again, never have I shared my problems with another. Never have my problems been unsolved by simply taking more.

It's all I know how to do anymore, taking.

I'm not a glutton. I don't think one is a glutton if their very nature is to take. Parasitic is far more apt, as you called me once. You said it the same tone others have used when they named me monster and beast.

Though, I've realized, I have never shared as I have with you. Shared in vessel, and existence. Perhaps that is what wrought our unique agony, but I am reluctant to snuff out your spirit.

You wouldn't exist anymore. Necromancy would not find you, because there would be no you to find, lost to the shadows.

By keeping you, I prove yet again selfish.

It hurts, to have known you so thoroughly. Your existence is defined by neglect. So few of your already few years are what one would call content, even fewer happy.

Admittedly, I don't fully grasp the mortal fixation on happiness, but it was important to you.

Mortality, in essence, renders all actions of mortals inherently of far more import than those of us whom live infinitely. With what limited years, mortals do what they can, forever grasping at the nebulous concepts they create and suffer for, forever reaching for more. The fact that it all ends is what gives their action worth. Every mortal 'forever' is an unfulfilled promise.

And in your ultimately infinitesimal life, you sat in a cramped, drafty set of rooms and relished in the act of existing alone and by your own will. Freedom is another one of those mortal concepts, one I did not appreciate until I myself was bound in my tome.

Pandora's jar and all that, I cannot return to the tome. We tried that already.

The existence of our shared problem does not denote the existence of that problem's solution.

We've tried so many things, little one. I don't know what else can render this existence a kind one, something worthy of calling life.

I think, young one, we are bound by my nature foremost.

I am a selfish thing, hoarding and consuming. But our current circumstance proves I am able to change. After all, you are still here. I can share.

I cannot give back what I have taken, not to whom I took from. Sacrifices and deals willingly committed cannot be reversed.

"So don't give me what was mine." You speak, in a voice I heard eons ago, a deep timbre so unlike the voice you traded to me for more and more.

I'm so unused to you speaking. I suppose our dialogue has been rather one-sided with my musings, after all.

"You do love the sound of your own voice. I can appreciate that, at least, considering it used to be mine." Your voice is wry and rumbling, strumming the cords of a cello left to languish in an orchestra's basement. "Keep what was mine. Gift freely the remnants of those before me."

Yes, the best of them. Gems I kept among my collection, polished and shining, some older than your Spiral. Cherished things, memories and features and skills.

You are barely more than a spirit now, only given the shape of a body because you had one in the shards of a memory you inhabited.

Now you are stitched together with the shade under a wide canopy. Now your skills and knowledge will be hemmed in with the darkness of chasms of the deep, where sunlight will never touch. Now your body will be mended together piecemeal yet whole, as you have not been since the first time you opened my tome.

I will render you whole. Reborn anew, your own body, your own mind, your spirit inside. I will divorce the you from me until we are two, one born from another.

You are quiet, and I am consumed by my own joy- something sweet and bubbling like that memory of champagne I took from you- and I look to you, expectant, hesitant, worrying.

I knew worry before this, but never have I worried before I worried for you.

You stare at me. I weave together the dark matter between stars so I may sew the fabric of your existence into more than aimless spirit inhabiting a body no longer yours.

"Would this not make us parent and child?" You say, hauntingly empty from something I did not take, something taken a long time ago by those who were only supposed to give to you.

No, no we wouldn't be. I can't claim to have created you, or grown you, or raised you. I don't know what this would make us, but never parent and child. I would not do that to you, not after what has already been done to you.

I don't know what we will be, aside from separate entities, now given a chance to exist beyond pain and unending rumination on why.

I'm dreadfully excited, to be honest. We can truly be. I don't know how we will be, but the fact that we will at all is enough to make my hands shake as I twist penumbra into your being.

I've never felt this way before. A kind of fear in the pit of my gut, yet a racing heart, yet a tingling in my fingertips, yet I feel so light as I might float away. Happy and scared and excited and terrified and utterly breathless, even as a being that need not breathe. Perhaps this is what it is to feel alive.

I'm ready.

Are you?

"Yes." you say, your new voice cracking.

It hurts, for just a moment. Spirit and mind bound yet again to body, yet body is of ideas given freely, yet body is a concept that is only rendered into true existence by nature of reconstructing the universe in the moments Bartleby blinks.

You inhale, a ragged gasping thing. Your new chest heaves.

You look upwards, at a face that used to be yours. It moves uncannily, but nonetheless into a smile.

You are alive, and whole, and totally your own.

And yet still you give to me, undeserving that I am.

An embrace is not the sacrifices you have bled before, and I treasure it more than anything.

[bluedraggy]

Danonymous' Ink-Eyes - redux

Still lingering around Tumbr - and sometimes I have something I can actually post without the Tumblr-gods striking me down with great fury and vengeance. Latest coloring of another Danonymous Ink-Eyes. Here not just her eyes are giving off evil red evilness too.

Real reason I wanted to post this is I did the shading in a radically different way than I usually do. Is it better? Worse? Shrug. It's different. That's all I can say for sure. You "real" artists already know this method I'm sure, but I've not really used it before.

So I started with Danonymous' original of course. (he actually had it as black lines on a dark grey background - but judicious use of Photoshop's Exposure adjustments fixed that right up!)

Next, standard flat-colors (I just copied from my original Danonymous Ink-eyes that I still have the .psd file for) Also ignore the mask color towards the bottom. I screwed up but it looked good so I ended up keeping the screwup.

Now here's where things start to deviate from my normal method. At this point I copied this flat-color layer, shifted all the colors towards blue and darkened them. As the color-gurus say, shadows tend more towards blue, so I just moved everything towards blue.

Now, it wasn't originally that radical. I mean, that's practically an almost-black on black lines. Originally it was just a LITTLE bit darker and bluer than the first flat-colors layer. But as I continued working on it, when I came up with the background it kept looking better DARKER, so I ended up much darker for this second layer than originally planned. So what's the deal with these two layers?

Layer mask.

I've long been aware of layer masks. I just haven't USED them much. But now I understand better why they are the preferred method. So this is the layer mask attached to the darker, "shadow" layer. And that layer is over the top of the normal flat layer. This is NOT the "shadow" layer - it's the layer mask FOR the "shadow" layer. Why is that important?

Well, if you just made a flat, normal grey layer and stuck it over the top of the flat layer, you COULD just erase parts of the flat grey layer with a soft eraser and then naturally see the flat colors underneath. It would effectively do the same thing. BUT... what if you later wanted to put back some of what you'd removed? (important when doing those little muscle areas btw!). You can't just "paint" it back in if it's actually colored. Well, you might be able to, but it would be a huge headache.

Instead, a Layer Mask let's you vary the transparency of the top "shadow" layer so you can let part of the underlaying layer show through - but it's non-destructive to the "shadow" and underlaying layer. You can "play" with the transparency. Anything you color black in the Layer Mask will be 100% transparent showing the underlying layer. Anything you color white will be completely opaque, showing none of the underlaying layer. And grey, of course... let's some through.

The important point though is you haven't touched either color layers! You just changed the transparency of the top layer. You can put it back (color the layer mask black). Or make it a little more/less transparent (color darker or lighter grey in the layer mask).

It's not a magic bullet, but I understand now why it's useful. Because of the non-destructiveness to the top and bottom layers! And that's cool!

That's most of all I wanted to say here. But I might as well show the rest of the progress. With flat color layer under the "shadow" layer and the layer-mask on the "shadow" layer applied, I get this:

Not sure I'll keep using this method, but it does work well and I bet most all pro artists use it basically like this.

So I decided I'd do another moonlit Ink-Eyes with dark background...

The rest was pretty standard stuff really. "Shine" layers set to Color Dodge for shiny butt, shiny hair, shiny spear handle etc. A highlight layer over everything for that eye dot (I find color dodge shine layer doesn't work well for highly saturated colors so I literally paint over them directly.) The red was an Outer Glow on the flat color layer, but then I separated the Outer Glow into a Rasterized layer of it's own and then applied Motion Blur over it. Gave a pretty cool effect. A %30 transparent layer for reflections (on spear handle reflecting her legs, on bikini top giving some reflections too, though primary purpose there is just to not let her boob-edge get lost in the dark background.)

So I still am learning new methods. Why did it take me years to "discover" layer masks? Frankly because I didn't need them. But I do like how this came out so I might use them more than "painting" shadows in.

[satans-left-asscheeky]

I might need a follow up to Self Destructively Selfless Vampire Sole and Hancock honestly his response got me shook

Thanks for the ask! I know now reading this back you wanted an after the fact comfort type of drabble, but I must've misread it my first time around so I made a whole drabble about before, leading up to and after a vampire sole feeding on Hancock thats super angsty... Sorry. If you want me to write a follow up- follow up post just let me know. 🤷🤷🤷

To keep things as simple as possible (and also because I'm complete ass at dialog) I have Hancock's dialog in red and Soles dialog in blue. Also this is my first attempt at writing anything like this so if it's not perfect, or completely sucks that's why (I know the pacing is weird lmao. Hopefullyill get better at that as time goes on). Please excuse the shitty grammar too I tried my best to fix all the typos I could find, but I'm sure there's still more I didn't catch so bare with me.

Also everything under the cut is entirely SFW as in not 18+ explicit, but

TW: Slight drug use, talk of death, slight self inflicted violence, distorted thinking and over all dark themes.

Him and Sole had been running another damn settlement errand for Preston when he noticed them looking a little unwell. They had been going all day without a single break and it was now the middle of the fucking night. He'd assumed it was the walking without stop for a whole week, or the exhaustion that made them look so sickly, and if it wasn't that then it was the infrequent food and water breaks that caused their cheeks to look especially hollow and their color to turn an ashy shade of grey. Come to think of it the last time he'd seen someone look that sickly was when his pa took him and his jack ass brother out fishing... he'd laughed at Mcdonough then, as he was spilling his lunch into the water, but they weren't his jack ass brother, they were Sole. He knew now that he saw them as a whole hell of a lot more than a friend... well he could admit it now at least. Truth be told he'd been enamored with them ever since they had walked into goodneighbor. Truth be told he'd been looking for any excuse he could find to take off with them, and when they straight up asked him to tag along with them, it was almost enough to make John believe in fate again. Almost. They still kept him at arms length, like they were scared to let him close. He didn't really blame them, he knew what he looked like, but still it cut deep in ways he didn't think he could hurt anymore.

He'd continued to walk beside them offering them a few chems to pass the time and help with their sudden illnes. His whole face would light up a little upon their acceptance, as he reached into his pocket for some med-x. Not his usual fix, but with the way they looked he figured they could use some and who was Hancock if not accommodating. They'd promptly roll up their sleeves for him to inject them casually falling into the same song and dance they'd been doing for months now. He liked how they never asked him for chems, but they never shyed away from the either. Most people only got close to him to get their fix, and he could tell that for them it was just an added perk of bringing him along. After peircing their pretty smooth skin in the ivory moonlight he'd kiss just under the spot he stabbed previously. Duality ya know?

"Always such a gentleman" they teased.

"You don't know the half" he winked suggestively. which made them roll their eyes hard and turn on their heels. He'd pull the jet container from his pocket and take a deep drag watching the way the moonlight hit their hair and made their eyes twinkle. Even in the darkness they seemed to have this sparkle about them... okay so maybe he had it bad, but they didn't have to know that. Not yet anyway.

The night sky twinkled above them. The stars and moon were the only thing illuminating their path. The rest of the hour was filled with the comfortable silence of the night as they moved closer to the spot Preston marked on their map. That's what he loved about sole he never had to force conversation because the silence was never awkward. Yet he also never had to stay silent because they were the easiest person to talk to in the commonwealth. He thinks thats why he fell for them... Because of how comfortable they made him feel. Sure he'd had plenty of hot and heavy relationships where his partner had him always on his toes, always waiting for the thrill of what came next, but with sole it was different. Sole made him feel safe, possibly for the first time in his life... and thats what scared him. Because he's not sure what he'd do to keep that safety. To keep them. He'd become addicted to them worse than any chem and the withdrawal would break him. He knew that, but like usual the high came before the low, and besides that'll be future him's mess to clean. For now he was gonna live in the moment and relish every damn second.

These thoughts continued to plague his thoughts as they moved closer to the settlement, costal cottage Preston had called it, he noticed Sole looking more and more weary. He again brushed it off, because if something was wrong they'd tell him right? Maybe it was just the jet playing tricks on him again. They're probably just tired or something, right?

As more time elapsed and they approached costal cottage Hancock immediately knew something was wrong with sole. Very wrong. Their breath was labored and they now had one hand wrapped around their torso and were struggling to walk straight. How could he have let it get this bad? He didn't know exactly what was going on, but one way or another it was his fault for not realizing how bad it was earlier. It was his fault for being to caught up in his own head to pull it out of his ass for a second and realize what was going on. He looked around the open terrain in an attempt to find shelter, thought the darkness really wasn't helping... he could just barely make out a completely destroyed house farthest from them, but thankfully nearest was a decent looking shed. Perfect. He wrapped his arms around their waist and silently began pulling them towards it. Dammit, he hated himself for letting it get to this point, but there would be plenty of time to beat himself up about it once he got to the bottom of it.

As he made his way over to the shed sole in his arms he heard the sound that could only be mirelukrks popping up out of the ground. Dammit this day really couldn't get any worse. Instead he opted to pick sole up beneath the legs and rush them bridal style into the shed. Quickly diving into their waistband he retrieved the small pistol they kept there and placed into their limp hands. Shit they looked really bad. This was the worse damn time for this...

"I'll be right back if anything happens yell okay?" he said standing and turning on his heels quickly dashing back outside

"Hey! You crabby fucks come and get me!" he yelled violently into the darkness leading the lurks away from the shed. He could hear their legs hitting the ground, and their claws preemptively snapping at him more than he could see them. He ran as fast as he could, shotgun already in hand, he begun taking his aim. He shot at them one by one making sure the each got a taste of how pissed he was. Truth be told he probably did need something to shoot just then...

once they were dealt with he ran back over to Sole's limp figure frantically. He dropped to his knees and began assessing the damage. There were no visible wounds somehow. How could that even be possible? The way they fell to the ground... they were clearly severely ill... which meant it was probably something more underlying and serious. Shit.

"Hancock...." He jumped at the sound of their voice. Got it was good to hear them, but damn did they sound weak.

"It's okay sole, it's gonna be okay. let's get outta here..." He began to position his hands under their legs preparing to carry them bridal style yet again to get them out of here and to help.

"No!" they grabbed his arm once again rendering him stunned "We can't john"

"You're hurt we need help! Hold still."

"John stop! Listen to me!" They yelled causing him to stop his attempt to pick them up.

"John... I've been meaning to tell you... I really have it's just... the timing was never right and-" he sat silently waiting for them to finish confused as to what they could even possible be about to tell him

"I-I'm.... Im a vampire..." They finished softy. Well he definitely wasn't expecting that. Their face was unreadable and their overall tone was very emotionless and empty sounding. Anger boiled into his brain. Seriously they were fucking with him at a time like this?

"Are you kidding me? Im a funny guy, but nows not the time for jokes sole!" How could they be joking when they were in such pain!? he was scared and they were trying to prank him? Seriously? What was their problem? He looked a way for a second trying to gain composure of himself.

"John...." They grabbed his face on either side forcing him to make eye contact "I'm not joking...." the sincerity in their voice and eyes caught him off guard... christ they really weren't joking... but how? Nevermind that he could ask all the questions he wanted once they were okay.

"Listen sunshine you're still not exactly tellin me what's wrong here..." He can't believe he's actually buying this bullshit! if this turns out to be an elaborate prank he's gonna be so pissed

"I- I haven't fed in a while... like a long while... I'd been avoiding it- I don't like hurting people, and now I'm sick like really sick... and I'm not sure how long I've got... and I-" He kept waiting for them to say they were kidding or gave any indication that they were making this all up, but when no such sign ever came the dark reality of it began to settle in. They were sick. Dying even. His Sole. Hurt. But all they needed was blood right? He could give them that. He'd happily give them that

"So that's all you need? Blood? Well shit sunshine, you should've just said something" He said already rolling up his sleeve

"No!" They screamed pushing him backwards not enough to make him fall, but enough to make him loose his balance "I don't want to hurt you." They said their voice sounding small and defeated.

"I'll be alright sunshine, I've had plenty worse. Trust me" he said regaining his balance and opting to lean against the wall and sit beside them this time.

"You don't understand!!!" They said tears swelling in their eyes as their lips began to quiver

"Then help me to..."

"I could drain you Hancock! I could hurt you!" they wailed the tears that had been threatening to spill earlier finally cascading down their face. they turned away frantically trying to wipe their tears

"But you won't." he said resting his hand on their damp chin bringing their eyes to his again

"No I won't do it Hancock! I won't hurt you. I'd rather die than hurt you!" They said again pushing him away. The previous anger came back to Hancock rapidly, composure failing miserably. Like hell he was gonna sit here on his ass and watch them die! Fat chance. Not after diamond city. Not again, never again. He was thinking of someway to gently say that when they tried to get up and fell hard against the old wall. That's what set him over the edge

"Let me fucking help you sole! Let me make this better! I can't sit here and watch you die is that what you'd have me do huh?" Their head whipped around their features clearly displaying their shock. The shock only lasted for a second however because then their nostrils flared in anger.

"What do you want me to do!? Hurt you!? I'd rather fukcing die Hancock and if that makes you hate me at least that's something you get to live with!" Usually he loved their fire, hell it was what drew him to them in the first place, but right now, while it was directed at him all he could see was red.

"Don't you dare act like you're doing me a favor in hurtin' yourself! I told you what not being able to save the ghouls in diamond city did to me, and I didn't even know half of them! What do you think losing you is gonna do huh? Do you think I'll just be able to move on? I seriously thought you knew me better than that...." Hancock was seldom a screamer when he argues, but his words carried more than a little bite in them. He'd be shaking from head to toe with anger. He was so pissed that they were wasting time arguing when they could be fine in a matter of seconds. He doesn't get how they don't understand that they are way more important to him then he could ever be to himself! He'd had enough of this opting to take the quicker more painless route he took his knife out from around his waist and brought it to his wrist. Not like he enjoyed the pain, but for sole? He'd do anything to make sure they were okay.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Sole screeched in horror as the crimson fluid already began leaking from the wound. That's when he realized how fucked up the whole ordeal probably looked right now..Yeah it hurt, but he hadn't be thinking about the pain... kinda like how he wasn't gonna think about how messed up this was right now. He just can't think about that right now its already been done. On an impulse on a whim even....but again not thinking about that...Just like how he wasn't gonna think about how far away from any real doctors they were, or how if something went wrong he was essentially screwed. Nope all he could allow himself to think of was sole. They'd be okay. That's all that matters.

"Making sure you stay alive" he said shoving his wounded wrist into their face. At first they resisted fighting his arm away, but finally they gave in and he felt them bite down against his forearm. God that hurt. In that moment he knew that weren't joking about the whole vampire thing because God those fangs hurt....Yeah this wasn't the best idea he's ever had. He'll admit it... but hey love makes you do crazy things.....He began to feel dizzy.. his head felt way to fuzzy right now too and the already dark sky was going even blacker at the edges. He was fighting to stay conscious... fighting to stay with sole... to make sure they were alright. After what felt like an eternity he felt their fangs leave his skin and met their teary eyes.

"That's it sole.... I'm-...I'm Glad you finally came to your senses.... I'm not sure what I would've done if you hadn't...."

The last sentence was barely a whisper on his scared lips... as the lure of sleep washed over him. Truth be told he knew what he would've done with out them, that's what scared him. He makes a lot of jokes about going feral, or being a monster, but he fears what would've happened if he spiraled into that darkness. Although truth be told he only ever truly was a monster to himself, but cognitive thoughts and logic rarely make there way into the deep fears that inhabitant his inner psyche.

When he eventually did wake up he was in an entirely unfamiliar bed. His body protested as he tried to sit up so instead he flopped back down unceremoniously onto the lumpy mattress beneath him. He rubbed his eyes a few times desperately trying to take in his surroundings. If he was dead he definitely wasn't in any sort of heaven or paradise.... surprising absolutely no one, he knows. The smell of wet ghoul hit his nose. God there really is no smell quite as pungent. That's when he realized where he was, he recognized this lumpy mattress it was the one he had help sole drag in here a few weeks prior. He was at the Slog! it was then he caught a glimpse of Soles body sitting in a chair near his bed reading some book. So they were here. more importantly they were safe. Good.

"Hey there sunshine.... ya miss me?" he called out effectively startling them into dropping their book.

"John! I'm so glad your okay!" They rushed to his side and grabbed one of his hands.

"So you wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?" he said wasting no time to cut to the chace

"I-" they started avoiding eye contact and slouching in on themselves as they promptly released his hand bring it instead to the space on their nose right between their eyes and pinching gently theor brows furrowed "I really had been meaning to tell you John... I swear. It's just I... I didn't know how you would take it... and I.... I was scared you would hate me... and then it all just happened so fast, and god I'm so sorry! I never meant to hurt you John, but I understand if you think it's better if we go our separate ways" John's heart leaped out of his chest at the last words. Their expression was uncharacteristicly somber and that scared him. Were they really gonna leave him!? He didn't want them to! Especially not over some silly little mistake

"Separate ways!? Over a flesh wound? Don't flatter yourself sunshine I've had worse." They shook their head clearly exasperated with the topic. Tears of what John assumed to be frustration rolling down their cheeks

"John you're not understanding... I Hurt you. I could have killed you. I barely didn't.... I can't risk losing you. Not like that." Oh. That's what it is... they're also scared to lose him. Was it for the same reason he was, He wondered? Nows definitely not the time he corrected his stupid love drunk brain.

"People die every day out here... I shouldn't have to tell you that, and besides I knew you wouldn't hurt me... I told you that didn't I?" They met his gaze. Their hurt eyes continued streaming tears down their pretty face as they shook their head yet again. This time more assertively than before.

"John I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you being okay with this! I'm a monster! I have to hurt people just to survive. I-... I have nothing to offer you. You'd be better off acting like we never met." The finished turning their face away from his as they tried desperately to wipe their tears

"But we did Sole, and I wouldn't have any it other way. Everything I do is dangerous, hell I took a damn drug just because I couldn't stand looking at myself! You're not gonna hurt me sunshine okay? Not any worse then I've hirt myself... what about blood bags have you tried those?" He asked frantically trying to make some headway in this seemingly pointless argument...and to avoid the topic of his own self destructive behaviors because by god now was not the time for a lecture. He loved them, but sometimes they could be so stubborn it was like arguing with a brick wall

"Their expensive John... and rare.. I can't rely on something that I may or may not be able to scrounge out of an old medical cellar."

"That's what you got me for. I'll order a shipment for goodneighbor as soon as we get back. Listen you hauled my ass back here when you could've just dipped and left me there to rot. You did that because you're a good person sole."

"I really wish I could belive that... you should rest... we'll talk more later" they said picking up his hand again and holding it against their cheek.

"Then stick around... I'll just have to teach ya how great you really are sunshine" he said motioning to the other side of the bed. They slowly crawled in beside him and nuzzled their tear soaked eyes into the side of his arm. He instead decided to throw the arm around them and kiss the top of their forehead surprisingly innocently for himself with his scared lips. They stayed like that for a while just basking in eachothers presence until Hancock finally drifted off to sleep again with them in his arms. Things were hardly perfect, or even really fixed between them but it was a start and that's more than Hancock had ever dreamed of having.

[caitybug]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR FAVOURITE PURPLE QUEEN @thehoneyedhufflepuff ! @krisrix and I love you so much and wanted to give you a fun snowbaz shenanigan where there’s confused feelings, magic gone awry, and, of course, lots and lots of purple 💜💜.

Baz is going to kill me. He’s going to rip my esophagus from my throat and drain me dry. 

I didn’t think this would happen.

I only—

I thought—

I guess I didn’t think, technically. I just went off a bit.

And now I’m staring at Baz’s shirt. The one he’s supposed to wear on his fucking date tonight.

(Date.) (I didn’t think Baz dated.)

I just assumed Baz was the type who everyone wanted (look, even I can admit he’s fit), but who was elusive and hard to get.

His shirt was purple. A lovely lavender shade that would have looked all too good against his skin. It’d be a light shade in comparison to his dark hair that would hit right above the collar of the shirt.

(Would he button all the way up?) (Surely not.) (He’d probably let at least his collar bone show—lead whoever he’s dating on. Keep them wanting more.)

I’ve only really seen Baz in his uniform. So seeing him pull this out of his wardrobe has made my mind do flips. 

When I asked what he was doing he just sneered at me. “Going on a date, Snow.”

I blinked at him as he walked out of our room. (Probably to drain rats before his date.)

Is he going on a date with another vampire? Or is this a situation where he takes his meal out before sucking it dry? 

I was supposed to have lunch with Agatha today. But that can’t happen any more. (Not now. Not since I fucked everything up.)

I think, briefly, that he won’t notice.

(Simon, you turned his purple shirt white. He’ll notice.)

It’d still look lovely on him.

(Prat.)

I pace the area between our beds, trying to think of a solution.

Could call for Penny.

(No, not enough time. He could be back at any moment.)

Is there a spell?

I frown. We’ve not been taught color changing spells. (Though didn’t Penny change her hair colour once?) (I think that was an accident too.)

I huff and sit on my bed, letting my head rest in my hands, letting my fingers twist the curls that fall off my forehead. 

My magic just calmed down, but I can already start to feel it come to the surface again as my stress levels rise.

I didn’t mean to do it. I guess I was focusing on the shirt a bit too much. About the date. About what the date was possibly covering up. 

A date.

What kind of person would Baz go on a date with?

I bet she’s bloody perfect. 

Dark hair, same intense eyebrows. Just as posh and put together as he is.

I try to remind myself that it’s not a date. That it’s most likely a plot. A way to cover up a meeting with the Old Families.

(Yeah. That’s got to be it.)

I stand back up and walk to his clothes, thinking they’ll give me answers. (They won’t.) (I’ve already sized them up at this point. Given them a good solid shaking down.) 

They’ve not given any clues yet. No matter how much fear I strike in every pleat and stitch. 

I lay his clothes down again, pondering my next move. 

I could leave? Act like I have no clue.

(He’d never buy it.)

Knowing Baz, he’d hunt me down. Maybe bring me along on this date and make her watch as he tore me apart, limb from limb.

I hear the faint sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs. I hope, briefly, that it’s someone else. That I’ll hear them stop before reaching the final few steps to our room.

(They don’t, though.)

“Fuck,” I murmer. “Please god turn purple,” I say helplessly to his shirt. It stays a stark white, mocking me. (If shirts could have eyebrows, I swear…)

I hear the footsteps reach our door and my heart rate spikes, making the next sentence come out of my mouth dripped in desperation and magic. “Just be purple!”

The door opens; my eyes are shut tight, prepared for what’s about to come to me.

“What the fuck did you do, Snow?” he seethes.

I grimace, my entire face scrunching up on itself at his reaction. (Knew he’d notice.)

I turn around to face the music, to own up to turning his purple shirt white, but when I open my eyes- I can’t speak.

Not because I literally can’t speak.

I’m just, quite actually, speechless. 

Baz’s hair. His uniform, his lips- his hands.

They’re all various shades of purple.

He stomps up to me, grabbing the front of my shirt and practically spitting in my face. “I repeat, Snow. What the fuck did you do?”

My hands are up in defence, trying to let him see reason. (What’s the reason? There’s no logic to get me out of this situation. I’m fucking done for.)

“I—er—well,” I stammer. I feel a bead of sweat going down my forehead. 

Baz’s eyebrows are a dark shade of purple, matching his hair. They’re downturned, making a crease in the middle of his forehead as he waits for me to spit it out.

“Use your words, Snow,” he says, letting go of my shirt and crossing his arms. 

I think, briefly, that I dislike the purple his eyes now have. That I prefer the grey, even when he’s angry.

It’s calming- like a grey sky on a lazy rainy day. Or the color of ocean waves. A soft grey and slight blue mixed together.

He scoffs, realizing I’ve nothing to say to explain myself, walking over to the bed to look at his clothes.

I take a look at the bed, expecting to see relief at the fact that I managed to turn his shirt back to its original colour.

Instead it sits, the only non-purple item in the room. A stark white in contrast to everything else.

I blink twice, trying to see if maybe it’s just a very light purple.

(It’s not.)

Fuck.

“I, er—” I take a step closer to him, think better of it, and back away again. “I hope your date likes the colour purple?”

“Even if he does, I can’t be seen like this.” He walks to his wardrobe and pulls something out of a box on the bottom shelf. (Huh—haven’t seen that before.)

When he turns around he’s got his mobile in his hands.

“You can’t have—”

“If you try to tell me what I can and can’t have while we are currently standing here completely purple because of your fuckup I will throw you into the moat.” He looks down at his phone and starts typing as he walks to the bathroom.

I think, for a moment, I just got through the worst of it- but before he slams the door shut he shouts “You had better fix this by the time I get out, because if I have to cancel a date and any chance of having my normal complexion back- you’ll beg for death.”

The door slams shut, echoing loudly in my ears.

I let out a deep exhale.

He’s cancelling the date. 

That alone seems to help my chest uncoil for some reason. Just knowing that instead of going out with someone else who will probably only aid in my downfall—he’ll be here. Under my watchful eye instead.

I lay down on my blankets and stare up at our now purple ceiling.

I hear the shower run. (Maybe Baz thinks he can wash the purple away.)

I close my eyes, letting myself ease into relaxation. To calm down for a minute before trying to problem solve.

But then it hits me, and I jolt up out of my bed and to the bathroom door.

I knock once.

Twice.

And bang three more times.

“Wait, Baz—did you say he?” 

[kurokoros]

if you leave, when i go (find me in the shallows) | todoroki shouto

Rated: M

Words: 24.5K (she’s long)

Pairing: merman!shouto todoroki x fem!reader

Summary: Growing up this close to the ocean, you’ve heard all the stories. The local legends meant to scare small children away from the water after dark or amuse the tourists that flock to the beaches during the summer season. Ningyo. Mermaids. They’re just myths, and yet you swear you saw something--someone--in the water that night. Even now, you can’t shake the feeling of warm hands on your skin, red and white blurring your vision.

AN: Written for the @bnhabookclub “just add water” event. I used dialogue prompts 2 and 10 from their list. This was supposed to be a short, 7K one-shot and that... did not happen lmao. I’m a little surprised that I finished this on time, but I’m so happy that I did. I do have two alternate endings to this that I plan to write, so stay tuned for those! Now, I need to sleep for the next ~24 hours. Enjoy!

Also, sorry, but per the laws of anime logic, your side ponytail mother is probably dead, and your deadbeat father left you, so you’re living with your cousin in this. AKA: I’m the only Manual stan in the fandom and needed to put him in this fic.

Special thanks to @sadistiks and @shinsotired for beta reading the first half of this fic! They really helped me figure out the pacing. And special thanks to @freckledoriya for motivating me to write this in the first place!

Warnings: smut (one scene towards the end, feel free to skip it!), lowkey breeding kink (???),  language, character death, descriptions of drowning, violence, mentions of blood 

XXX

Waves lap at your bare toes as you walk along the edge of the water, searching for sea glass in the sand—a futile effort; it’s growing dark, storm clouds rolling overhead. It isn’t raining, yet, but the air is damp with forewarning, and the ocean breeze sweeping in from the water chills your skin. The empty bucket you’ve been carrying brushes against your knee with every step. 

In front of you, Bakugou groans low in the back of his throat, almost growling as he stomps through the sand. “This is stupid,” he grumbles, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his orange and black board shorts. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the expression he’s wearing: brows furrowed in a scowl and lip pulled back in a sneer. 

Rolling your eyes, you kick water at him. “Then why did you come?” you ask, ignoring his complaints. He’s never liked the beach. And he makes that known every time the rest of you drag him out here, but you know he’s all talk. If he really didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t have let you and Ochako and Kirishima pull him out of bed to come here.

“It’s not stupid if we’re having fun,” Ochako chirps from beside you, an extra bounce in her step. Her fingers are laced together behind her back, and she’s handed her bucket off to Kirishima at some point, the boy dutifully combing the beach with a careful eye for anything shiny.

Bakugou glances at Ochako, and his gaze softens around the edges. His voice doesn’t have nearly as much bite when he says, “Speak for yourself, shorty.” It’s hard not to give in to the bubbly girl. Between her and Kirishima, Bakugou is almost pleasant to be around. Almost.

Midoriya isn’t the least bit put out by Bakugou’s complaining, his smile sunny as he looks around the empty beach. There’s no one out here but the six of you, and it’s almost disconcerting without the usual flock of tourists and locals alike. “Come on, Kacchan,” he says, glancing at the other boy, “we’re almost done! After this, we can stop at the store on the way back to Kirishima’s house.”

Iida speaks up for the first time, trailing behind the rest of you vigilantly, watching for even a hint of trouble. “Midoriya is right,” he tells all of you, fixing his glasses and sending you all a stern look. “We shouldn’t stay out here much longer, with the storm coming in.” He hadn’t wanted to come out at all today, with the weather, but when the rest of you decided to go regardless, he caved, claiming that someone with common sense needed to watch out for you.

He’s also the only one wearing a raincoat and rubber boots on the beach, prepared for a storm that won’t hit for at least another hour. 

“Man, you worry too much,” Kirishima tells him, giving up on his search for anything in the sand. He flashes Iida a wide grin as he fixes his headband. “It’s just a little rain!”

The rest of you groan as Iida’s eyes narrow, preparing for a lecture. And, sure enough, Iida tenses, straightening almost painfully. “It’s not just a little rain, Kirishima,” he chastises, arms already beginning to move around wildly. “An ocean storm can be incredibly dangerous, even if this one isn’t expected to cause a tsunami!” He continues, reciting facts about storms and tsunamis that you’re almost positive he memorized from some textbook, but you tune him out easily.

Ochako does the same as you, already bored, and Kirishima and Bakugou take turns egging Iida on with sarcastic remarks. Midoriya is the only one that actually seems interested in Iida’s storm facts, but that isn’t surprising. He’d probably be taking notes if he had a pen on hand.

With a sigh, you glance out over the water. The ocean is all deep blues and shades of grey from the oncoming storm. You probably should have just stayed home. It’s better to search for sea glass after a storm anyway; the waves wash everything ashore. But you like the quiet. The calm before the storm.

You drag your toes through the sand, flicking more water at Bakugou’s legs. Something smooth brushes your skin, and you probably would have ignored it if you hadn’t been staring at the ground. A bright flash of color against the grains of sand makes you still, and you crouch, reaching underwater. What you pull from the ocean is a pretty piece of sea glass. The edges are rubbed smooth from years tumbling through the water, and the glass is almost a teardrop in shape, long and not quite flat, just big enough to fit comfortably in your palm.

It’s the most breathtaking shade of blue you’ve ever seen.

Ochako is beside you in an instant, peering over your shoulder at what you’ve found and accidentally splashing you with saltwater. “Did you find something?” she asks excitedly, eyes widening when she sees what you have. ���Ooh, turquoise! That’s amazing! I’ve never seen that color before, ugh, I’m so jealous!” She hooks her arm around your waist as you stand up, squeezing you in a tight hug.

Kirishima leans over as well, interested in anything marine in nature. He grins. “Hey! Nice job!” he says, slapping you on the back a little too hard. 

The good natured hit sends you careening forward with a yelp, the uneven sand leaving you off balance. Ochako yanks you back, but not before you knock your arm against Bakugou’s. That only further irritates the huffy blond, but he doesn’t snap at you like usual, just grabs your arm to keep you from accidentally falling down.

Quirking a brow, he glances at the piece of sea glass you have cradled in your palm. He’s not impressed. “I can’t believe you dumbasses dragged me out here for this,” Bakugou gripes, but even that doesn’t sound convincing. Ochako and Kirishima’s excitement is infectious, and despite his complaining, you know Bakugou never really means it.

Midoriya and Iida have stopped as well, and the latter pulls his raincoat closer. “Yes, very nice job, Mizushima,” he tells you, trying to shoo the rest of you away from the water. “Now we need to leave before the storm hits.”

A chorus of “yes, Iida” and “whatever” are your responses, but the taller boy doesn’t take the grumbling to heart. You’ll all get over it by the time you make it back to Kirishima’s house. Besides, you’d rather avoid the rain if you can.

Iida places his hands on his hips and watches Ochako, Kirishima, and Midoriya turn around, heading back up the beach to where Bakugou’s car is sitting in the parking lot. When you and Bakugou don’t follow, Iida turns to the two of you, arching one eyebrow as if daring you to argue—a look you know isn’t being directed at you.

Bakugou huffs and turns away, glaring across the beach, and you roll your eyes. He was the one that wanted to leave just a minute ago. 

As the others stop a few feet away, waiting for you, you run your thumb along the smooth edge of the sea glass you found, keeping it tucked gingerly between your fingers as you shift your weight to your other leg and bump your hip up against Bakugou’s. “Come on, asshole. Let’s go before you give Iida a conniption.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles back, still glaring off into the distance. Bakugou tenses suddenly, and you glance at him curiously, brows furrowing when you see his wide eyes. You follow his gaze further down the beach, but can’t find anything that might have caught his attention. There’s nothing down there but craggly rocks leading further out into the water, the kind people dare their friends to walk across in weather like this. 

Dread crawls into your chest, and, sure enough, Bakugou calls out, “Hold on,” before taking off down the beach, heading right for the rocks.

Kirishima reacts first, clearly exasperated as he shouts, “Bakugou! Bro, come back!” and jogs over to where you’re standing. Salt water splashes your bare legs, soaking the right left side of your shorts as Kirishima accidentally kicks water at you.

And Midoriya isn’t far behind, coming to stand on Kirishima’s other side. “Kacchan, wait!” he calls after the other boy, caught somewhere between worried and annoyed.

“Bakugou, come back here this instant!” Iida shouts, already stomping across the sand after the other boy. He looks less than threatening in his oversized raincoat and boots covered in multicolored polka-dots (a gift from Ochako), and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing as his boot sticks in the sand and nearly trips him. “This is not following storm protocol!”

Dropping your empty bucket onto the ground just out of the waters reach, you glare at Bakugou’s retreating form, lips pursed. “I’ll get him,” you tell the others, not waiting for a response before you jog after him, racing right past Iida. Out of the five of you, you’re probably the one with the greatest chance of getting Bakugou to come back quietly. Kirishima could do it, but he could also be easily swayed into doing the stupid thing, too, and you really don’t want to see Iida blow a gasket tonight.

The wet sand sucks at your feet with each step, making it hard to run, and Bakugou disappears over the rocks before you can catch him, but that doesn’t stop you.

“Bakugou,” you shout, climbing up onto the rocks after him. The stone is rough beneath your bare feet, but any sharp edges have been weathered away by the ocean currents. Spiky, blond hair catches your eye as you scramble to the top of the rocks. He’s down lower, closer to the open water, where the waves are bigger, stronger, a little wild from the brimming storm. “Bakugou, slow down, what are you doing?” You follow a careful distance behind him, unwilling to risk slipping into the water.

“Shut up!” he calls back, loud over the sloshing waves. “I thought I saw something.”

You roll your eyes and slide down the other side of the rock, struggling to keep up with him. “Saw something?” you repeat, half-mocking him. “Like what?” There’s nothing out here but water and whatever fish were unlucky enough to get caught in the currents and forced this close to shore. When he doesn’t reply, you huff, pausing in your climb to brush dirt from your legs. “Come on, Iida’s right, we need to get off the beach before--” You cut off with a choked sound as you’re left facing the empty ocean where he was just standing. 

Breath catching, your heart plummets, causing your stomach to churn as you take another step forward. “Bakugou?” you call out, hesitant, and the stirring wind sweeps your voice out to sea. Nothing. Your throat grows tighter, and your chest grows cold, icy fingers slotting against your ribs and squeezing until you can’t breathe. “Bakugou!”

You scramble down the side of the rock, but stop before you reach the edge, legs frozen. If Bakugou slipped and the current took him, it could just as easily rip you down as well. Shit. You need to get Iida. Or call Masaki. Or an ambulance. If Bakugou hit his head--

Hands grab you from behind, latching onto your waist and yanking you back against a firm chest, and you scream, throwing up your hands in shock.

A familiar snicker reaches your ears, and you drive your elbow back into Bakugou’s chest, satisfaction rushing through you when he grunts in discomfort and lets you go. “Asshole!” you snap, whirling around to glare at him. The rocks are slippery beneath you, but you don’t even care, too pissed at his shitty prank to think about anything else.

Bakugou smirks. “You should have seen your face,” he tells you, struggling to hold in his laughter.

For a second, you consider pushing him into the water and leaving him there, but decide the murder charges wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, you’re too relieved that he isn’t drowning in the ocean to really be mad right now. You’re definitely drawing dicks on his face with markers tonight though. “Don’t do that,” you whine. “Ugh, you’re such an ass sometimes. What was the point of that?”

He shrugs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Wanted to piss off four-eyes,” he says, making you roll your eyes again. Of course, that would be it. Barely sparing you a glance, he turns around and starts climbing back up to the otherside of the rock. “Come on, squirt, let’s go home.”

Huffing, you glare at his back, hands curling into fists at your sides. Your eyes widen. “Shit,” you hiss, twisting on your heel to look down at the rocks, searching for a spot of color against the grey stones.

Bakugou pauses at the top of the rock, glancing over his shoulder at you. “What?” 

“The sea glass!” you tell him, taking a step closer to the water. “I dropped it.” Dammit, you should have left it back with the others, or in the bucket. At the very least, you should have put it in your pocket instead of holding onto it this whole time. You should know better than that.

A groan comes from behind you. “Just leave it,” Bakugou tells you, clearly exasperated with your concern over a stupid piece of glass. “You’ll find more later!”

The nasty look you throw him over your shoulder shuts him up. “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t obnoxious,” you remind him, seeing him wince. Yeah, you’ll definitely be holding this over him for a while, you think, watching as he lowers himself onto the rock and sits down, waiting for you. “Plus, it was turquoise glass, Bakugou! That’s not easy to find!” And there, a flash of blue-green on the ground, just inches from being swept away by the waves lapping at the side of the rock. “I see it!” you call over to him, gingerly walking towards the edge.

“Fuck. Fine! Grab your stupid glass and let’s go!”

Not responding, you crouch, reaching for the glass. It’s smooth against your fingers, wet from the water, and you cradle it in your palm again, holding it tightly. A shallow breath leaves you, relief curling outwards from your chest as you rise back to your feet and turn back to Bakugou.

But then something goes wrong. The rocks are too wet from the waves, and you’re too close to the edge, still jittery from Bakugou scaring you. It’s like your legs are ripped out from beneath you, and all you see are Bakugou’s eyes, wide and terrified, before you’re plunged beneath the water.

The rip current grabs you before you can kick your legs or move your arms, and salt water chokes you, rushing down your throat and nose. There’s no time to brace yourself for the impact and hold your breath like Masaki always taught you to. Waves thrash you from all sides, dragging you down. A shadow moves above the water, Bakugou reaching for you, but you’re ripped away before he can plunge his arms in after you. 

It’s too dark to see anything more than shadows beneath the water, and the salt stings your eyes, but you can’t close them. Your lungs burn, threatening to burst as a shrill sound rings through your skull. More saltwater tries to escape down your throat; your vision blurs, spots dancing across your vision, like stars or snowflakes. A strange feeling overtakes you. Weightlessness. And you let it wrap around you like a vice, a fist wrapped around your neck and squeezing. Your fingers unfurl from the fist you’ve made.

Sea glass slips through your grasp, turquoise swallowed up by the ocean before the waves return to devouring you.

Something moves in the water in front of you, a shadow. You follow it with your eyes, a repeating pattern of red and white crossing your vision before disappearing just as quickly. A fish. But it’s too big. Too long. Too warm as it brushes against your bare legs. Fingertips press against your cheek, warm and gone in an instant. There’s someone in the water with you, Bakugou, maybe, or Iida, you can’t tell. 

Before the water can drag you down further, hands grasp at your arm, your waist, your hip, finding purchase where you can’t slip away. Your hair floats around you in dark tendrils from the water, and through the hazy warmth settling around you, you find a pair of eyes staring back at you. Mismatched silver and turquoise would steal your breath if your lungs weren’t already screaming.

You inhale; the darkness swallows you whole.

XXX

You drown. At least, you should.

Pressure builds in your lungs, and you choke on it, wheezing and coughing. You lurch, rolling sideways as seawater burns your throat, and vomit on the sand, water and bile mixed together. Everything tastes like salt, and the raindrops sting your eyes when you try to open them. Pain laces through the back of your skull, and there are hands on your back and face and arms, grasping like they’re afraid you’ll be swept away again. Warm fingers brush against your cheek, brushing away the hair sticking to your lips. Someone is speaking to you, but the sound is far away and muffled like you’re underwater. 

The hands on your cheeks force your head up, and through red-rimmed eyes you catch sight of your cousin Masaki leaning over you, talking to you before he turns and shouts at someone else. There’s a desperate look in his eyes, but it calms when he looks at you. His chestnut colored hair and blue sweatshirt are soaked through from the rain, and it must be freezing, but he smiles down at you.

“Hey, kiddo,” you faintly hear through the rain and your fogged head. He strokes your hair, pulling you closer to his chest as you start to shake and sob. “You’re going to be okay,” he tells you, lips pressed against your temple. “You’re okay.”

Everything blurs together after that. You think you see Ochako standing somewhere behind Masaki, trembling with tears in her eyes as she stands between Midoriya and Kirishima. Midoriya’s hands are shaking, his arms hanging limp at his sides with shock, but Kirishima has his arms wrapped around Ochako, and his mouth is moving like he’s saying something, but you can’t make out the words. Iida is behind them. His raincoat is gone. So are his glasses.

Red light flickers across the sand. Blinking on and off.

Your gaze slides sideways and lands on Bakugou, kneeling on Masaki’s other side. He’s shaking like you, hair plastered to his forehead and clothes drenched like he tried to jump in after you. Bloodshot, carmine eyes meet yours, and a shuddering breath tumbles from his mouth. His lips move, repeating the same thing over and over and over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Warm hands scoop you off the ground, ripping you away from Masaki, and he lets them take you, following on shaking legs. A smooth object slips from between your numb fingers and falls silently onto the sand. Masaki doesn’t notice, right on the heels of the paramedics taking you away. Bakugou does.

The sea glass is bright against the damp ground, a pretty dash of color against the storm.

Heart lurching, he scoops it up, wet sand spilling from between his fingers as he races down the beach to where his car is sitting idle.

XXX

When you wake up again, you’re in an unfamiliar room, beige walls and an open window letting in the sunshine. The panic that wells in your chest is instant, the phantom feeling of saltwater rushing down your throat makes you choke, sputtering, and Masaki’s head snaps up from where he’s been bent over in his chair for hours now. The phone he was holding clatters to the floor, a text unsent. 

He’s slow when he reaches for you, like he’s afraid to touch you, and a wet sound tears from your chest as his hand lands on your upper arm, rubbing gently as you heave, lungs trying to dispel water that isn’t there. The hospital bed dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you, and blindly you reach for his hand, squeezing his fingers between yours once you latch on. His other arm moves from your shoulder, curling around your back, and he pulls you against his chest just like he did last night.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he tells you, low and soft as his thumb draws circles against your back. “Deep breaths.” The soothing motion of his hand slows your racing heart , tempo slowing to match with his as your breathing evens out. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.

And then your eyes begin to wander.

The hospital room is as bare as you expected, but warm, and with Masaki here, it might as well be home. His blue sweatshirt is tossed over the back of the chair he was sitting in. He must not have left last night. Hurriedly, you look away from the old sweatshirt, a heavy feeling settling over you. A bright flash of color catches your eyes, and you latch onto it. Pink and yellow flowers sit idle in a glass vase. You don’t recognize the type, but the sight makes a small smile tug at the edge of your lips. If you had to guess, it was Ochako who sent them. Or maybe Midoriya. 

There’s a plastic bucket sitting on the table next to your bed, beside the flowers. It’s the same one you were using last night. The one you’ve had since you were a kid. Sitting up like this, it’s easy to see inside. The bucket is filled nearly to the brim--sea glass, shells, smooth rocks, things that must have washed ashore after the storm.

Masaki follows your gaze. “Midoriya’s mom dropped off the flowers on her way to work. And Bakugou and Kirishima brought the bucket a little while ago. Thought you’d like to pick through what they found.” Your heart squeezes in your chest. They must have been out there for hours, picking the beach clean before the sun was finished rising. 

You want to ask where they are now, but bite your lip, still staring at the bucket. Masaki seems to understand your silence, and he squeezes you a little bit tighter. “They went to pick up the others,” he tells you, rubbing your back. “They all wanted to be here when you woke up. We were all pretty worried.”

Something inside you snaps at the information. Your hands clench in the back of his shirt, a raw and ragged sound ripping from somewhere deep in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you whimper, voice muffled against his shoulder. Ice churns in your stomach, bubbling uncomfortably inside of you. You could have died last night. Maybe you did. Water that isn’t there sloshes inside your lungs, and your mouth opens with a wet crackling sound. “I shouldn’t have--”

The stern, but surprisingly soft tone that Masaki uses makes you choke up. “Hey,” he coos, leaning back just enough to look at you, dark eyes gentle and familiar. “Don’t apologize to me, okay? Accidents happen. The storm came in faster than you could have known.” 

Silently, you search his eyes, looking for a reprimand, or anger, but there’s nothing there but overwhelming relief, and when Masaki wraps his arm back around you, you fall against him willingly, boneless and gasping for breath. He doesn’t say a word, just lets you cry and shake until the tremors disappear and leave you exhausted and numb. At some point, you close your eyes, sinking into his warm embrace, nose buried against his collar. He smells like saltwater, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

The two of you stay like that for a long time, only breaking apart when a doctor comes in to check on you. It could have been worse, is what she tells you. They drained more water from your lungs overnight, and two of your ribs are cracked from the CPR, but there are no other external injuries. A miracle, the doctor tells you, checking your vitals. With the storm, you’re lucky you didn’t hit your head on the rocks. You’ll make a full recovery.

You were lucky to wash ashore where you did. Where Masaki found you as soon as he came tearing down the beach after Iida called him, telling your cousin that you fell into the water and Bakugou couldn’t find you. You were lucky that the rip current didn’t pull you out further into the water like it should have.

You’re lucky to be alive.

After she leaves, you and Masaki sit in silence for a while. He moves back to his chair beside your bed, picks up his phone. You don’t know who he’s texting, but their response pulls a crooked smile out of your cousin, and you match it with one of your own. There’s a slight pain in your chest, and your breaths come in short, wheezing gasps, but that’s normal. It’ll go away.

It isn’t long before your friends arrive, the five of them squeezing into the room together, though you know there’s a visitor limit of two at a time, and Masaki is already here. You’re sure Kirishima and Ochako came up with some excuse to get them all in here, and your smile widens at the thought. Even Iida, always a stickler for the rules, walks stiffly into the room behind everyone else, practically standing guard at the door.

They take turns hugging you, asking how you feel, voices gentle, careful, like you might just crack under their touch. But you don’t. You grip Kirishima back just as tightly as he squeezes you, and the pain in your ribs is worth it. They look worse than you, and you tell them as much. Iida frowns at you from behind a pair of old glasses that are held together with tape, and Kirishima runs his hand through his loose hair, bandana the only thing keeping the red strands out of his eyes.

Bakugou shifts his weight from one leg to the other. His jaw is clenched tightly, his hands curled into fists, and his eyes are still rimmed in red, like he didn’t sleep last night. “Here,” he grumbles, holding out his hand. You hesitate to reach for it, brows knitting together, but your confusion melts away as Bakugou drops a small object into your open palm.

Turquoise sea glass glints beneath the overhead lights, frosted surface smooth against your skin. Your eyes widen, lips parting in a silent question, but Bakugou only shoves his hands into his packets and looks away. You brush your thumb against the curved edge, staring down at the piece of glass in wonder. How you still have it is beyond you. It should have been lost in the water. Your hand stills as it reaches the pointed tip of the teardrop, a silver chain winding around your finger.

“Bakugou and I asked Kaibara to drill a hole in it,” Kirishima speaks up from beside him, a sheepish look crossing his features as he rubs the back of his head. “We, uh, we figured maybe you could wear it, y’know? Like a necklace?” 

“Thanks, guys.” You try for a smile, but it comes out watery, a little forced. None of them comment on it. 

Midoriya is quiet when he asks, “How much do you remember?” The question plunges the room into silence, and Bakugou glares at the other boy, bristling, but Ochako is wedged between them, so he settles for clenching his fists and sneering.

“All of it,” you whisper, playing with the sea glass necklace that Bakugou and Kirishima gave to you. You don’t tell them about the turquoise and silver eyes you saw in the water.

XXX

It’s a week before Masaki lets you out of the house alone. You have a check-up at the hospital four days after your near-drowning to make sure your lungs are clear and there’s no infection setting in, and your clean bill of health and pleading gaze reassure him enough to leave you home alone for the day while he goes into work--a paramedic for the local fire department. 

You’re half-asleep on the couch when he leaves. The fractures in your ribs keep you awake, but the pain medication makes you groggy and irritable, so either way, you don’t win. The sun isn’t up yet, and Masaki leans over the back of the couch to tousle your hair and murmur a quiet goodbye, letting you know that Bakugou and Midoriya will be stopping by later in the afternoon to keep you company. He won’t be home until tomorrow morning, a twenty-four hour shift.

The response you give is muffled, slurred, and your eyes slip shut as your cousin’s fluffy cat hops onto the couch beside you, curling up against the backs of your knees. One last squeeze of your shoulder is all you feel before you drift off again, hazy thoughts dragging you under as the front door locks behind him.

You aren’t asleep for long. The cat walks across your side, paws digging into a tender spot between two ribs, and you jolt as an aching pain builds inside your chest. The discomfort makes you wheeze, and you wince, shooing away the whiskers that tickle your cheek. The cat jumps onto the floor, the bell on his collar jingling as he pads across the floor and disappears into the other room.

You roll onto your back, wincing as the motion jostles your bruised ribs. You should probably ice them again. Huffing, you glance towards the kitchen where Masaki’s cat is probably sitting on the counters, knowing you won’t be able to get him down with your current predicament. That’s the last thing you want to deal with right now. You don’t want to be here right now. It’s for your own good. You need to rest and heal.

But you’re tired of lying around at home, having nothing to do but sleep and recover and spend too much time lost in your own head as you try to remember every detail of what happened that night. You can’t forget those eyes no matter how hard you try, and the thought of them makes a slow shiver roll down your spine.

Growing up this close to the ocean, you’ve heard all the stories. The local legends meant to scare small children away from the water after dark or amuse the tourists that flock to the beaches during the summer season. Ningyo. Mermaids. They’re just myths, and yet you swear you saw something--someone--in the water that night. Even now, you can’t shake the feeling of warm hands on your skin, red and white blurring your vision.

A hallucination, probably. A figment of your imagination summoned by the lack of oxygen in your lungs as it slowly started to affect your brain. And yet.

Your hand drifts to your chest, where the sea glass pendant is resting against the mottled bruises spreading across your skin like an ugly watercolor painting, purple and black in places from hands forcing your lungs to expand, to expel the seawater you swallowed. They’ve started to yellow at the edges already, but it doesn’t make them any less sickening to look at, and you know your friends keep staring at them, a violent reminder of what could have happened. Your thumb drags against the side of the smooth glass. You should have lost it in the water. There’s no possible way it should have washed up on the beach beside you, not during a storm like that, not when you’re so sure that you’d already let it go before the water rushed down your throat.

Even though you know Masaki will be pissed about it later, you grab your phone and house keys off the coffee table and roll off the couch. The floor is cold against your bare feet as you head for the front door. You slip on your sandals, and then you’re gone.

You wind up at the beach. Somehow, that’s where you always end up.

It’s early, and almost eerily quiet. The sun is barely rising over the horizon, bathing the crystalline sea water in golden light and causing the ocean to shift between shades of teal and frothy aquamarine. You’re half-heartedly combing the beach for more sea glass, bare feet sinking into the sand as you search for even the faintest glint of color against the damp ground, following the familiar path you always take across the beach. The tide is low, waves lapping at the shore. And you’re the only one here.

Why the hell did you come here? Your lips curve into a frown as you make your way to the other end of the beach, gaze drifting across the ocean until you catch sight of the rocks leading out into the water. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can picture Bakugou’s back disappearing over the side of the rock, and you follow the same path as you did the week before. 

The rocks are rough beneath your feet, but dry this time, the early morning sun causing the water to evaporate, leaving the surface warm against your skin. The next thing you know, you’re sitting on the edge of the rock, legs stretched out in front of you as you recline back on your hands, eyes on the horizon across the water. It’s quiet out here, the gentle crash of waves the only sound for miles.

You dip your feet into the ocean and flinch, shivers wracking your body as the icy water laps at your toes.

“You shouldn’t be out here.” 

The sudden voice makes your eyes snap open, panic seizing you when you realize you’ve been caught. Your first thought is Bakugou and Midoriya, but the voice is too deep and too calm. A little dazed, your head lolls to the side, and a striking pair of mismatched eyes lock onto your own. Your breath catches in your throat, your limbs stiffening under the unexpected stare.

There’s a young man in the water, no older than you, and you stare back at him curiously, taking in what little of him you can see above the water. His hair is unusual, red and white split right down the middle, and it looks too soft and smooth for being so wet. There’s a scar covering his left eye, red and angry, but you look right past it, silver and turquoise stealing your attention.

The sea glass pendant in your hand slips between your fingers and bounces off your collarbone. He follows the motion with his eyes, latching onto the dark bruise peaking out just above the neck of your shirt. A grimace twists his mouth before his features become carefully blank.

When you don’t respond, he sighs. “It’s not safe this far out on the rocks,” he says, a flicker of irritation in his gaze. “You could drown.” The edge of his mouth twitches. “Again.”

The single word punches straight through your chest. You flinch, curling in on yourself, and for a second he looks almost apologetic, but the stern glint in his eyes doesn’t disappear. “How…” You stop yourself, a question on the tip of your tongue. It shouldn’t be real, none of it, and yet your eyes wander down what little of his neck and shoulders you can see, and he’s just out of reach, close enough for you to lean over and touch if you really tried. He stares at you, waiting, but not patiently. “I saw you that night,” you tell him slowly, carefully, just in case this really is a dream or drug induced hallucination. “In the water.”

His head tilts to one side, but he doesn’t deny it.

The lack of response makes your fingers curl against the rock. Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip. “Thank you.”

His voice is deep and warm when he speaks again. “You’re welcome…” The sentence trails off awkwardly, neither of you knowing what to call the other. 

You sit up slowly, unfurling your legs so that your legs are dangling in the ocean again, deeper this time, the water reaching almost to your knees. The sun is brighter now, the glare from the light making it hard to see beneath the crystal water. All you can make out is a dark mass moving beneath the surface. Not legs. Something else.

He’s busy staring at you too, eyes drifting to your bare legs as his brows furrow, though they snap up to your face when you call out to him. Bemusement creeps into his features. “My name,” you clarify, offering him a small smile.

A clicking sound leaves the back of his throat. “Isn’t that rather informal?” he asks you, eyes narrowing.

The laughter that bubbles up from your throat is high-pitched, almost nervous. Here you are, talking to someone that you suspect isn’t human, and he’s worried about propriety. It’s a wonder you aren’t panicking right now, but it’s not like you weren’t expecting this somewhere in the back of your mind. And the painkillers make everything just a little bit foggy, a little bit easier to digest. “You saved my life. I don’t really care about formality.”

“I see.” And then he repeats your name, slowly, seeming to like the way it rolls off his tongue. He swims a little closer to the rock formation you’re resting on, mindful of your legs. One of his hands rises from the water, gripping the stone just inches from your soft skin. His fingers are long, clawed at the tips, and your breath hitches as they dig into the rock, allowing him to pull himself part way out of the water. “Shouto,” he says. This close, you can see that his teeth are sharp, filed into wicked fangs. “My name,” he adds, something like amusement swimming in the depths of his eyes.

“Nice to meet you.” Again, you think, by don’t say. A strange feeling tickles at the base of your spine, but you ignore it,  simply trying to process what’s happening.

Shouto blinks at you, frowning again, and then his gaze slides sideways to the empty beach, expression pensive. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, without thinking. Because why the hell did you come here? Why did you come back to the beach this quickly? To the spot where you slipped and the current dragged you down with violent intentions. Maybe you needed to prove to yourself that you aren’t afraid. Maybe you’re just stubborn. It doesn’t really matter either way.

Your gaze drops to the ocean, and you’re only half surprised by what you find there.

A red mass curls just beneath the water, and something warm and smooth brushes against your leg. Through the gentle rise and fall of the waves, you see what must be his tail: red, white, and black stripes a clear warning for anyone that might dare to cross him. Like the bright patterns of tropical fish, so alluring, masking the danger lurking just below the surface. And he’s no different. Thinner, barbed spines flare in the water behind him, carefully angled away from you, but that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning. 

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asks, staring at the pendant around your neck. The sea glass is the same shade of blue as his left eye, and it’s inexplicably warm against your breast. 

The question makes you pause, and your eyes leave the beautiful and deadly display of delicate fins and wicked spines below the water, but he doesn’t clarify any further. Of him? The water? Drowning again? You don’t have an answer. “Should I be?” you counter, eyes finding his once more.

His head snaps away again, back to the beach, and a sound caught halfway between a hiss and a growl slips from his mouth. You follow his eyes, surprised to see a familiar car pulling into the parking lot. The driver side door is thrown open, a head of blond hair lunging out of the front seat.

“You shouldn’t play in the water,” Shouto tells you, and you turn in time to watch him shove away from the rock. He glances at you one last time before twisting around in the water and disappearing beneath the waves.

The next morning, when Masaki comes home, he finds you on the couch where he left you, curled up on your side with his cat sleeping against your stomach and purring. You don’t move at all as he shuts the door, toeing off his shoes before stepping further into the room.

“You awake?” he murmurs, leaning over the back of the couch to look at you. His hand brushes against your temple, feeling for a temperature, and you jolt at the contact, half-lidded eyes snapping open.

You tilt your head just enough to look at him, looking him over for any cuts or bruises as well. “Yeah.”

Masaki strokes your hair away from your face, and his stern look makes you giggle. He’s never been much of an authority figure for you, not that much older than you are, but he’s always tried his best to take care of you. “Everything okay, yesterday?” he asks. “I missed a call from Midoriya, but it must have been an accident.” His mouth curves down. “I was a little worried,” he admits. “And sorry I didn’t call last night, we were pretty busy.”

“It’s okay. Everything was fine,” you promise, his concern making your heart lurch. “Missed you,” you add, already falling back asleep. Briefly, your thoughts drift to your trip to the beach, and Shouto, but it slips away from you like smoke as he pats your head, and when you wake up again, you know you can’t tell him where you went. It would only make him worry.

XXX

You keep going back to the beach.

Not often, at first. Once a week, at best. It was hard to sneak out when Bakugou and Midoriya began hovering over you, acting like your shadow whenever you left the house. You knew they were only upset and worried. 

Even months later, Bakugou still blames himself for the accident, and though you aren’t afraid of the water, you know that a small part of him is terrified for you. Both boys were in a panic when they found you out on the rocks, and while Midoriya was concerned and understanding, Bakugou was harsh, nearly screaming at you. You can’t blame either of them.

But that doesn’t stop you from going back. It’s easier to slip out before sunrise, after Masaki leaves for work or just before his shift is over. He’s still protective too, watchful, but he trusts you. You talked Bakugou into keeping your first trip to the beach a secret. He wasn’t happy about it, but he caved under your pleading eyes and your promise to owe him a favor in the future.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting to see Shouto again, sure he would never come back once you realized what he was, or sure that it was a hallucination after all, some figment of your imagination conjured up to process a traumatic situation.

So you were shocked when, two weeks after the first time you really met, he appeared in the water soon after you arrived at the rocks, as if he was already there waiting for you. The conversation was as stilted as the last and about nothing at all. At least, at first. Eventually, he told you how he found you, how the storm pushed him closer to shore than he meant to be. It was only a coincidence that he spotted you in the water, the waves thrashing you around violently. He didn’t have to help you, but he did, grabbing you before the current could rip you away and dragging you back to shore.

One month bleeds into two, and somewhere in between you’ve become friends with Shouto, or, as close to friends as you can be with a creature that isn’t supposed to exist. Neither of you talk about it, but the time you spend together is comfortable, easy. You see him most days, now. Usually in the morning, still, but sometimes you come out at dusk to watch the sunset on the water, liking the way the colors burst across the sky in shades of red and violet. It isn’t often, though. Shouto hasn’t said it aloud, but you know he doesn’t like you walking back to shore at night, when the rocks are slippery and you only have the moonlight to guide you home.

Today is an early morning visit that’s bled into early afternoon. Tourist season is over, and the beach is surprisingly clear for such a nice day. Your conversation with Shouto has lapsed into comfortable silence, with you flipping through an old library book and reclining back against a flat rock further into the water than you usually go.

You flip to the next page, frowning at the crude drawing of a mermaid. Not bothering to read the text, you close the book with a snap. Slowly, you stretch out on the rock you’ve been lying on, sitting up as you set your book aside. Beside you, Shouto cracks open a turquoise eye as he feels you move, tail lazily swishing in the water as he suns himself. His brows furrow when he finds you staring at his hip where the paler skin of his torso melds into the smoother, slippery texture of his lower-half. You’re looking at the bright pattern of his tail with a inquisitive expression he’s never seen before, and his skin begins to feel hot and itchy, like he’s been in the sun for too long.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, shifting his arms beneath his head to look at you with both eyes, a small frown tugging at his lips.

Startled, your eyes snap up to meet his, a flush creeping up your neck. Hopefully he doesn’t notice. “Nothing,” you’re quick to tell him, dismissing the thought that crossed your mind. You haven’t known him long, and you aren’t sure it’s appropriate to ask. Still, you find your mouth moving without permission. “I just…” Shake your head, you loop your arms around your legs and pull them to your chest. You cast another curious glance towards his tail. “Can I…?” 

He’s confused until you gesture with your fingers towards his tail. Shouto tenses, muscles flexing beneath his skin as he eyes you warily, jaw clenched. In the water, his tail flicks, twitching like an irritated cat. Then, he stills, relaxing slowly against the rock. He drops his head back to his folded arms, but doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Stay away from the spines,” he tells you firmly, watching as you reach forward, fingers outstretched to touch him. The first brush of your fingertips makes him tense again, and he holds his breath as you ghost your hand from the pale skin over his hip to the jagged pattern of red and white stripes on his tail.

The texture makes you hum, smooth and a bit slippery. There are no scales like you expected, like movies and fairy tales led you to believe, only skin like that of a dolphin or whale. “You’re part lionfish,” you note, tracing one of the red stripes cutting across his tail. “I looked it up,” you add as he glances up at you, one eyebrow quirked towards his hairline. “Are you venomous, too?”

He stiffens again as your fingers move closer to one of the spines jutting from his fins, holding his breath until you move away just as quickly. For a minute, he remains quiet, letting you touch him. “Yes,” he says, voice strained. “But I’m not part fish, technically.”

You glance away from his multi-colored fins to meet his eyes. “So you’re a mammal then?” That makes sense. He’s almost entirely human from the waist up, aside from his teeth and claws, but you’re still stuck on the concept of fish-people. Kirishima would love to be hearing all of this. He’s always been fascinated with mermaids and ocean life. You can only imagine the expression on his face if he found out who you’ve been talking to for the last few weeks, and the thought makes your lips twitch in amusement. 

Shouto misses your smile, eyes locked on your hand as you absentmindedly stroke his flank. “We need to breathe air,” he confirms. “Just not often.” His brows furrow. “Maybe twice per hour if we need to stay submerged, but it doesn’t hurt us to stay above water like this.”

“That makes sense.” You pause over a dark burgundy stripe, wetting your lips. “So why this coloring? Most sea mammals aren’t this brightly colored.”

This time, he shrugs, eyes closing as your blunt fingernail drags against his side. “We all look different. Some of us have spines. Others have tails like sharks, or whales. I don’t know why.” You remain silent, and Shouto cracks open his eyes to look at you again. His tongue slides across his lower lip. “My mother has the fins of a butterfly koi, my father a lionfish.”

Your touch moves to another stripe, white this time. “So you take after him?”

The phrasing makes him frown, but he nods. “I look like him,” he tells you.

“I see. And how venomous are you?” You did some research about lionfish venom. Vomiting. Fever. Convulsions. Temporary paralysis in some unlucky people. Rarely death unless an allergic reaction occurs. It isn’t pretty, but it could certainly be worse.

Unintentionally, your hand wanders back to his hip, where a series of sharp barbs are jutting from his skin.

Shouto grabs your wrist just before your fingers reach the underside of one of his spines. His grip is firm, but gentle, and you shiver when his claws graze the inside of your arm. “I’m a lot bigger than a fish,” is his sharp reminder, and your eyes snap to his. The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to say more, but he only moves your hand to his back instead, inches from his tail. His tail flicks in the water again now that you aren’t near his spines. “What have you been reading?” he asks abruptly, gesturing with his head to the book you set aside.

You pull your hand from his side, twisting around to reach for the book, and don’t see the way his lips curve down. “Some old legends about you,” you explain, shifting so that you’re facing him as you tuck your legs beneath you. “Merpeople, I mean.”

“Oh?” he muses, quirking a brow as he glances from you to the book. “Like what?”

A sly smile crosses your face as you remember one version of the story you read. “Nothing much.” The book’s leather spine is rough against the tip of your finger. “Just that mermen like to come ashore and seduce young women.” Leaning in close to him, you almost burst into giggles at the wide-eyed look he throws you. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, Shouto?” you ask him, voice barely above a whisper.

He freezes, the muscles in his shoulders and back tensing. The sharp spines on his tail flex, and his claws dig into the rock beneath him. Shouto is completely rigid, puffed up, his eyes wide as his pupils narrow into slits like a cat. For a second, his gaze is almost predatory before it slips into something more akin to alarm. It’s not at all what you were expecting from him.

“You’re teasing me,” he realizes a moment later, pupils dilating once more. His tail twitches, his spines returning to a more relaxed position. Shouto takes a deep breath, shaking his head as a giggle finally slips from your mouth. “You shouldn’t do that,” he says, sending you a mock glare, though, he’s unable to hide the upwards tick of his lips.

Laughing, you stretch out your leg, prodding the side of his ribcage with your toes. Shouto seizes your ankle before you can pull away, and this time you feel the sharp points of his claws against you, a playful warning more than a threat. “Well, it’s not true, is it?” you joke to cover the faint hitch in your breathing. The hold he has on you is light and incredibly careful, but your pulse still races at the contact.

The grip he has on your ankle tightens just a fraction. He braces his free hand on the rock, using it for leverage as he rises off the ground, eye-level with you. “What if it was?” he asks, voice lower than usual, deeper. His head tilts to the side, his gaze magnetic as he draws your leg closer to his chest. The palm of his hand creeps towards your calf. Luring you in. 

“Now who’s teasing?” you joke, giggling again, the pitch just a little higher than usual--a little nervous. Shouto must notice, because he snatches his hand away from you like he’s been burned. His claws scrape against the rock as you pull your leg back towards your chest, wetting your lips. “Would you…” you trail off, and his eyes snap to meet yours. “Would you tell me more? About you?”

He shuffles on the rocks, propping himself up with his hands and moving most of his weight to his tail, almost mirroring you. Silently, he opens his mouth, revealing a row of sharp teeth. “What would you like to know?” he eventually asks.

“Everything.” Looking out over the water, your fingers absentmindedly brush against your collarbone before you grab the pendant around your neck. Shouto follows your hand with his eyes, lingering on the space above the low collar of your shirt where your bruises have finally disappeared. It doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore.

“Okay,” he agrees, watching you caress the sea glass around your throat.

And he does, tell you everything. Bits and pieces about his culture and his family. Shouto explains that there are two types of merfolk, those born like him and those created from seafoam and lost souls, drowned sailors brought back by the sea god Ryujin, a great dragon who controls the tides. He tells you about his mother, a gentle soul that’s as fascinated by those on the land as her son, and his father, who he only mentions in passing, but the curl of his lip says more than he ever could. He has a sister, Fuyumi, and two brothers, Natsuo and Touya, though the latter has been lost for some time. Families travel in pods, sometimes migrating across the oceans, but his has stayed in the area for generations. According to Shouto, there are several families in the nearby waters, though most don’t travel this close to the shore.

He tells you a story about Ryujin. How the sea god controls the tides with a pair of glittering jewels and how one of the gems was cracked, broken fragments swept away by the ocean. His voice is low when he tells you how the merfolk that find these fragments are able to summon the god himself, and are granted a single wish.

You listen intently for what might be hours, only occasionally asking questions, jokingly wondering about the validity of certain fairy tales and myths. His nose wrinkles at the absurdity of most, but some make him pause like when you teased him earlier.

It isn’t until you get a text from Masaki asking when you’ll be home that you realize how long you’ve been there.

XXX

You should have known better than to think you could keep Shouto a secret for long, that your friends wouldn’t notice that you’ve been disappearing for hours at a time. None of them ask about where you go, chalking it up to trauma and processing what happened that night several months ago. They give you space until your ribs are healed and your smile isn’t tight at the edges.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know they wouldn’t like you going to the beach by yourself. Iida would lecture you on taking proper safety measures if he knew; Bakugou would be pissed. You think Midoriya and Ochako would understand, even if they didn’t like it, and Kirishima would pin you with a puppy-eyed look until you caved and let him come with you. But how can you possibly explain to them that you’ve been going to the beach most days of the week to speak with a merman that saved you from drowning?

They wouldn’t believe you. Hell, you wouldn’t believe you either if you hadn’t been speaking with Shouto for months now. Despite your easy acceptance of merpeople, you have no way of knowing how your friends might react to the information, and that makes you nervous. Besides, it’s not your secret to tell. 

Eventually, sneaking around catches up to you. It’s early in the morning, your conversation with Shouto ending early because of the cars pulling into the lot down the beach. Soon there would be too many people in the water for him to be there without someone noticing him there, and Masaki is coming home from a double-shift and you want to be home to see him, so the two of you say your goodbyes and head off in opposite directions.

You’re just climbing over the last of the sea rocks, your sandals in hand and stupid grin on your face, when someone steps directly in front of you. Your eyes snap up, locking with an angry carmine gaze that makes your heart stop.

“Shit,” you say before you can stop yourself, stomach churning sickly at the glare you’re met with. Your sandals fall onto the sand, but you don’t bother to pick them up. Heart lurching, you don't move from where you’re half-crouched over the rocks, tense and a little nervous. Not because you’re afraid, but because you have no idea how to explain this.

A muscle jumps in Bakugou’s jaw as he clenches his teeth. There’s a hurricane behind his eyes, only tempered by the fact that you’re in front of him, okay, but that doesn’t stop his hands from shaking. “Your cousin called,” he tells you, voice tight with anger--real anger. Or hurt. He’s always loud, always yelling. It’s when he’s quiet like this that you know something is wrong “He came home early. Said he couldn’t find you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You wince. Shit, you left your phone at home this morning. “Bakugou,” you start to say, but stop when he narrows his eyes.

“I lied for you,” he continues as if you hadn’t spoken. “He was worried, because you almost died a few months ago, and I told him you were with me, and you’d be home soon.” His hands curl into loose fists. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doin’ here?” he asks, a low growl. “At the same fucking spot where you almost drowned?” When you open your mouth, but don’t respond, Bakugou releases a humorless laugh. “Get in the fucking car,” he demands, gesturing up the beach to where you can see the familiar vehicle waiting. You should have noticed it earlier.

The command makes you bristle, and you glare back at him, a retort already burning on the tip of your tongue, but the look in his eyes makes you feel sick again. Phantom pain laces across your ribs and crawls down your throat, and for a second you feel like you’re drowning all over again. 

Bakugou’s hand trembles as he drops it back to his side, and his breathing is heavier than normal, like he’s about to start crying, but his glare doesn’t soften at all.

You drop down onto the sand in front of him, leaving your sandals on the ground as you start walking across the beach. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bakugou scoop them up, and he stays just a half-step behind you the entire way to the car. The sand is hot in the mid-morning sun and burns your toes, but you don't slow. If he’s going to lecture you, you’d much rather it be in his car than out here.

Climbing into the passenger seat, you keep your gaze locked out the window, refusing to look at your friend as he slides into the driver side. Bakugou closes the door harder than usual, and the sound makes you wince, surprised. Your eyes snap to him without meaning to, but he isn’t looking at you. Staring out the front window, Bakugou’s jaw is clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the grip he has on the wheel.

Sitting in silence, you wait for him to speak, or yell, or curse you out for making him worry--though he’d never admit it out loud--but the quiet persists to an unnerving degree. You’d expect this from Masaki, or even Iida. Not him. Not Bakugou. The only sound in the car is his slow breathing before he starts the car.

Neither of you speak on the drive back to your house. You have no idea what to tell him, and for once he seems set on keeping his mouth shut. This isn’t something you’ve ever had to deal with before, and that scares you a little. It feels delicate. A time bomb waiting to go off. Bakugou is a hand grenade, and you’ve already pulled the pin.

He parks outside of your house, but doesn’t turn off the car as he waits for you to leave. By the expression on his face, you know he’s not in the mood to talk--the mood to listen--but if you leave this car now, you know this will fester. Rot. And you can’t risk losing your best friend.

“I saw someone,” you blurt, shifting in your seat to face him. You pull your legs onto the seat, tucking them beneath you, and Bakugou’s eyes cut right through you. “That night, in the water,” you clarify, watching the way he stiffens in his seat, “I saw someone.”

His fingers clench around the wheel again as he looks away from you. “Mizushima, don’t--”

“Listen to me,” you snap, not even sure what you’re saying, all you know is that it hurts when he calls you by your last name instead of whatever shitty nickname he’s latched onto this week. “I should have died.” The assertion makes him tense, but you don’t stop there. “You know I should have died.” Your voice cracks on the last word, a lump in your throat. “And we both know the current wouldn’t have pulled me back that way. That’s not how it works. And this?” You grab the necklace you haven’t taken off since he and Kirishima handed it to you. Bakugou looks at you again, glancing at the sea glass that caused you so much trouble and so much joy all at once. “I dropped it in the water. I let go. I remember letting go.”

A part of you is pleading for him to understand, but he can’t. Not if you don’t tell him.

“I just--” You sink back against your seat, turning away from him to stare out the window. “I just needed to go back. I don’t know why--maybe because I was scared or I wanted to prove I wasn’t a fucking coward, but I just did.”

He’s close enough for you to hear him swallow, and beneath the hum of the engine you hear him ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t about you, Katsuki,” you tell him, an edge creeping into your tone. His head snaps up and around again, carmine eyes burning into the side of your face, and you sigh. “I needed to go there for me. And I didn’t need you there because I didn’t blame you for any of it.”

“Well I do,” he snaps, flinching like he didn’t mean to say it, but you’re staring at him now, and it’s too late to take it back. “We found you on the beach and I thought I fucking killed you because I had to act like a fucking asshole.” He cards his fingers through his hair, gripping and pulling at the spiky strands. “And then you fucking disappear and Deku and I find you on the goddamn rocks--” He stops abruptly, sucking in a sharp breath.

It clicks then. He isn’t angry. Not really anyway. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” you tell him, barely a whisper.

“Who said I was scared, dumbass?” He huffs, and the insult makes you grin, but your expression sobers when he levels you with a firm stare. “You should have told me you were going out on the rocks,” he says. “I would have gone with you.” A flush creeps up his neck, and he looks away again. “Kirishima and Uraraka have been worried about you. How do you think they’d feel if you fucking slipped again and one of us wasn’t around? I don’t give a fuck if you need to think or figure some shit out, tell someone where you are.”

“I know,” you say, just as softly as before. The last thing you wanted was to worry them. “I’m sorry.”

Bakugou sighs and shuts off the car. “And?” he demands, stressing the single word.

You frown, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You said you saw someone in the water,” he says with a roll of his eyes, repeating what you told him a minute ago. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Right. It slipped out before you could stop it. You stare back at him, and Bakugou arches an expectant eyebrow. “I need to talk to you,” you tell him. “All of you. And I really need you to believe me.”

Predictably, telling your friends about the merman that saved your life doesn’t go over exceptionally well.

Iida is convinced you need a doctor. You’re almost positive that he would have thrown you over his shoulder and ran for the nearest hospital if Bakugou wasn’t standing beside you like a guard dog. He tells you exactly what you expect to hear, about hallucinations and near death experiences, how sometimes trauma makes people see things that aren’t really there. He’s blunt, but not unkind. Midoriya agrees with Iida, and seems almost apologetic for it, but doesn’t say much else from where he’s sitting cross-legged on your living room floor.

Ochako and Kirishima are slightly more accepting, though you think it’s mainly because they can see you’re getting frustrated, and sometimes that makes it hard for you to breathe.

Bakugou calls you an idiot, but not a liar, and that’s about as much as you expected coming from him.

So, you tell them you can prove it.

XXX

It takes a week for all of you to find a morning in your schedules when you’re free. Most of Iida’s classes are in the morning, and Kirishima works weekends, but you manage to make it work. You all drive down to the beach, the six of you squeezed into Bakugou’s car.

Ochako is still half-asleep when you make it to the beach, the sun barely beginning to rise, and Kirishima piggybacks her across the sand until you reach an achingly familiar set of rocks jutting out into the ocean. None of them look comfortable being here. The six of you have only been back to the beach a handful of times since your accident, and even then, you never got this close to the water.

Maybe they need this as much as you do. To everyone else it was a miracle that the current sent you back to shore, but Shouto? Shouto is real. Tangible. Undeniable proof that you’re okay, that it wasn’t sheer luck that the waves were merciful on you, because they weren’t. Somehow, he makes the situation easier for you to swallow.

“I can’t believe you losers talked me into this,” Bakugou grumbles behind you, as if you’re all still obnoxious teenagers instead of young adults. He’s been in a mood all morning, though you aren’t sure if it’s because he really thinks this is ridiculous, or if he’s nervous being back here. The last time he was near these rocks, he was too angry to think about anything else.

“You wanted me to prove it,” you remind him, glancing at him over your shoulder, eyes narrowing. “So I’m proving it.” They aren’t stopping you now that you’re already here.

Bakugou’s gaze darts to Ochako’s, and she gives him a nearly indiscreet nod, urging him to try again. They know that ganging up on you won’t work, but Bakugou has always had a way of talking sense into you. Unfortunately, that won’t work this time. “Come on,” he drawls, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts, expression nothing short of irritated. “This is fucking stupid.”

Another withering glare makes him snort and cross his arms, and you purse your lips. “You said you’d believe me,” you remind him, recalling his promise from that day in the car. Throwing his words back into his face is a low blow, and you know it, but right now you really don’t care.

“That was before you started talking about mermaids and shit,” Bakugou snaps, chest puffing up.

“Merman,” you correct him, knowing it’ll annoy him. The way he grits his teeth is satisfying in itself. “And be nice. I don’t need you scaring him away because you still haven’t figured out how to play well with others.”

Sighing, Iida steps forward. He’s dressed for the beach today, unlike the last time he was here. Aside from the lifesaver tossed over his shoulder, he looks like any other young adult frequenting the beaches in the area. If it was anyone but Iida, you’d think the precaution was mocking, but this is the man that carries a miniature first aid kit in his bag at all times. 

“Mizushima, if this is--”

“It’s not,” you snap at him, a little harsher than intended. The insinuation that this is nothing but a joke or prank is more grating each time one of them suggests it. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t been hallucinating for the last few months, but if I have been, I’m sure Katsuki won’t let me live it down.” You toss him a look over your shoulder. “And don’t you dare call my cousin, Iida!”

You don’t even want to think about how Masaki would react to all of this.

Iida looks like he’s about to say something else, but Kirishima interjects. “Come on, guys, lighten up!” He steps forward and tosses an arm around Bakugou’s neck, pulling the fuming blond down to his height. Bakugou doesn’t look happy about it, but he doesn’t protest either. “So what if it’s just a prank? There’s no harm in her dragging us out here. I mean, it’s not like the rest of us had any plans today.” He offers you a sunny smile that you return with a hesitant one of your own. “Besides, it’s been awhile since we all got to come out here. Gotta say, I kind of missed it!” 

“Thanks, Kiri,” you whisper back, smiling just a bit wider when he throws you a thumbs up. 

His miniature speech only seems to placate Ochako, who links her hands in front of her and gives you a hesitant smile. Iida glances between you and the rocks dubiously, and Bakugou looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. The only one who hasn’t said anything yet is Midoriya, which is unusual. At least he isn’t trying to talk you into leaving like Iida and Bakugou.

Suddenly, Ochako breaks away from the semi-circle your friends have positioned themselves in. She takes two steps toward you, pinning you with a fierce glare, and then her hands smack against either side of your face, squishing your cheeks. “You know this sounds completely crazy, right?” she asks you, brown eyes staring intensely into yours.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, ignoring the curious looks of the boys as they stare at the two of you.

She nods. “And you know I love you anyway, right?”

It’s hard to smile with the way she’s squishing your cheeks, but you manage. “I do.” Ochako has always been your biggest supporter, ever since you were kids. Even if today is an utter disaster, you know she won’t judge you for it--at least, not for too long. You couldn’t ask for a better friend than that.

“Good,” she says, releasing you in favor of crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t you dare fall in the water,” Ochako tells you. “Kiri can’t hold us both back if you do.” She means her and Bakugou, of course. The pair are certainly a force to be reckoned with, and you know you’ll have hell to pay if anything terrible happens. Ochako may look cute, but she can have a bit of a mean streak.

Either way, you nod, silently promising that everything will be okay. They’re all looking at you with a nervous flicker in their eyes, like they’re expecting you to slip and fall again, and the thought makes your stomach flip. You can almost feel the water rushing into your lungs. The sting of salt in your throat. “Just, wait here,” you say, stepping away from Ochako and swallowing down the lump in your throat. “Give me five minutes.”

“Three,” Bakugou tells you, crossing his arms. Beside him, Midoriya nods his agreement, hands curled into loose fists at his sides. “Like hell we’re gonna wait here for that long because you wanna be alone with your fish-man, or whatever.” You roll your eyes. “So get moving. And if you fall in the fucking water again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Midoriya, who had been nodding along with Bakugou, jolts at the threat. “Kacchan!” he yelps, green eyes wide with alarm.

Your lips twitch. “Noted.” Without another word, you twist around on your heel and pull yourself onto the rock, the grooves and sharp edges familiar beneath your bare feet. Your friends begin muttering to each other as you climb over the rock, but you don’t dare glance behind you. It’s still early, so the rocks are still damp beneath you. Though the water isn’t deep here, your skin still crawls at the thought of your head beneath water.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your usual spot further out in the water, just out of sight of the shore. You can’t quite see your friends from here, and for a second that makes you nervous, but you take a deep breath, holding it in as your feet press against the surface of the flat rock the six of you can all sit on comfortably.

Slowly, your eyes scan the water’s surface, searching for a glimpse of red or white as you sink down onto the rock, kneeling just inches from the edge. You wet your lips, leaning forward to peer into the ocean. It’s hard to see anything with the sunlight reflecting on the surface, and you bite your lip as a faint pressure settles around your ribcage.

Maybe this was a mistake. You should have just lied to Bakugou again. That would have been easier than whatever the hell you think you’re doing now. You just had to be stubborn about this, but it would have been so much easier to drop the merman conversation and let them all think it was just some big joke. They’d never let you live it down, but you think you’d take that over the nervous fluttering of your heartbeat.

When the water ripples in front of you and a pair of mismatched eyes meet yours under the water, you feel like you can breathe again. You lean back, and Shouto follows you, head emerging from the water as his clawed fingers dig into the side of the rock, using it for leverage as he pulls his shoulders and chest from the water. A few of his spines breach the surface behind him, bright red beneath the sun, and this close you can see his tail swishing lazily in the water.

“Shouto,” you breathe, a tinge of relief palpable on the syllables of his name as they leave your tongue.

He shakes his head, splattering you with saltwater from his hair, and peers at you through his bangs, looking a cross between bored and annoyed. “You’re late,” he tells you, lips curved downward at the edges in a look you’ve grown familiar with in the months that you’ve known him. “You said you’d be here for the sunrise.”

A nervous giggle escapes you, and you open your mouth to tell him that getting your friends anywhere is like herding cats--Ochako is always half asleep, and Bakugou is uncooperative; Iida is the only one prepared on time, but his lectures inevitably make him late anyway--but what slips out instead is a painfully soft, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

He’d been apprehensive when you asked if he would meet your friends, something you couldn’t blame him for. Already, you’re privy to information you shouldn’t be. There’s a reason merfolk aren’t known to the world, and if the wrong person knew about him, it could be disastrous. But these are your friends, and you know they’d never do anything to hurt you or Shouto like that. Even still, you were hesitant to even ask him to show himself, though he was the one to first approach you. 

Somewhere, in a small, quiet part of your heart, you were so sure that he wouldn’t be here waiting for you today.

The admission makes Shouto’s eyes widen. His pupils shrink into catlike slits, before dilating once more, and the spines lining the vertebrae of his tail flare slightly. His tail flicks back, creating a small wave in the water. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, brows furrowing slightly. “I said I would.”

“I know,” you murmur back, shifting enough to slip your legs into the water. Shouto moves with you, perfectly in tune as his eyes follow every subtle shift in your expression. “I just…” He continues to stare as you trail off, and your fingers find the sea glass around your neck. It’s warm beneath your touch. The pressure in your chest loosens as the weight of it presses against your palm. “Are you sure this is okay?” You stress the question, searching his gaze for any hint of refusal or discomfort. 

There’s still enough time for him to turn and disappear back into the water. You have another minute until your friends follow you, and if he wants to go, you’ll let him. Damn the consequences. You’d rather look like a fool than do something you can’t take back. 

But Shouto snorts, pulling himself closer to the rocks, closer to you. His right hand reaches for you, and you shiver as his claws ghost across your skin just above the edge of the water. The heat of his palm sinks into you. When you sigh, he pulls you closer. “They’re your friends.” It’s a reminder instead of an answer to the question, which would be frustrating if he were anyone else. “I trust you,” Shouto adds, softer than before, the low, comforting tone of his voice causing heat to spread through your limbs.

The pad of his thumb rubs against the side of your leg.

“What the fuck?” a deep voice growls from behind you, startling you both.

Shouto rips his hand away from your leg, going rigid as the spines on the back of his tail flare again. His pupils narrow into slits, and his lips curve back over his teeth in a warning as a hissing sound escapes him. His muscles coil, prepared to strike, and your head whips around to meet wide carmine eyes, Bakugou staring at you and Shouto in disbelief. His mouth moves soundlessly. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him rendered speechless by something before, and if the situation was different, you would probably laugh.

The rest of your friends are behind him, expressions varying degrees of shock and disbelief.

You’re quick to reach for Shouto, the merman still growling from the water. The sound breaks off as soon as your fingers brush against his shoulder. His gaze snaps to you, checking to make sure you’re okay before his narrowed eyes slide back to Bakugou, his tail lashing almost violently through the water.

The silence doesn’t last for long. Bakugou glances wildly between you and Shouto, gaze questioning, before he finally settles on the very real, very annoyed merman. “The fuck is this?” he snaps, voice rising in pitch.

Another irritated flick of Shouto’s tail sends droplets of water raining down on the rock. “You must be Bakugou,” Shouto muses, expression carefully blank as he looks over your friend, sizing him up. Snorting, he turns back to you, relaxed and almost bored. “You were right,” he murmurs, just loud enough for everyone else to hear. “He is obnoxious.”

Bakugou’s face twists in rage, and behind him Ochako bursts into a fit of nervous giggles as she continues to stare at Shouto. Kirishima reaches out slowly, one hand grabbing Ochako’s as the other grabs onto the back of Bakugou’s shirt. Beside him, Midoriya is openly gaping at Shouto. You can practically see the thoughts churning through his head as he stares at the merman in wonder. 

Surprisingly, it’s Iida that recovers the fastest. He steps forward, moving around the others, and squints behind his glasses. “Mizushima, what is this?” he asks, repeating Bakugou’s earlier question as his mouth presses into a tight line. Iida has always been a logical man; this isn’t something he knows how to process.

Shouto’s tail twitches again. His eyes slide to Iida’s. “Shouto,” he states, then glances at you. His lips quirk at the edges as he clarifies, “My name,” just like when he first met you. Iida stares. So do the rest. And then--

“Yo, I’m Kirishima! Nice to meet ya, man,” the boy introduces himself, releasing Ochako and Bakugou to walk to the edge of the rock and plop down cross-legged beside you. He grins at Shouto and reaches over to pat you on the back. “Thanks for saving our girl here, we owe ya one!”

You sigh, leaning into Kirishima’s touch. Thank god you brought him here today. His easy acceptance is infectious, and your other friends start to relax as soon as the good natured man offers Shouto a wide smile. It might just be the biology student in Kirishima making him so readily accepting of merpeople, but you’re grateful either way.

“Of course,” is Shouto’s quiet response. His brows furrow a little, like he can’t understand why Kirishima is thanking him for not letting you drown, but he doesn’t comment on it any further.

Iida jolts suddenly, his eyes widening in horror. “Where are my manors?” he sputters, walking stiffly to the edge of the water. He crouches on your other side, one stiff arm shooting out towards Shouto. The merman flinches at the sudden movement. “I’m Tenya Iida. It’s very nice to meet you.” 

Shouto stares at the offered hand, then glances at you. You lift one hand to your mouth to smother your amusement, and Shouto seems to decide Iida’s actions are harmless. Ignoring the handshake, he turns to your unnamed friends. “I suppose that makes you Uraraka and Midoriya,” he guesses, looking between the pair.

Ochako smiles shyly, nodding, and Midoriya looks like he might burst with excitement. He quickly takes Iida’s place as the taller boy steps back, a disgruntled expression on his face that makes you bite back more laughter. 

“That’s right! Oh, man, when Mizushima told us about you, I thought--but wow, you are real!” Midoriya gushes, nearly slipping into the water in his hurry to reach said real merperson. You’re entirely unsurprised when he yanks off his backpack, digging out a notebook and a pen as Shouto stares quizzically. “Hold on, I have so many questions. Are you part fish? Can you breathe underwater? Are there other species of supernatural creatures that actually exist, or are merpeople an outlier. I--”

Ochako slaps her hand over his mouth from behind, cutting him off before he can ramble further. Her smile is warm. “Sorry about him, he gets excited sometimes.”

Things fall into place rather easily after that. Your friends are cautious, but friendly as they speak with Shouto, who calmly and carefully answers their many questions. He lets Midoriya examine his spines, but shifts away from a curious hand, and seems to enjoy a conversation with Kirishima about jellyfish. Even Iida joins the conversation after his shock wears off. Bakugou is the only one that doesn’t speak the entire time you’re here, standing as far away from Shouto and the edge of the rock as he possibly can, glaring.

You stay until the sun rises with the afternoon, and cars begin to pull into the parking lot across the beach, your friends murmuring their goodbyes as they gather their things and begin the careful trek back to the sand, excited chattering left in their wake. Bakugou lingers. So do you.

Once he’s sure the others are far enough away, Bakugou stalks to the edge of the rock, crouching and getting in Shouto’s face. The merman doesn’t flinch, standing his ground. “Hey, half-and-half,” Bakugou growls, lowering his voice so that you can’t hear. “Thanks.” He gestures to his chin towards you, and understanding passes between them. When Shouto gives a nearly imperceptible nod, Bakugou rises back to his feet and reaches over to tousle your hair until you swat at him. “See ya on the shore, squirt.”

“I like them,” Shouto tells you after Bakugou is gone. “They seem… nice.”

You stare at the beach, though you can’t see your friends from where you’re sitting. “Thank you,” you whisper, drawing shouto’s attention. “For doing this. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

He only blinks, head tilting slightly to one side. “You asked me to,” he says, like it’s that simple.

XXX

It’s later that same week when you find yourself back on the rock, the beach strangely empty at midday. There are dark clouds off in the distance, on the edge of the horizon, but the sun is still shining brightly at the moment. There’s a storm coming. The thought should make you nervous, but you’ve never felt anything but inexplicably safe here with Shouto in the water beside you, making lazy circles a few feet from where you’re sitting on the edge with your legs tucked beneath you.

You pull your gaze from the far off storm clouds, turning to Shouto instead, but he’s deep in thought, floating on his back with his tail fins occasionally peeking out of the water. Slowly, your eyes wander across him, taking in the pattern of his tail, the sharp spines you’re careful to stay away from, before moving up his torso to the lean muscle and broad shoulders you always seem to catch yourself staring at. He’s fit, but you reason that he’d have to be to live in the water like he does. Traveling over his neck and strong jaw, you find yourself lingering on his mismatched eyes, the two tones clashing, and the red and raw skin covering the upper left side of his face.

You’ve never asked about the scar. You’ve never had the heart or the stomach to question what could have left what looks like a terrible burn. 

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until the deep timber of his voice pulls you from your thoughts. 

“Does it bother you?” he asks, watching you from where he’s begun treading water just off the edge of the rocks.

Gaze snapping from the vibrant scar covering the side of his face to his eyes, you’re taken aback by the cacophony of emotions flickering in the depths of them. Not shy, but uncomfortable. Perhaps anxious.

It only takes a second for you to realize he’s asking about his scar, and the question makes your chest ache for him. “No,” you answer honestly. “Why would it?”

“It’s ugly,” he tells you, like he’s said it before. Shouto’s tone is bland, empty, like he doesn’t care, but he can’t hide the tightness around his eyes, the hurt. “My mother. She… was unwell.” He’s quiet for several seconds, unsure of how to phrase it, and you wonder if he’s ever told anyone before. “She hated my left side, but it wasn’t her fault.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recall him saying he looks like his father, and something clicks, but you don’t want to push it. “I’m sorry,” you say instead, wincing when the words leave your mouth.

The right corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not a smile. “Me too.”

Absentmindedly, you grasp the pendant around your neck. “It’s part of you, Shouto,” you tell him, so softly that he almost can’t hear you over the sound of the water, but he’s attune to your voice after so many months. He could recognize it anywhere. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The conversation lulls into nothing, and you search for something to fill the silence when it becomes clear that he won’t.

The silver chain you always wear curls around your finger, the sea glass thumping against your collarbone with every twirl of your hand. His eyes follow the motion, entranced by the steady rhythm, heartbeat echoing the sound. You stop suddenly, the turquoise glass brushing against your knuckles. For a moment, neither of you move, and even the ocean seems to hold its breath, waiting for you to speak. “I never asked,” you murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear over the sound of his own pulse. “But you saved this too, didn’t you?”

Your fingers trace the edge of the teardrop shape, and your eyes rise to meet his, lingering on the jewel-tone of his left side before sliding to the silver of his right.

He nods, edging closer until his claws are buried in the rocks and his delicate fins are pressed against the surface below the water. “I saw you drop it, just before you blacked out, and it was… shining in the water.” You frown, but don’t question it. The water was too dark and murky for you to see that night, but he was born for those depths, able to see what you can’t. “I thought you’d want it back if--” he cuts himself off with a sharp, angry breath and can’t bring himself to finish. Shouto clears his throat. “Besides, sea glass brings luck.”

That makes you pause again. Your brows furrow as you stare at him. “What?”

He shakes his head, waving off your questioning look. “Nothing,” he says. “Just old superstitions.” His tail brushes against the rocks again. “My mother used to tell me that when humans fall into the ocean holding something, it’s usually important to them. She was right.” He gestures to sea glass in your hand, how carefully you’re cradling it. Shouto has never seen you without it, and you keep it close to your heart like something precious.

“Maybe,” you muse, a wry smile pulling at your lips as you draw your knees to your chest, letting the pendant fall back to your chest with a dull thump that only you can hear. “I don’t know if it was that important until after. I probably should have just left it on the beach.”

Shouto pauses, pulling himself a little further out of the water. “What do you mean?”

The far off tone of your voice doesn’t disappear as you say, “I just found it before…” and trail off into nothing. As if just remembering that he’s there, you shift in place, rolling onto your knees and settling your weight onto one hip, using one hand to prop yourself up. “I collect sea glass,” you tell him, realizing the topic has never come up before. “And I’d never seen one this color before.” Shouto nods slowly, silently motioning for you to continue. After a second, you do. “When my parents… left, Masaki used to take me here all the time. Usually after storms. And we’d search the beach for glass or sea shells. Whatever we could find. Then I started coming with my friends, and I guess we never stopped.”

He’s quiet for a long time, attention stolen by the breeze as it ruffles your hair, causing strands to tickle your cheek. “I’m glad,” he says eventually, almost too quiet to hear.

And suddenly you’re close, closer than you’ve ever been before. Your hands leave the rock and hesitate before one settles on his shoulder. Shouto is stiff beneath your gentle touch, claws digging into the rock as his muscles tense. The scent of your skin wraps around him, gripping him like a vice, but it’s different. Unfamiliar. You don’t smell like him--like saltwater.

“Thank you,” you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear in a way that has a lick of heat arching up his back. His spines flex in the water, tail jerking suddenly, and you’re so close that he can feel the heat of your breath against the damp curve of his jaw. “For saving this, too.” A subtle shift has your lips brushing against the edge of his scar beneath his eye, your breath nervous against the side of his face.

The quickening of your heartbeat makes his own pulse spike. Shouto’s tongue dips out to run across his bottom lip. His silence makes your fingers flex around his shoulder, but before you can release him, he pries one of his hands from the rock. The threat of sharp claws against the back of your neck makes your breath hitch, but he’s nothing but gentle with you. 

“Anytime,” he murmurs back to you, pressing his cheek to yours. The pendant you’re wearing glances off his collarbone, the sea glass warm to the touch.

XXX

“So,” Kirishima muses as the two of you make your way through the supermarket, a basket swinging between you as he grabs various snacks off the shelves, “there are two kinds of mer… people?” He glances down at you for confirmation. Even though you’re all adults now, your friends still get together weekly for movie nights and video games, destressing from school and staying close now that the new semester has started.

You nod slowly, trying to decide between two different brands of candy. “That’s what Shou told me,” you say, offering the candy for him to choose. Kirishima sticks both in the basket, and you roll your eyes. 

He’s been asking you questions about merpeople for the last few weeks since you introduced your friends to Shouto, and his enthusiasm is kind of endearing. They’ve been coming down to the beach with you most mornings now, usually only one or two at a time, which you’ve been grateful for. It’s taken Shouto a while to warm up to them, but he seems to get along well with your friends, especially Midoriya and Iida, though he appears to take some satisfaction in trading quips with Bakugou, who mostly just glares and grumbles under his breath.

“He said there are those born normally, like him, and the ones that are reborn. Drowning victims brought back by Ryujin,” you continue when Kiri looks at you expectantly.

Kirishima nods, accepting the existence of a sea god without so much as a second glance.

And then his steps falter. He nearly drops the basket as his eyebrows furrow in thought. Red eyes peer down at you, and his mouth opens and then closes again. Kirishima clears his throat, a bizarre look on his face. “By normal do you mean, like, hatched?” he asks. “Like, out of an egg?”

You frown, bemused by the unexpected question. Of all the things he could have asked you, that certainly wasn’t one you would have expected. Though, maybe you should have. It was only a matter of time before the biology major in him rose to the surface. “They’re mammals, Kiri, they don’t lay eggs,” you remind him after a moment of stunned silence.

“They could be like a platypus,” he says, turning down the next aisle. An older man sends him an odd look, but Kirishima only grins when the man catches his eye. 

You shake your head, grabbing the basket from him. “I’m almost positive they aren’t,” you say, lips twitching in amused exasperation. “And why do you care about the logistics of their birth anyway?”

He shrugs. “I’m just curious. Aren’t you?”

“About merfolk reproduction?” you clarify. “Not really.” Honestly, you haven’t thought about it. The fact that merpeople can spring into existence through the divine powers of a sea god was curious, sure, but for all you know merpeople like Shouto could be born the same way. You hadn’t thought to ask for clarification, and, frankly, you aren’t sure you want any. That’s not a question you feel comfortable asking your friend.

Kirishima rubs the back of his head and straightens his headband. “Really? I thought--nevermind.” Whatever he was about to say makes his eyes widen, and he clams up, a faint blush spreading from his cheeks to the roots of his hair like an awful sunburn.

You stop walking, looking at him out of the corner of your eye as you grab Ochako’s favorite snack off the shelf. “What?” He shakes his head, avoiding your eyes as he shuffles uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Thought what, Kiri?” Huffing, you prop your hands up on your hips, lips pressed into a thin line as you stare him down. 

It works; it always does. Even Bakugou usually gives in with a fierce enough look, and Kirishima is much more agreeable than his explosive best friend.

“I just thought it was something you might need to know,” he admits, voice a little bit softer than before, “considering, y’know? I’d say he’s pretty interested.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting. Your lips part in shock, but your tongue feels thick and heavy in your mouth, and you gape at him like a fish out of water for a solid seven seconds. “Excuse me?” you finally sputter out. Your skin feels itchy and hot all of a sudden, and the way your pulse quickens is nothing short of embarrassing.

“What?” Kirishima’s head tilts to the side cutely. “I’m just saying. Merman doesn’t doesn’t take his eyes off you whenever you’re around. Even when you and Ochako went for a walk on the beach the other day, he was still watching to make sure you were okay.” You frown, and he holds up his hands placatingly. “Not that there’s a problem with that! He seems protective, and that’s pretty manly!” You still don’t say anything. Kirishima’s brows furrow as he tries to explain it. “It’s like he swallows you with his eyes and doesn’t leave anything for the rest of us.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, processing the new information buzzing through your head. Does Shouto stare at you? You aren’t blind. You know he likes to keep an eye on you when you’re walking around on the rocks. It’s not like you can blame him, when you only met because you slipped and nearly drowned. But on the beach too? 

The thought leaves a pleasantly warm feeling bubbling in your stomach, but you shove the feeling away, choosing not to think too hard about it. It’s probably only because you’re familiar. 

You wet your lips. “Have you been reading internet poetry again?”

Kirishima blushes deeper. “Yes,” he admits. “Sero’s been sending me some, but that’s not the point.” He takes the basket from you when you roll your eyes. “The point is, don’t you want to know what goes on if you ever try to… you know.” He makes a vague gesture with his hands that you never want to see again. “Like, what if it is eggs?”

“Oh my god, please stop talking,” you whine, turning on your heel to walk away from him. This is not what you wanted to be thinking about tonight. “They don’t lay eggs.”

Kirishima is right behind you. “So you’re saying it’s sperm then? Do you think that’s why the ocean is so salty?” It’s obvious he’s joking now, just trying to get a reaction out of you--or maybe the biology nerd in him is just coming out full force. Either way, you want no part in this conversation.

“You’re disgusting.”

A laugh slips out of his mouth. He grabs your wrist before you can storm off and yanks you against his side, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Wait, wait, I’m sorry,” he says, cracking up harder. You shove his shoulder, rolling your eyes, but he doesn’t budge. “I’m sorry,” he says again once his laughter subsides, much more sincere this time. His arm squeezes around you. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” you murmur, giving in to his embrace. It’s hard to resist a hug from Kirishima. “Now never talk to me about merperson sex ever again.” You don’t want to think about Shouto’s hypothetical merman penis while raiding a grocery store for snacks.

“Okay,” he agrees, leading you through the store towards the check-out. And then-- “Since you're so sure it’s not eggs, do you think it’s more like a dolphin?”

You throw his arm away from you. “Is this a kink, Kiri?” you ask him. “Are you into merpeople now?” You almost ask if he wants you to fuck Shouto, or if he’d rather do it himself, but bite your tongue at the last second. “I’m telling Bakugou and Ochako that this is what you think about.”

A sharp pinch to your side makes you squeal, and Kirishima chuckles as you swat at him in return.

You don’t think about the conversation again until later that night. You end up squished onto the couch between Kirishima and Ochako, and all of you are half asleep as you idly listen to Bakugou and Iida argue about what movie to watch next--some explosive action movie or a documentary, respectively--while Midoriya mediates, and you’re thoughts take a sudden sharp turn. 

It’s Kirishima’s fault for putting the thought in your head, and you jerk fully awake, feeling like the ground has dropped out from underneath you. Your pulse jumps, skin itchy and hot at the thought of Shouto’s mouth and hands on you. Shuddering, you squeeze your thighs together. Imagining the weight of him against you makes heat pool in your lower belly. Your mouth feels dry. 

It’s an impossibility. He isn’t interested; you shouldn’t be.

Noticing you’re awake, the boys arguing on the floor pause to look at you. “What’s with that stupid look?” Bakugou asks, narrowing his eyes. For once, you’re grateful that he’s an asshole most of the time. It gives you something to think about that isn’t your merman friend’s biological functions.

“Mizushima, what’s your opinion on the films?” Iida questions.

You glance at the television and blanch. “Please, don’t make me watch Blue Planet, or whatever it’s called, right now, Iida.”

Beside you, Kirishima shakes with muffled laughter.

XXX

Sea glass glitters in the sun beside you, colors ranging from off-white to orange to deep blues and greens that you’ve rarely ever seen before. You’ve gathered a small handful since telling Shouto about your collection. It isn’t every day, but some mornings he’ll hand you bits and pieces of weathered glass that he’s found in the open water. He’s careful to gauge your expression, watching the way your eyes light up with a hesitance that melts into satisfaction when you smile, pleased with himself.

Your toes dip into the gentle lull of the waves when he isn’t looking, his stare far off, brows furrowed like he’s thinking hard about something. “Shouto,” you call to him, barely audible over the rhythmic crash of the ocean against the rocks; he hears you, gaze snapping sideways to meet yours, and the jewel-tone of his left eye makes your heart lurch. The questioning stare he pins you with is replaced with shock as you flick water at him.

His disgruntled expression makes you giggle, but he doesn’t wipe away the droplets of saltwater that slide down his cheek and jaw before dripping back into the ocean. The sunlight makes his skin shimmer, and the teasing line of water that rolls down the side of his neck is nothing short of distracting.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, brushing the stay thought from your mind. He’s been oddly distracted today, staying a little further away from the rocks than usual, a deep furrow to his brow that usually isn’t there anymore. You roll a piece of sea glass between your fingers, a few shades paler than his blue eye and the pendant you’ve worn around your neck for what feels like years now. 

“You.”

The blunt response makes your head snap up. Suddenly, he’s closer than he has been all morning.

The palm of his hand cups your calf, his long fingers wrapping gently around your leg as he tugs you closer to the edge of the rock, careful not to prick you with his clawed fingertips. Shouto is warm despite the seawater, and you shiver as droplets roll down your skin in little streams, leaving behind trails of salt. His grip is loose at first, but tightens when you don’t pull away.

Shouto stares up at you from the water, and the hand that isn’t gripping your leg presses against the rocks beside your thigh, using the leverage to pull himself part way out of the water. It’s still too far away, but the distance makes your breath catch as he leans in just an inch. “You look beautiful in the sunlight.” He says it like it’s a fact, something you should already know, and your lips part in shock.

The wicked look that flickers in his eyes cuts off any response you might have had, and then he shoves himself away from you, just like the first time you met. He rolls backwards in the water once he’s a safe distance away, mindful of the sharp spines protruding from his fins. The tip of his tail flicks up and out of the water, and you squeal as he splatters you with seawater.

“Dick,” you call out as soon as he resurfaces, making Shouto chuckle as he swims back towards the rock you’re perched on. His palm finds its way back to your leg, fingers slotting around you like it’s natural, and you press your leg into his touch, liking the rough scrape of his skin against yours. “What are you really thinking about?”

“You,” he says again, but his amusement dims and his eyes narrow again, catlike slits. “It’s not safe for you to come out this far when you can’t swim.” He glances at the ocean surrounding him and grimaces. 

A frown pulls at your own lips, confusion surging through you at the unexpected discussion. In all the months that you’ve known him, you wonder why it took this long for the question to come up, and why he seems so concerned. “I can swim,” you tell him, a little laugh slipping from your lips. His lips turn down and his head tilts to the side, and you huff, half-heartedly flicking more water towards him. “Maybe not as well as you, but not all of us were born in the water like you, Shou.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Why would you think I can’t swim?”

The answer is probably obvious, in hindsight, but it still startles you when he says, “You never come in the water.”

And that’s it, isn’t it. There’s a denial on the tip of your tongue, but it sticks there, refusing to be spoken. Because he’s right. In all the months you’ve known him, you’ve never done more than dip your legs into the water, and that’s only when he’s nearby. When he’s not, you rarely leave the safety of the sand. It hits you like a blow to the ribs. Phantom pain laces across your chest, and your breath hitches, so subtle that Shouto wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t so close.

A bitter thought crosses your mind. You only met him because you came out to the rocks to prove to yourself that you weren’t a coward, but it was never the rocks that scared you, was it?

Not liking the train of thought, you force a smile and try to ignore the feeling of your lungs filling up with water. “I don’t like to get my hair wet in the morning. Not all of us are naturally resistant to salt.” You brush a strand of red hair away from his eyes, the texture silky.

But Shouto isn’t convinced. “Even when you’re here with your friends, you’re always sitting in the sand,” he says, slowly, gauging your reaction to the observation. “I just thought--” And he cuts off quickly, seeming to realize what you already have.

“I can swim,” you tell him again, not as confident this time.

The way your voice trembles is answer enough for his next question, but Shouto asks it anyway, blunt and unapologetic. “Are you afraid?”

You’re silent for a long time, and Shouto squeezes your calf. “I don’t know,” is your whispered confession.

His thumb strokes the side of your leg, so, so careful as his claws slide across your delicate skin. “Do you…” The way he trails off makes you look at him, and Shouto wets his lips, eyes searching yours almost desperately. “Will you trust me?”

What he’s really asking makes you tense. The water is suddenly freezing around your legs, and your hand grasps the sea glass dangling against your chest. “What if the current pulls me under again?”

“It won’t.” I won’t let it, he doesn’t say out loud, but you hear it anyway.

You’re slow to answer, searching his gaze in return. Finding what you’re looking for, you murmur, “Okay.” 

Shouto stays close to the rock as you pull your legs from the water and stand. You reach for your clothes, hesitating, but under his patient gaze you peel your shirt over your head, dropping it to the dry surface behind you. Your shorts follow, leaving you more naked than you’ve been in months. You’re so busy staring at the waves that you don’t see the greedy way his eyes take you in, drinking in the sight of your bare skin until he reaches your face and his expression softens completely. You really do look beautiful in the sunlight.

When you sit back on the edge of the rock, legs once again dangling in the water, you tense, heart in your throat as your pulse spikes. You almost pull away, but Shouto’s hand on your leg stops you. His palm slides over your knee, your thigh, and his clawed fingers curl around your hip. There’s no push or pull to his touch, he just holds you there, waiting for you to make the choice.

A shudder runs through you as you shift your hips, slowly sinking down in the water. It swallows you up, cold water rushing around your legs until it reaches your waist. Shouto never lets you go, and his hand is warm and steadying against your side, holding back the flood of panic threatening to choke your lungs.

“Watch your feet,” he murmurs, angling his tail away from your vulnerable skin.

The water reaches your chest, and suddenly the ocean is calm around you, the ebb and flow of the currents seeming to disappear as your arms wrap around Shouto’s neck, trusting him to hold you up. Neither of you move, floating mere feet away from the rocks. Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to burst, but the gentle roll of the waves lull you.

You shiver from the cold, but Shouto is warm against your front, and you lean into his chest, tucking your head against his neck and letting the saltwater scent of him wrap around you. Being in the water again is like coming home, and for the first time since since you nearly drowned a sense of peace washes over you.

“That’s it, love,” he murmurs, lips pressed to your temple as he feels you relax. He pulls you tighter against his chest, one strong arm banded around your waist. His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, helping you tuck yourself beneath his chin. It causes the water to lap at your lower jaw, but Shouto chases away your fear with a gentle hand and quiet praise.

You can’t be sure how much time passes like that, but eventually your eyes slip shut, and your breathing evens out. Shouto nuzzles against your hair, a quiet purring sound rumbling deep in his chest, the vibrations soothing you. “Good?” he murmurs, breath hot against your exposed ear.

You nod, half-asleep, and it’s hard to pull yourself from the curve of his shoulder and neck, but you want to see his eyes. Shouto’s nose bumps against yours as he tilts his chin to look at you, surprised by your movement, and he tenses, eyes locked with yours and lips a breath away. “Thank you,” you murmur, almost able to taste the salt on his skin.

His throat bobs with a harsh swallow, and he leans down an inch, just to press his forehead to yours. Shouto’s claws flex against the back of your neck, almost nervous, and he looks at you like he wants to speak, but only nods. 

His lips brush against your hairline as he tucks you safely back beneath his chin.

XXX

It’s nearly midnight when you make your way down to the beach, the full moon shining overhead, brighter than you’ve ever seen it. Masaki is gone for the night, and your house was too quiet, too lonely for you to stay in, unable to fall asleep. And your first thought was Shouto. You have no way of knowing if he’ll be here tonight. You never meet this late, and yet you find yourself searching for him regardless.

A large part of you felt like you needed to be here tonight, an inexplicable urge to see him overtaking you, though you already saw him once today, early in the morning. He seemed agitated then, pacing in the water more than usual, his tone gruff and snappish. You didn’t ask why, and he seemed to calm down quickly enough once you slipped into the water beside him.

Shouto practically wrapped himself around you when you did, purring as he rubbed his cheek against yours and pulled you close to his chest. Even his tail brushed against you more than usual, almost like he was trying to coax you to play.

You set his odd behavior aside as you settle into your usual spot on the rocks, legs slipping into the water on the flat of the stone, a sheer cliff disappearing into the water for twenty feet until it reaches the bottom. The hem of your dress flirts with the surface of the water, but you don’t pay it a second thought. The seawater will wash out.

“Shouto?” you call out across the waves, a distant splash causing your head to snap up. Your legs become still in the water, eyes searching for him, but the sea breeze and waves are the only sound, and you must have imagined it. Leaning back on your hands, you sigh, staring up at the moon. Pale light reflects off the water, the moon’s reflection far off on the horizon.

You shriek as something grabs you beneath the water, lashing out with your legs. Clawed fingers wrap around your legs, pinning them against the rocks. You choke on a gasp, eyes wide, but your heart slows when you see a familiar head breach the surface of the water. “Dammit, Shouto,” you breathe, giggling lightly as you shake your head. “You scared me.”

When he doesn’t respond, you glance at him, the moon so full and bright that you’re able to see him perfectly, despite the dark.

Your breath catches when you really look at the merman. For the first time since you met him, he looks utterly inhuman, and the sight makes your heart stutter in your chest. His pupils are slits, silver and turquoise swallowing the black until his eyes appear bottomless, so easy to drown in. Lips curved back over his sharp teeth, there's a flicker of hunger in his eyes as they settle on you. Something feral and wanting.

“You shouldn’t be in the water tonight, love,” he tells you, voice lower than usual, deeper, almost a growl. The shock of it rumbles through you; it makes you shiver. His claws drag against the soft skin of your leg, curling around you, and for the first time you feel the threatening prick of them. The hint of danger slams the breath from your lungs, and your heart pounds against your ribs as his hand slowly moves higher.

Taken aback by his touch, you do nothing to stop him. “Have you,” you cut off, sucking in a sharp breath as he nudges your legs apart. “Have you been here all afternoon?” You weren’t expecting this when you came down here tonight, and the way he’s touching you is making it hard to think. He’s never acted like this before. At least not around you. And it’s throwing you for a loop.

He shakes his head, claws digging into the rock. The hand curled just beneath your knee tugs you forward. You yelp, slipping down the side until you’re balanced precariously on the edge, your fingers digging into the rock to hold yourself up as he pulls your legs apart. “I could smell you,” he murmurs, purring as his mouth presses against your inner thigh, dangerously close to the line of your panties. He nuzzles you, breathing growing heavier as he drinks in your scent. 

It should be embarrassing, but the way his tongue laves attention to your thigh has heat pooling in your belly. Your breathing quickens, and with one shaky hand you reach out, holding onto his shoulder for balance as wicked, sharp teeth nip at you. Your hips lurch, and Shouto’s claws dig into your thigh, not enough to hurt you, but the minor jolt of pain makes you whimper. The hem of your dress is drenched in seawater, and the fabric slides wetly over the tops of your thighs as Shouto shoves the fabric upward, giving himself more access to your sinfully smooth skin.

Your fingers dig into his shoulder as he presses slow, wet kisses across the inside of your thigh, mouth wandering, tasting you. “Shouto,” you gasp as he hikes your knee over his shoulder, giving himself greater access to you as your leg dangles down his back, seawater dripping from your skin to his. Mewling, you arch into his touch as his tongue drags across the crease between your thigh and your core. He mouths at you, and the sensation of sharp teeth on your sensitive skin makes you jolt. “Shouto,” you call his name again, “what are you doing?”

A pointless question when his head is buried between your thighs, his teeth and tongue running along your soft skin, tasting and touching as he drags quiet sounds from your mouth.

Your hips jerk, a keening cry escaping you as his teeth press down. He jolts at the sound, ripping himself away from you. A swear is hissed between his teeth. His pupils are wider when they lock with yours, wavering between lucid and feral slits. “I--I’m sorry,” he stutters, panting, claws digging into the rock beside you. “You need to… you need to go home,” he tells you firmly, glaring as he tries to pull himself from your sweet taste. “The full moon,” he continues before you can ask him why. “It makes us… frenzied, and… you smell really good.”

The way he purrs at the end of his statement makes you shiver in anticipation. You wet your lips. “What do I smell like?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Me,” he growls, clearly pleased with himself. When you don’t pull away, he descends on you again, and you flush as his lips brush against the front of your underwear, tongue flicking out to taste the damp spot forming between your legs. “But sweeter,” he adds, a deep rumble in his chest.

“Shouto,” you whine, hand moving to the back of his head. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, and he purrs again when you tug, trying to pull him closer. “Don’t,” he snaps, pressing another chaste kiss to your thigh. “I can’t--I’m not myself like this.” His breathing is heavier than before, and he shudders. “I want to--” His fingers dig into your thigh.

“Want to what, Shou?” you find yourself asking, overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips on your skin.

His answer is immediate, a warning growl. “Breed you.”

It dawns on you then, why he was so strange earlier in the day, and why he’s acting like this now. It’s some kind of rut, or whatever they might call it. And, distantly, it makes sense. The moon controls the tides, the psyche. For creatures born from the waves, it must have some power over them as well. And he wants you. Shouto is giving you an out, a chance to run, and you should take it. It would be better to talk about this tomorrow, when he’s more himself, but then his sharp teeth nip at the meat of your inner thigh again, and you let him spread your legs wider.

“Please,” you murmur, head tilting back as he presses his face between your thighs, kitten licks toying with your clit through your panties. Each lap at your slit and sensitive bundle of nerves sends heat rushing between your thighs, and your breathing grows heavy, the pleasure almost unbearable and he’s hardly touched you. He shifts in the water, glancing up at you from between your legs, and the sight makes your core clench around nothing. “Shouto, don’t stop.”

Something flickers in his eyes.

He drags you into the water with him.

A gasp tears from your mouth, your eyes widening as he spins you around, shoving your chest against the rocks. Your short dress tangles around your thighs until he yanks it upwards, the fabric billowing in the water. He reaches around you, palming your breast through your dress, and the thin, soaked fabric clings to you, making the friction even better. The threat of his claws on your chest makes you whimper, your head falling back against his shoulder. Shouto holds you up easily in the water, tail flicking wildly beneath you. His hips press against yours from behind, smooth and flat, and your eyes flutter shut as his sharp teeth press against the side of your throat.

A hazy thought of how he plans to fuck you crosses your mind, but then something long and thick slides from a slit you never noticed in the top of his tail. You shudder as he ruts against you from behind, cock sliding wetly between your thighs. It’s slick and smooth on the sides, curved at the tip, and you moan as a long line of ridges along the top rub against your clit through your panties.

“Shouto,” you whimper, thighs squeezing around the hard length pressed between your legs. He grunts against your neck, sliding between your thighs easily, leaving them sticky with some kind of thick fluid that makes your skin feel hot.

One clawed hand wanders down the front of your torso, nearly ripping your dress in two. You arch against him, spreading your legs in the water as his long tail nudges between your knees, holding you open to the hand that slips between your legs. The tip of one claw traces your slit, and he pins you against the ledge to keep you from squirming as the smooth side of his claw rubs against your clit. He doesn’t stop until you’re squirming, begging for him to do something, as your breathing grows uneven. Sharp teeth bite down on the curve of your shoulder, and your stomach flips as he hooks his claw around the scrap of fabric between your legs, slicing through your panties with ease.

The head of his cock presses against your pussy, more of that sticky fluid smearing against your skin as those ridges slide over your clit. Whimpering, your head falls back. Your hands reach around to grab his hair, his shoulders, anything within your reach, trusting him to hold you up.

“Mine,” he growls against the back of your neck, his hand sliding beneath your dress to press against your stomach. His hips pull back and snap forward just as quickly, and you moan as the head of his cock slips inside you. Each rock of his hips forces him deeper inside you, filling you inch by inch until you can barely breathe. He’s thick, bigger than you thought, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you until there’s nowhere left untouched. You should be uncomfortably full, but the slick fluid dripping from his cock and the ridges rubbing against you have nothing but pleasure coiling inside you.

The pace he picks up is harsh, fast, his cock thrusting inside of you roughly. His breath is hot against your ear, and his teeth are pressed to the thin skin of your neck, your pulse fluttering beneath the threat of his jaws tearing into you. 

Your walls clench down around him.

Shouto purrs, palm pressing firmly against your belly. You moan and gasp, choked sounds are the only noises you’re able to make as the ridges on his cock rub against your sweet spot with every stroke against your sensitive inner walls. 

Your pleasure builds rapidly, coiling tightly between your legs until you’re trembling against him. Shouto’s claws flick over your nipple, rolling it carefully with his fingers, and the hand on your stomach slinks lower, dipping between your thighs to rub against your swollen clit until you come around his cock.

Another purr rumbles through his chest into yours, and Shouto’s pace speeds up even further as you clench around him, squirming. 

You don’t know how long he fucks you like this, the pleasure overwhelming you as he pulls another orgasm from your boneless, breathless body. His cock twitches inside of you, seeming to swell, and his teeth dig into the curve of your shoulder and neck, drawing blood as he spills himself inside you.

“You called me yours,” you say, later, half asleep on the rocks, exhausted from your time in the water with him.

He huffs, looking down at you like it should be obvious. “I’ve been courting you for months,” he murmurs, voice muffled as he dips his chin to press his mouth against the side of your neck, mindful not to pinch you with his sharp teeth. The solid weight of him settles on top of you, his chest pressed against yours. His tongue slides out to lap at the wound on your neck. There must be something in his saliva as well, because the ache is gone as quickly as it starts.

“What?” you ask, eyes widening.

“The sea glass,” he tells you, purring as you reach around him, stroking his bare back. He nuzzles against your neck, kissing down your throat and occasionally licking the salt from your skin. “It’s...It’s what you give to lovers,” is what he tells you, hesitantly, like you might be mad.

But you reach for him, cradling his jaw and stroking his cheeks. “Does that make you mine?”

Shouto leans down to kiss you for the first time, so softly that your heart starts to ache.

XXX

Like so many nights before, you find your feet taking you to the beach, to the rocks that have become a second home to you over the last few months, to Shouto. A piece of your heart burns as you think of him, your chest filling with unimaginable heat. Your stomach churns as your thoughts sour, wondering how long things might last. Seeing each other so rarely, being different species. It won’t work, in the end, but you want to stay. You’ll stay as long as he lets you.

Your lips curve upward as soon as you see him waiting for you.

For a moment, you think he’s asleep. That he was only sunning himself on the rocks, soaking in the last rays of daylight before the sunset disappeared, and he lost track of time. He doesn’t look up as you approach, footsteps nearly silent as you traverse the rocks, knowing exactly where to step. You’ve become decent at sneaking up on him, but he always notices you before you can truly surprise him. His senses are too sharp; he’s too in-tune with you.

Dread crawls down your throat and chokes you, strangling your heart when you see blood smeared across the rocks. The faint smile quirked on your lips disappears as your eyes snap up, locking on his tense frame. You’re close enough to hear him now, muttering something in a language you don’t understand, trembling with the effort it takes to hold himself up. The sight of him makes you sick.

His back is to you, his wild stare cast out over the sea, and you’re close enough to see the long, bloody gashes stretching across his back. Deep and curved, they’ve ripped through his flesh like tissue paper. Claw marks, you realize. They’re claw marks. The spines jutting from his tail are damaged too, some snapped and jagged in places, and they seem to ooze where they’ve been broken in two, clear fluid dripping down onto his tail.

You don’t think when you lurch forward, raw panic surging inside you. Dropping to your knees beside him, you grasp his shoulder, a breathless, “Shouto,” falling from your lips.

He goes rigid beneath your gentle touch, head snapping up and around, pupils shrunken into animalistic slits. You can’t blame him for his defensive reaction. Still half-turned away, his tail snaps up and out. He lashes out, bleeding and hurt. Instinct drives him to it. 

The undamaged spines stop inches from piercing through your flesh, aimed for your chest and throat, a startled sound escaping you. Your fingers tremble where they hover just inches above his arm, heart stuttering, Your chest feels tight, suddenly, like something is gripping you and squeezing, and it makes phantom pain shoot through your ribcage. 

Shouto chokes out your name in the most broken, horrified tone you’ve ever heard. His spines flex, flaring, and the delicate edge of one almost lovingly brushes against your cheek. “I--I didn’t.” He’s still staring at you, looking pale and sickly under the moonlight. Claws scrape across the ground before he reaches for you, stopping before he can touch you. Tension makes his fingers tremble. He’s still coiled tightly, like might lunge for you, or throw himself into the water.

It takes a moment for your heart to slow, the sudden spark of fear bleeding away into nothing as he stares at you. Carefully, you shift away from his spines, movements painfully slow. Shouto follows you with his eyes, holding his breath. He’s stopped stuttering apologies, his jaw clenched.

When you reach forward to cup his jaw, he melts into your touch, shuddering. Your thumbs stroke across his cheeks, slow soothing motions that coax him to relax, to trust you. A soft, apologetic sound rumbles in his throat, and Shouto tilts his cheek into your touch, lips brushing against the side of your palm. “What happened?” you whisper as his pupils widen, dilating as your sweet scent washes over him.

Shouto stiffens at the question, but your soft hands and gentle touch quell the cacophony of emotions swelling inside him.

His tongue flicks out across his lips, and his tail twitches again. Shouto shifts his lower-half away from you, but can’t bring himself to pull away from you entirely. Even if he wanted to, you wouldn’t let him go far. Each subtle shift and flex of his body is mirrored by you, not giving him a moment to overthink your momentary fear. 

Silence threatens to consume you both before he finally speaks. “My father found out about you,” he eventually admits, allowing you to run your fingers through his damp hair. The pad of your thumb brushes the underside of a cut across his temple, and your distress makes his stomach churn. “He wasn’t pleased.”

Outrage makes your throat tighten. “So he attacked you?” you ask in disbelief, voice strained.

“This is how our kind settle disagreements,” Shouto tells you. A heavy sigh makes his shoulders droop. His tail goes lax on the rocks, the forked fins at the bottom handing over the edge and dipping into the water. “I’ll be fine,” he promises, reaching up to cover one of your hands with his. Rough lips press against your palm again, so tender that your heart begins to ache. “We heal quickly.”

You want to argue. Want to check the wounds on his back. But you can see that he isn’t lying. Already, the horrid gashes across his back are starting to close, wounds clotting. What’s left of the blood is diluted from the water dripping down his skin, leaving watery red lines painted across his ribs, like the stripes on his tail.

Before you can speak, Shouto moves again, propping himself up with his tail and reaching for you. Your hands fall to his shoulders, and this time it’s his hands cradling your jaw so carefully, like you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever held. “Are you all right?” The tip of his nose brushes against your temple as he pulls you to his chest, arms winding around your back. 

“You scared me,” you admit to him, so softly that he almost doesn’t hear you. When your words reach him, he tenses, wincing. “Not because of that,” you’re quick to say, sinking into him. The tips of your fingers brush against a wound on the back of his neck. It turns silver before your eyes. “You weren’t moving.”

His chest rumbles with a purr, and your eyes flutter shut as he presses his lips to your forehead, holding them there in a lingering kiss. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs, grip tightening around you. He makes another quiet sound deep in his throat, hands stroking over your back and sides reassuringly. 

A sharp pain licks across your side when his palm smooths over your ribs. Before you can stop it, a soft cry escapes you, and Shouto jerks back. Mismatched eyes find yours and narrow when he sees you wince. Then, his gaze snaps to your side, hand wrenching away from you as the color drains from his face. “Blood,” he murmurs, staring at the red smear across his palm. “Are you bleeding?”

Panic creeps into his tone. The shirt you’re wearing is too dark to tell, but you whimper as his palm presses back to your side. It’s like your ribs have been bruised again, but so much worse. Fire flares across your ride side when you breathe, crawling beneath your skin.

You don’t feel it when Shouto yanks the side of your shirt upwards, claws digging into the fabric and tearing. “No,” you hear him whisper, a desperate, broken sound. He swears. 

The cut across your ribs is small, shallow, but it bleeds slowly. Already, your skin is inflamed around the wound, puffy and red. The cause is obvious, and your whimper rips his heart from his chest. Shouto’s blood runs cold. His hands shake as he holds you up. 

The venom works quickly. It paralyzes you. The heat burning beneath your skin is unbearably hot, and you can’t breathe.

“Shouto,” you whisper as he pulls you to his chest. “What’s going on?” Everything is foggy, muffled, like you’re underwater. Even the sound of his voice calling out your name is starting to slip away from you.

“I’m sorry,” he sputters, voice cracking. “I don’t--I didn’t--fuck, I’m so sorry, love.” He can’t fix this. He hurt you, and there’s nothing he can do to stop his venom from sinking into your flesh and blood now that it’s already there. Dammit, he should have checked you right away--but even if he had it would have been too late. One second, an instant of his control slipping. That’s all it takes for him to hurt people, and he knows that. Merfolk have no cure for his venom, but your kind do. There’s a cure for the venom of the lionfish he so closely resembles.

But he’s bigger than a lionfish.

“Shouto?” you whimper again, not understanding. You can’t breathe. Why can’t you breathe?

You pitch forward suddenly, and Shouto hushes you, lowering you onto the rock as he strokes your hair. Too weak to pull himself over the ledge earlier, the two of you are kneeling where the rock gently slopes into the water, and the currents cause small waves to lap at you. Seawater soaks into your clothes as he sets you down on your side, hands hovering inches from your skin, afraid to touch you. The sea glass pendant you’re wearing slips into the water.

The currents slow, and the turquoise glass glows beneath the moon as it sinks beneath the surface. 

Shouto rolls you to your back, careful not to touch the festering wound on your side. Your eyes are half-lidded when he leans over you, nose nudging your cheek, needy as he waits for a response. There isn’t one. He tries purring again, trying to soothe you like his mother always did for him, but you’re so far gone to the venom, already half-way lost to him.

The ocean ripples behind him, the water parting as a long, serpentine head breaches the surface. Shouto doesn’t notice, still leaning over you, voice low and hushed as he begs you to move, to open your eyes, but your chest is struggling weakly now, each breath slow and painful.

A catlike, slitted pupil locks on Shouto, then you, drifting between your bodies to the necklace you wear. “So this is where it’s been,” a voice muses. A sleek, dark mass moves beneath the surface of the water, a long body writhing and twisting around itself.

Shouto’s head snaps up, and his eyes are rimmed in red as they connect with vibrant, blue irises set into a long, scaled face. Dark horns protrude from the creatures head. Fins the same deep shade of blue flutter against the creature's face, and lips curve back to reveal a row of sharp fangs.

Breath caught in his throat, Shouto can only stare at the creature he’s only heard about in tales and stories. The sea god. The dragon god. A name sticks on Shouto’s tongue, but he doesn’t dare speak it, not with the monstrous dragon rising out of the water.

“Little lost fragment,” the sea god speaks, voice soft and deep. The dragon reaches for you, one long claw brushing against your chest, the tip coming to rest over the sea glass pressed over your struggling heart. Turquoise light crackles beneath the dragon’s touch, and Shouto’s heart lurches into his throat. It isn’t sea glass at all. It never was. 

“Humans shouldn’t play with things they don’t understand,” Ryujin muses, tone caught somewhere between vengeful and sympathetic. His claw hooks beneath the chain around your throat, but doesn’t pull. The pendant above your heart loses it’s glow, the dragon reclaiming its power before releasing you.

A wet crackle leaves Shouto as he tries to speak. “How--” he starts, cutting off as Ryujin’s eye cuts back to him, silencing him.

“It called to me,” the dragon god states plainly, answering what Shouto couldn’t ask. For months he searched for the fragment of his precious stones, sensing it had been claimed. A wish is owed. Ryujin glances down at you again, a low sound rumbling through his chest like thunder. “You’ve killed her,” he continues, eyeing the wound on your side and the spines flaring on Shouto’s tail. “And such a pretty thing.”

Shouto bristles, baring his teeth at the god. A growl rips from deep in his chest, but the dragon only looks at him, amused. “Can you save her?” Shouto snaps, staring his god in the eyes.

The dragon blinks at him, slow and amused. “I can.”

Tongue flicking out over his dry lips, Shouto asks the question he knows could have dire consequences, desperation outweighing fear. “What will it cost?” He should know better than to make demands of a god, but if it means saving you, he’d do anything.

“What will you give?” Ryujin asks instead.

Shouto looks at you, so still beneath him. So silent. Your chest isn’t moving anymore. Your heartbeat is slow and falling silent as well. “Everything,” he says, reaching up to stroke his knuckles across your cheek, willing you to open your eyes for him, to smile one more time. He swallows down the lump in his throat, glaring at the god. “I’ll give you everything.”

Ryujin laughs. He sneers at Shouto, baring his fangs. “Foolish boy,” the dragon calls him, snorting, breath hot as it fans across the merman’s face. “I’ll accept your deal.” The dragon lashes out suddenly, clawed fingers grasping Shouto’s tail, making the merman gasp. “And I’ll take what’s mine.”

Before Shouto can protest, he’s ripped under the water, dragged to the bottom as the serpent rips him out to sea. He tenses, struggling, but the spines jutting from his tail snap beneath the sea god’s grip, bouncing harmlessly off the dragon’s thick scales. The god’s claws dig into his flesh, ripping through tissue and bone, and Shouto cries out as his blood diffuses in the water. Iron coats his tongue, choking him, and water rushes down his throat as he forgets to hold his breath.

“So quick to leave the water. Never thinking of the consequences.” Ryujin’s voice rumbles through his head. A sharp claw presses just below Shouto’s waist, sinking deep into his flesh. “Submerge yourself in salt and be cast back to the seafoam you come from.”

The dragon rips his tail in two.

XXX

Your eyes snap open. Heart in your throat, you’re unable to move for several long seconds. Your head hurts, your thoughts hazy. The side of your ribs ache in a way they haven’t in months, and you lie there, trying to recall how you got here. 

Waves lap at your bare toes, and you know you’re on the beach without having to look. Sand and salt stick to your skin as you shift, a shuddering breath escaping from your parted lips as you sit up and stare across the water. 

Memories come back to you, ebbing and flowing like the tides, bits and pieces coming together as the sun begins to rise over the horizon. The pain of his spine burying itself in your side. The fear in his eyes. A warm breath fanning over your face; a thunderous voice calling you back. Calling you home.

You remember dying.

A low groan disrupts your train of thought, and your head snaps toward the sound. Your breath catches when you see him lying next to you, on his back in the sand. “Shouto,” you gasp, lurching towards him, throwing yourself on top of him. He grunts, eyes shooting open as your weight presses down on top of him. Like last time, he recoils, ready to strike, but then his bicolored eyes find yours and it’s like the breath is ripped from his lungs. 

Shouto stares up at you in shameless wonder, lips parting, but no sound escaping his raw throat. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his hand from the ground, reaching for you. Fingertips brush against your cheek, his hand calloused and human. “You’re alive,” he murmurs, emotion welling in his eyes.

You wipe away salt as it trails across the curve of his cheek. “I’m alive,” you repeat. For yourself, and for him. You take his hand in yours, staring at the space his claws should be as you brush your fingertips across his knuckles. He shifts, and you realize there are legs beneath you, not a tail. “Shouto, how…” you trail off, trying again. “What did you--”

He hushes you, sitting up and pulling you onto his lap. His nose bumps against yours, and your knees press against his hips. “It’s okay,” he tells you, soft and sweet. “We’re okay, love.” 

A pressure builds in your chest, swelling and threatening to burst. “I love you,” you tell him.

You draw him in to meet you, one hand fisted in his hair as the other wraps around his back, holding him to you. Shouto comes willingly, mouth meeting yours in a kiss that’s harsh and sweet all at once, all of your combined fear and desperation spilling out at once. His arms wrap around you, fingers blunt and warm as they slide down your back to slip beneath your shirt, wanting to feel your skin beneath his. Shouto’s mouth chases yours when you lean back, and he cradles you so carefully, like he’s afraid you might break.

He’s naked, and you’re both covered in sand and salt and blood, but neither of you care as he presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

It hits you, what he must have done--what he gave up for you--and your heart squeezes. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, stroking your fingers across his cheeks and nuzzling against him.

But Shouto shakes his head. His hands are firm on your hips, unwilling to let you go. “I’m not.” And he draws you to him; you let yourself drown.

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 28

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:)

cw: light physical violence, spiraling thoughts

~

They always say that time stops. The world freezes. Nothing so much as breathes when you meet their eyes. The world is dreamlike, and the two of you are the only things in it. The only life, pulled together by instantaneous love.

That wasn't what happened when Patton saw Virgil.

Instead, time seemed to skip a beat, then move even faster than before.

Several seconds were lost, and Patton stared around as the room changed. Remus’s parents were hugging the other person who entered with Virgil, who he guessed was Remus’s brother Roman. Remus was standing now, closer to the mantel on the other side of the room, and suddenly Remus’s dad wasn’t even in the room, he was outside with Roman, and Virgil was leaving too. Patton exchanged a look with Remus—he clearly recognized Virgil. He looked scared, and kept biting his lips. Patton felt fear rise, and almost stood up himself—it felt strange, to be the only thing that hadn’t moved. Like he was in the eye of a storm. It was times like these that Patton wished he could hear.

Roman was back and Remus seemed to cower away, turning his face. That didn’t hide him. Roman’s eyes landed on Patton for a moment, who waved awkwardly. A crease of confusion appeared between his eyes, barely affecting his cheery smile, then he saw Remus and his face lost all color and the smile slid from his lips.

Roman stepped forward slowly, as if time had stopped for him—and maybe it had. Patton felt afraid to breathe, afraid to disturb the almost shimmering quality of this meeting. Roman approached his brother, and Patton could certainly see the resemblance. Sure, Roman’s hair was shorter and styled, and he was clean-shaven, but the two were almost exactly the same height. Their hair color was within a shade of difference, and Roman had that same dimple that Remus did. Even their body types appeared to be modeled off each other. If Patton hadn’t known better, he would have guessed they were twins.

Roman was turned away from him, so if he said anything, Patton didn’t know. What Patton did know was that Remus said something, accompanied with a slight quirk of his mouth, then crumpled against the wall as Roman’s fist hit his face.

Patton did jump up now, and Remus’s dad ran to check on Remus while his mom held Roman back. Then Patton turned to the door and saw Virgil again, clearly saying something, eyes scrunched up as he ran his fingers along his forearm.

Virgil. He looked just like himself, but different. His hair was shorter—normal length for him, probably, just dipping into his eyes. His eyes were far more clear than Patton had ever seen them, and he was surprised to see just how sparkly they really were—almost as if rays of sun were peeking through the cloudy grey. His jeans were torn and splattered with paint, but it was probably on purpose. He was wearing a hoodie, plain black, not near as nice as the purple-patched one Patton was wearing. His cheeks were full, there was a ring on his hand, his shoes were nice.

For everything that made Virgil unrecognizable, there was something that was unmistakably him. The shadows under his eyes matched the black of his jacket. His fingers tapped lithely on his forearm, as if spelling. His stance was slouched, and the curve of his lip caught between his teeth spoke volumes about how anxious he was. He ran one hand through his hair, causing it to stick straight up and causing Patton to experience a wave of intense homesickness. This was his Virgil.

Patton was across the room in three strides that felt like only half of one, time skipping again until he found himself in front of Virgil, tripping over a bump in the carpet, quite literally falling into his arms. Virgil tensed. Patton waited.

And waited.

Wasn’t this when everything was supposed to become perfect? The moment where it all washed away, and nothing mattered except him? A shield against the outer world, safe forever in his arms.

But Patton still felt hurt. He still felt angry at his father. He still felt lost. He still felt like something inside was broken, or missing, or taken. Being with Virgil was supposed to fix everything, but nothing felt like it had changed.

Tears built up in Patton’s eyes as he let Virgil push him away. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Why wasn’t it okay yet? Why did he still feel wrong?

He loved Virgil so much. Maybe he could be not-okay. Maybe he could be not-better, with Virgil.

That sounded . . . all right. That sounded lovely, even.

Softly, Patton took Virgil’s arm, not letting him jerk away when he tried. Virgil, he traced, trying not to let the tears spill onto his cheeks. Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. It’s me. It’s me. It’s Patton.

-

“Roman Hyrum Allred! Do not punch your brother—do not punch anyone!”

“Nah, it’s . . . it’s, uh, okay. Dad.” Remus prodded his nose gingerly. It stung, but didn’t seem to be broken. “I told him he could.”

Roman shook his hand out, pulling away from their mom. “Hey,” he said casually. “Where’ve you been?”

Remus let his dad help him up. “Around,” he answered, just as casually. He didn’t really feel like baring his soul at the moment.

“Remus, are you all right?” his dad asked quietly, checking out his face with concern. It must’ve looked pretty bad. Still, Remus waved him off.

“Yeah. Just glad he remembered the three R’s.”

Across from him, Roman smiled sheepishly. “I kept my promise.” He laughed slightly, then let the smile fade. “Why are you here?” This was sort of what Remus had been afraid of. He didn’t exactly feel welcome, but to have it spelled out like that sucked. His family had grown up without him. Roman looked so old, No longer the little middle-school kid in the front row of the choir concert. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it—he’d accepted long ago that he’d lost them, probably forever. Now, though, it really hit home. Remus hadn’t just lost them. He’d lost an entire life, one that he wasn’t sure he could ever get back.

Even now, surrounded by his family, he felt like a stranger. The house was the same house, these were the same people, but he no longer belonged to them. It felt fake. Nothing like how he’d imagined a reunion to be.

Remus wondered if he could pass off the tears as a result of the burning in his nose.

“I, uh,” Remus cleared his throat. “I got lost. And trapped.” He held Roman’s gaze. There was nothing familiar in those eyes. “I tell ya, all I’ve wanted for years was to come back.”

“So why didn’t you?” Roman asked. He didn’t waver, didn’t even blink, his expression more solemn than Remus had ever seen on a thirteen year old--because he wasn’t thirteen. He was a whole adult.

“It’s not that simple—” Remus started, but Roman cut him off.

“Yes it is.” His tone brokered no argument, and Remus watched the openness in his eyes shutter closed. “It is that simple. All you have to do is tell me where you were and why you couldn’t come back. That’s all I need. Then I’ll forgive you.”

Remus balked. He wasn’t here for forgiveness—except he was, sort of. He wanted to make up for leaving them, he wanted to tell them everything that had kept him from returning home, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he sit them down and calmly explain that he got caught up in a cult that brainwashed him to the point of rewriting and erasing old memories? How could he tell them that he only barely escaped with his life, then struggled to even remember their names?

“I can’t,” he muttered. Roman turned away. “Of course,” Roman said tiredly. “Like always. Virgil, would you—?” he fell silent. Roman’s arms fell to his sides as he stared at something. Remus leaned to the side, trying to see what it was.

Remus had seen Virgil when he’d walked in, but had completely ignored him. It was absurd for him to be here—what were the odds that Virgil would be kidnapped by a cult Remus was in, and also know Roman, halfway across the country? Remus would have written it off as a hallucination if Patton hadn’t also seen him. So instead, he decided to focus on more tangible things, like his college-age brother and his unfamiliar eyes.

Now Virgil had fallen to his knees, his mouth an ‘o’, choking on tears. In his arms was Patton, also bawling his eyes out. They were holding onto each other so tightly Remus could see Virgil’s knuckles turning white, bunched up in Pat’s hoodie. Honestly? Remus wasn’t surprised. Other than, of course, the ongoing shock that Virgil was even here.

This was the weirdest day ever, and coming from a man who had lived in a cult for about a decade? That was saying something.

Roman crouched beside the two, laying his hand on Patton’s back. “You must be Patton,” he said kindly. “It’s so good to meet you.”

Okay, now Remus was crying. When had his brother graduated from the shrimpy little eighth grader who was constantly picking fights to a smiling young man who would comfort people he hardly knew? Not for the first time (and certainly not for the last), Remus wished he’d never left.

Virgil laughed wetly, briefly letting go of Patton to lightly smack Roman’s arm. “He can’t hear, moron,” he croaked.

Remus left before he could see any more, stumbling a bit in the doorway of the kitchen. This wasn’t really his moment. This wasn’t his moment, or home, or life. This all felt so . . . weird. So . . . out of place.

Roman seemed happy, at least. Better than he’d been before he left. Remus couldn’t believe he’d remembered, and kept that promise all those years.

-

“You gotta stop fighting everyone.”

“You’re not my dad!”

The kid turned away, tension in every line of his body. Remus rolled his eyes. “So?” he said, shutting his bedroom door. “Stop acting out. It’s embarrassing.”

Roman laughed bitterly. “For who? You?”

“Yeah, maybe!”

Roman turned back. Tears were dripping from the corners of his eyes. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be good at school! That’s all you all want from me, isn’t it? You don’t actually care about me!”

If Remus knew anything, that was teenage angst. Roman was barely thirteen, why did he have so much already?

“I never said you had to be good at school,” Remus replied, gesturing to the bed. Roman didn’t sit down. “I just said you need to stop fighting. School blows. I don’t care if you get good grades or whatever. But it’s even worse without friends, and y’aren’t gonna have any of those if you don’t stop throwing hands and start shaking hands.”

“But I want to hit things!” To prove his point, the kid stomped hard enough that the bed shook.

“Okay, how about this?” Remus took a step closer, spreading his arms wide. “You’re mad? Hit me. You can take it out on me because I’m your brother. You can lose friends. You can’t lose me. We’re stuck together.”

Roman bit his lip and looked away. Remus waited patiently. After clearly thinking it over for a few moments, Roman turned back. His eyes were squinted, but trusting.

“Promise?”

“‘Course I do.”

“But what if there’s someone else who really needs to be punched?”

Remus burst out laughing. “Like who?”

Roman shrugged, his foot tracing a circle on the floor. “I dunno. Some people just need it, y’know?”

Remus considered it, still chuckling. Some people did need it. “All right, people who deserve it. Maybe. . . .” he paused, then it came to him. “Three groups of people, okay?”

Roman nodded, grinning.

“The three R’s,” Remus said, counting them off on his fingers. “Racists, rapists, and Remus. That’s who you can punch, and that's it. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Then Roman’s fist collided with his stomach and Remus ducked away, laughing.

-

Well, Roman had kept his promise. Remus hadn’t kept his own.

“Son? Do you need anything?”

Remus stared out the kitchen window, trying to avoid looking at the all-new tiling, or his mother, or back at the living room. “N-no,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m good. Thanks, Mom.”

-

Virgil’s brain wouldn’t shut up. It kept accusing Patton of being a hallucination, or telling him he was back in the room, or insisting that this was just a dream.

Virgil ignored it. Even if this wasn’t real, it was everything he wanted.

It was night now, but his mind hadn’t stopped racing. Just this morning he’d been running to English to turn in a paper before the professor’s office closed, and now he was in bed with the love of—with Patton wrapped around him. Virgil had no clue what time it was. He didn’t want to move to tap his phone and jostle Patton. Still, it was probably late enough that everyone else was asleep.

Patton wasn’t. He was laying very still, his head pressed against Virgil’s chest, but he was definitely not asleep. His breathing was too loud, and his body too stiff.

The first thing Roman had done was call Virgil’s therapist to gloat or something. Virgil had begged him not too, but a Roman with a purpose was unstoppable. So now Virgil had no therapist because Roman got caught up in the moment and fired her.

Throughout all that, Virgil never let go of Patton. He knew his way around the Allred household better than Patton did, but let him guide anyway. They even held hands during dinner, making it awkward to use silverware, but Virgil wouldn’t have it any other way.

It hit him again just how impossible this was. That Patton was here.

Remus had told a very long story about it, but one that was definitely censored. He hadn’t talked much at all about his own time in the cult, which Virgil was very curious about. He hadn’t recognized him until he mentioned rescuing Virgil.

Remus had put all the pieces together, in a way. He was the connection, the one who knew everybody in the story. It felt crazy—the same man who dragged him from the cult was the same man who was friends with Patton’s dad and was the same man who was his roommate’s long lost brother. No, it didn’t just feel crazy. It was absolutely insane.

Patton shifted, drawing his leg down from where it was draped over Virgil’s. Then he snuffled, reached out, and clicked on a light. He lay half on top of Virgil, so that they were chest to chest, his legs on the other side of the bed, his hands resting on Virgil’s head and face.

Virgil lay still as Patton traced a hand over his face. The room was silent and Virgil didn’t dare break it. His eyelashes fluttered as Patton smoothed down his brows with both thumbs in gentle, rubbing motions. He’d already done this to Patton several times today, so he figured it was only fair that he let Patton do what he needed to.

Virgil’s heart seemed to shake in his chest. He still felt not-quite-right. Maybe he didn’t believe this was real, or the despair of losing Patton was still too fresh to have him back already. Somehow, though, he knew that Patton would be able to fill the cracks. The parts of him that felt not-Virgil could be Patton. Without even conscious thought, Virgil’s hands moved in the signs he’d practiced over and over and over.

“I love you.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath. Patton’s hands left from where they were combing his hair out of his eyes. Virgil didn’t feel worried. Well, for a second he did. For a brief second, his stomach dropped and the world ended. Then Patton spoke.

“I love you.”

Virgil froze. That—that was—Patton—?

It sounded just like him. It sounded like his quiet, wheezing laugh, that got higher in pitch instead of louder. It sounded exactly the way his hands felt, rubbing up and down his back during a night-long hug. It sounded like how his smile felt under Virgil’s fingers, the way one side was higher than the other and his lips were slightly cracked in the middle. It sounded like Patton.

Slowly, almost as if scared, Patton’s hands returned to his face, cupping his cheeks tenderly.

Virgil did the same, one hand buried in his hair, the thumb of his other hand pressed into Patton’s cheek while his fingers curled near his ear.

As if unsure, Patton came carefully closer, Virgil’s hand putting light pressure on his head to tilt it down.

The room was quiet, nothing but their steady breathing breaking the silence. The darkness that was all that Virgil could see somehow no longer felt oppressive, more . . . unexplored. Full of everything, all the disappointments and happiness and anxiety and hurt and new and love.

Cracked in the middle, Patton’s lips pressed gently against his, barely moving at all. His hands tensed, but remained gentle on Virgil’s cheeks. Virgil reciprocated softly, letting Patton lead. The tip of Patton's nose brushed against his, feather light. Slowly, and with a very soft kissing noise, Patton pulled away, drawing Virgil's chin up with him.

Virgil’s hand on Patton's cheek traveled down to his mouth, tracing that smile that was higher on one side.

Then he pulled him back down.

~ Taglist: @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck @larkiaquail @anteonnix @fantasticfander21

[miraculous-ninjabird]

Posting this older work at the request of @rosiehunterwolf

No I don't have anything else context wise for you, sorry

No Working Title

Rating: T for swearing and tw

This is Angst.

TW for: panic attack, mentions of pain/injury, mentions of body modification

Word count: 1862

Summary: Lloyd wakes up after a dangerous showdown with his father that ended badly. Something isn't right, he knows it. He's just not sure what. It doesn't help he can't remember what happened

The first thing that Lloyd becomes aware of is the pleasant sound of singing. The melody is unfamiliar, but soothing. It reminds him of a memory he can’t quite fully grasp. Just a fuzzy feeling of warmth, and safety. It’s a feeling he feels the need to cling to with all his might. A large part of him wants nothing more than to stay just like this.

Another, smaller, part of him is telling him he should do...something. But he is tired. So incredibly tired. He would much rather stay as he is, comfortable and listening to the unfamiliar song.

If he had been in charge, he would have stayed as he was forever. Unfortunately, his mind was being incredibly uncooperative and it was becoming harder and harder to focus. There was still something… Lloyd tries desperately to remember what it is. His brain short circuits and in the end he gives up, allowing the music to lull him back to sleep.

When Lloyd comes to for the second time, he is more aware. Soft voices are arguing above him. A throbbing pain makes itself known to him, pressing behind his eye. He makes an attempt to blink, and instantly regrets the choice. Doing so causes the pain to morph from something moderately uncomfortable into a white hot searing sensation that, for a terrifying moment, completely overtakes him. It starts to fade quickly enough, but it leaves him uncomfortable and upset. In an effort to distract himself, he focuses on the conversation above him.

“Please. It’s been three days. You have to take care of yourself Kai,”

“It’s at least partially my fault this happened. I’m not leaving until I know he’s gonna be okay,”

“I’m not going to get into the fault argument since we’ve already been there. But we know he’s stable. I’ll be here the entire time. Nothing is going to happen. Just six hours. Sleep, eat, shower.”

“I can sleep and eat without having to leave,” Kai counters weakly. Even in his hazy state, Lloyd could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“We both know you won’t do either of those things.” Nya pushes gently. “I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve left that chair for something other than the bathroom in the last week. That���s not good for him or you. You won’t be any help to Lloyd, now or when he wakes up, if you can't at the very least take care of yourself. The last thing we need is both of you out of commission.”

There was a pause, followed by Kai grumbling his agreement. Lloyd struggles with himself, making an effort to do anything to let Kai know that he was here. A movement. A sound. Anything to reassure Kai that he is here. He feels himself slipping back into unconsciousness. He tries to fight it, but as the soft singing from before resumes, he knows he’s lost. Barely a moment passes before he sinks into the darkness once again.

When he comes around for the third time, he is actually able to open his eyes. He is once again met with a stabbing pain, but this time it is more bearable. Blinking slowly, his vision begins to come into focus. Something about it was off but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. All he knew is it was making it difficult to think and even harder to focus. The harsh lights do little to help.

The room he’s in is unfamiliar. Sparsely decorated with dull grey walls, there isn’t really much to look at. An empty chair is placed next to the bed with a blanket folded neatly across the back. There is a sink in one corner, and another door leading to what he assumes is a bathroom. He is alone.

As Lloyd struggles to push himself into a sitting position, the door slides open. Nya steps in, steaming mug gripped tightly in her hand. She looks up, starting in shock when she sees Lloyd. The mug slips from her grasp, shattering on the ground. She hardly seems to care as she rushes to his side.

“Lloyd!” She cries. “You’re awake? Since when? How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Urghhhhhhh,” He groans, not quite able to quite form a coherent thought. Nya pauses her questions, seemingly realizing Lloyd wasn’t ready for that yet. Strong arms reach out, helping to settle him into a comfortable upright position. The lights are still too bright. He presses his hands into his eyes in an attempt to relieve the pain. It feels wrong, in a way. The skin under his one hand feels far too cool and strangely...metallic? That couldn’t be right. He must be imagining things.

“Is something wrong?” Nya taps his hand gently, bringing his focus back to her.

“Lights,” he murmurs.

“Oh! Let me fix that…” she gasps. There is some shuffling and the lights dim to a more acceptable level. He lowers his hands and squints. This he could deal with.

“Better?” She asks, and Lloyd nods. Nya gives him a smile. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since...a minute or two ago?” He blinks rapidly as one half his vision blurs strangely, almost like tv static. “Something is wrong with my eye. I can’t quite...I don’t know. It’s all blurry and weird.”

Nya’s smile drops instantly. She reaches out, grabbing both of his hands, fixing him with an intensely worried look.

“Lloyd, how much do you remember?” She presses gently. Lloyd racks his brain.. He remembers going to visit his dad, but the events afterwards are a terrifying blank.

“I...I don’t know,” he whispers. “I can’t remember anything from after I got there.”

Nya lets out a soft ‘oh’. The look on her face tells him there is something he should be remembering.

“Not to scare you or anything but…” She steps away, retrieving a hand mirror from the sink and handing it to him. Lloyd takes it, looks, and immediately drops it. He stares at the wall for a moment before hesitantly picking the mirror back up, studying the reflection.

“What the fuck. What is that? Nya. Tell me right now that I’m imagining things. Fuck. This can’t be real,” Instead of two completely normal matching human eyes, he has...whatever this is supposed to be. His left eye is now entirely black except the iris, which glows an eerie green color. Matching green lines etch the side of his face, extending up into his hairline and across his cheek. WHY DOES HIS EYE LOOK LIKE THAT? What the fuck happend to him?

As he stares, his vision once again starts to blur. Panic surges through him as he realizes what he is looking at. He has a robot eye. An honest to god robot eye that he has no memory of whatsoever. Someone had cut his eye out and replaced it with this monstrosity. Why can’t he REMEMBER?! Desperately he tries to recall something. Anything really. He comes back with nothing. Just one giant empty blank. There had to be something. You don’t just wake up one day with a robot eye and not remember it.

Out of nowhere, a thought strikes him. His eye. It looks just like Zane’s had. The lines carved across his face look just like the ones running up and down Skylor’s arm. The glowed the same shade as everything in his father’s stupid base. Did that mean…?

An uncomfortable constricting feeling takes root in his chest and he lets out a strangled gasp. No no nonononononono this couldn’t be happening. Stupid stupid stupid! He would never...but his dad. His thoughts begin to spiral as he desperately tries to stop himself from piecing things together. He no longer wants to know. Don’t think. Don’t remember. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

“Lloyd. Breath,” Nya’s voice cuts through his panicked haze. As she speaks, he becomes aware of the fact he has not, in fact, been breathing. He takes a gasping, shuddering breath. His lungs don’t like that and he devolves into a fit of coughing. The mirror is plucked from his grasp and firm hands squeeze his arms with just enough force to drag his mind back to the real world. Nya speaks again.

“Look at me.” He obeys, turning his gaze on her. She opens her arms, a silent gesture. Lloyd doesn’t hesitate, flinging himself at her with what limited strength he has left and pressing into her. With a start, he realizes that he is crying.

“You’re scared. I would be too. I wish I could tell you it was all a dream,” She murmurs softly. “This is undoubtedly strange and scary for you. There’s no avoiding it.”

Strange and scary? Life altering and utterly terrifying seemed more appropriate terms. Waking up missing part of his memories wasn’t a thing he really knew how to handle. Unexpectedly becoming part android was not something he was equipped to handle. Theorizing his father was responsible was NOT something he wanted to even think about handling. Not in the slightest. How was he supposed to move on from this?

Nya seemed to sense he was spiraling. Maybe the fact he has started to tremble uncontrollably had given it away

“Hey, hey. I wasn’t finished. You may be experiencing something horrible, but you aren’t alone. I’m here. Kai is here. The others are all here. Whatever happens. We are here to support you.” Nya pulls him tighter, pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

Lloyd doesn’t really know what to say. There isn’t really anything he can say. He finds himself clinging to her like she is a lifeline. His head is throbbing, and he finds himself feeling drained. Nya’s arms are warm and comfortable, but it’s not enough to drive off the fear. It clings to him, worming its way into every dark corner of his mind. He wants to scream, but the best he can get is a choked sob.

In response, Nya starts to hum. Lloyd recognizes the tune immediately. It was the same one from before. He latches onto the sound with everything he has. The effect was almost instantaneous. When focused on the soft notes, the panic fades to the background. It was still there, but more manageable than before. Slowly but surely, he starts to feel like he can breathe again. His whole body relaxes into Nya’s embrace. Maybe if they could just stay like this...

It’s only a few minutes before Nya hears the soft sound of snoring. Looking down, she sees that exhaustion has won out and Lloyd has once again slipped into unconsciousness. That was a relief. She’d screwed that up big time. Next time he woke, she would make sure to tread more carefully. And when Kai came in to relieve her, she would have to make sure to update him on the situation. He would undoubtedly be mad, but she wasn’t about to leave a panicking Lloyd to go wake him up. Looks like things were going to be far more complicated than they’d originally thought...

[minxystories]

Match Girl/Giselle Alter and Alp – Avenger

A young girl, covered in ice burns and frost bites. A dark presence hovers around her and a body less voice talks to her. She reveres to this presence as Alp, a creature of nightmares from german folklore.

In her first ascension, Giselle alter wears a dirty and slightly torn blue dress. Her skin is unnaturally pale and covered in the aforementioned ice burns and frost bites. She doesn’t wear shoes, she doesn’t wear a scarf, nothing to protect her against the cold. Her hair is a creamy orange, bound together in a low ponytail. Her eyes are a pale shade of blue. Alp itself is only visible as a dark mist with two green glowing eyes.

In her second ascension, most things stay the same, with the exception of three things. Giselle alter now wears a dark cloak with fur ends, as well as a scarf. Both of them are a navy blue. But the biggest change is Alp. Instead of a formless mist, it is now a dark horse head.

Again, the biggest change in her third ascension is Alp. This time it appears as a full horse instead of a head. It’s fur is grey and it’s eyes are green. Without knowing that it’s Alp, it nearly looks like a normal horse. The biggest change on Giselle alter herself is the lack of frost bites and ice burns. Her skin isn’t as pale anymore and her dress looks as good as new. And yes, she does wear shoes now. They are the same color as her cloak and scarf and have white fur.

1stAscension – “This cloak… it’s so warm…”

“I told you, this person isn’t as bad as the others.”

“Yeah… wait a minute, when did you show up?!”

2ndAscension – “Oh jeez, Alp, you actually decide to show yourself?”

“Of course! I thought it was time to grace the master with my beautiful face!”

“… beautiful face? I don’t know how to tell you that, but there are many beautiful things in this world and a flying horse head isn’t one of them!”

3rdAscension – “I-… I don’t feel cold anymore. Even my dress is fixed! Thank you... Wait, Alp, why did you change into a full horse?”

“Well, a little lady needs a trusty steed!”

“You know, the worst thing on that statement is the fact that I don’t know if you are being serious or just messing with me.”

4thAscension – “I didn’t knew you could turn into a human.”

“I can turn into everything you want!”

“… Why do you have to make everything so weird?”

“Where would be the fun in it if I didn’t tease you from time to time?”

“From time to time?! That’s literally the only thing you do!”

Context for 4th Ascension: In the Artwork, Alp is shown in a human form, while still having some horse attributes like hooves for feet and a horse tail.

Bond 1 – “If you ever need to give someone a scare through nightmares, then just say my name and I’ll gladly help!”

“Be honest, you just want to have a favor from Master so you can snack on their blood when you’re hungry.”

“Well bold of you to assume I’m so mean! But you’re not wrong.”

Bond 2 – “I think I heard someone scream in terror right now. Alp is not here right now, so it is probably the culprit.”

“Well little Lady, you have no idea how funny it is to scare others!”

Bond 3 – “Hm? Some servants have started to complain about Alp? That’s its problem, not mine”

“I don’t know what they are complaining about. I’m just doing my job!”

“Let me guess, nightmare?”

“Nightmare.”

Bond 4 – “I’m pretty sure Alp wouldn’t force a nightmare on you and I’m also pretty sure that there are more than enough servants who would stop it, but it’s better to be save than sorry. Make sure you have a lemon near you before you go to sleep. And an iron horseshoe hanging from your bedpost might also help.”

“Little Lady, what are you doing?”

“I’m just telling Master how to keep you out of their room.”

“What?!”

Bond 5 – “Hey, Master, don’t overwork yourself again. I brought you something to drink. Alp made it, it even changed into a human to make it. But I don’t know what type of drink it even made. Might be tea, might be coffee. You can ask Alp when it arrives with the snacks.”

“Did somebody say SNACKS?!”

“Speaking of the devil.”

@grievouslyxorvia @panyum

[mrs-hatake]

of love and gratitude

A/N: this was requested by my dear twitter friend alex ❤️

tw for blood, crying and mentions of death.

“You’re coming?” You asked in an excitedly incredulous tone of voice.

It’s been a very, very long time since you and your husband, Kakashi, have been on a mission together. Not since you assisted him in tracking and infiltrating Akatsuki. Ever since your husband had been officially assigned as the sixth Hokage, he had been caged in his office dealing with documents and formal stuffy meetings for months. And you can see how it affected your husband. He would often complain of how boring his job was, despite the importance of it, and how he would be glad to save a cat stuck in a tree if it meant he could leave his office.

“I am.” Kakashi replied as he contained the excitement in his voice. You could almost see his body shake with elation. “The mission is ranked as an S mission that even Anbu had a difficult time completing. I was requested to assist them on the behalf of the council. You’re joining us because of your exceptional skills with Katana and daggers.”

The silver haired Shinobi took a couple of steps forward to stand in front of you, “And because you’re my wife and I miss you.” He then leaned in and kissed your lips.

“Kakashi-sama, Y/N. It’s good to see you.” Yamato greeted, early the next morning.

Kakashi let out a groan. Not only was he woken early but he also made it on time to their rendezvous. “I liked it better when you called me senpai.” He muttered under his breath.

Sakura offered a wave, a small smile curving her lips. The pinkette had dark circles under her eyes, indicating that she had slept poorly the previous night. Her pink locks were tied into a messy bun and her clothes were wrinkled. You kind of felt sorry that she was accompanying you on your mission. The girl needed to rest and you wished you could give her that. Working at a hospital full time was no easy task, especially for someone as young as Sakura.

“It’s good to see you too, Yamato. You too Sakura-chan,” you replied warmly. It felt wonderful to be up so early for a mission instead of trying to get your husband to wake up early and shove his ass out the door to go to work. You cracked your neck and knuckles, eager to get the mission started.

“Alright, recap of the mission summary: Some Otogakure Shinobi rebels who still believe in Orochimaru’s ideology have been spying on Naruto to extract the Jinchuuriki and use it to their advantage. Our job is to apprehend the enemy and gather information on their group and if they had any allies in other villages.”

You and Yamato nodded your head at him.

The news of Orochimaru supporters was not new to any of you. Ever since the end of the Fourth Shinobi War, there had been hearsay on their reformation but no one had made any moves until just recently. Anbu had been suspecting a trader and tracked him down, only to discover that Orochimaru’s followers were active and plotting for battle. Unfortunately, the Anbu team was almost wiped out in a sudden ambush in the middle of the forest.

The journey to the outskirts of Konoha was spent in silence, save for the light ruffle of tree leaves being blown by the wind and the melodic chirps of the birds. It was quite, peaceful even. Almost giving you the false illusion that you were traveling for holiday instead of onto a difficult and long mission that could be life threatening.

You spared a glance at Kakashi and couldn’t help the small smile stretch across your lips. Although he had to wake up as early as five in the morning, Kakashi looked refreshed, as if he had a full night’s rest. Which was something quite rare since he was still haunted by the memory of his fallen teammates and father figure, Minato. However, they had lessened through the years, especially after he had met Obito during the Fourth War. It was difficult for Kakashi. He had confided in you that during the battle, he felt hope bubbling inside of him at the idea of having Obito back in his life. His mind played rosy colored images of them being the best of friends; visiting Rin and Minato’s graves, him introducing Obito to you, having Obito safe and sound and basically living a normal  life. But his mind was cruel, however, as it winded its thin and boney fingers around the images and ripped them to shreds. Robbing Kakashi of that short lived serenity. The copy-cat Shinobi couldn’t sleep for weeks afterwards, constantly crying in his sleep and waking up with a start. It was a while, but eventually, Kakashi was able to move on and promised his team that he wouldn’t take life for granted. That he would live life they way they couldn’t.

Kakashi spotted you glancing at him and offered you a smile under his mask. Your heart fluttered with love. Kakashi deserved all the love and support the world had to offer him and you were grateful that he wanted to receive them from you. To reciprocate those feelings to you. He chose you to be his backbone and he allowed you into his world to help him heal, feel and to live. It was a huge responsibility, nerve wracking almost. Though, you toughened it out and faced his traumas head on. It wasn’t one sided either. Kakashi had done the exact same thing to you. He was by your side when you felt alone. He held your hands when you felt scared to return to being an active Shinobi when you almost lost your life all those years ago on an S rank mission. And Kakashi brought you joy, love and safety. Soon, your worlds merged into one and you were both at your happiest. It almost felt too good to be true.

-

The team has been traveling for two days with minimal amounts of sleep. It wasn't until the third morning did you stop in your journey when Yamato had stopped at a clearing, staring intensely at a speck he found, a torn piece of pale grey fabric.  

“Could belong to Otogakure.” He stated once all of his teammates came to a stop and surrounded the piece of fabric. Kakashi nodded and, with lightning speed, summoned his Ninken. Before the wrinkly pub could utter his usual greeting, Kakashi held his index finger against his lips, indicating for the dog to stay quiet. Using the signals that he had trained his dogs with since he was a child - signals you’ve come to memorize by heart after dating Kakashi and being introduced to his Ninken - to debrief them on the mission you were all on. You then saw that your husband had instructed them to smell around the area, starting with the piece of fabric, and pick up any stray trail.

It took them about twenty minutes of them sniffing around before Shiba stood tall and alert. Kakashi and Pakkun both went to him and watched as the dog tilted his head this way and that, Kakashi nodding along every few seconds. When Shiba was done, Kakashi reached down, ruffled his fur and slipped a small dog biscuit into his mouth.

“The track is weak but Shiba could lead us to where the rogue Shinobi might be.” Kakashi announced quietly, “We head east from here.”

You, Yamato and Sakura all nodded your heads and followed after the light grey colored dog after Kakashi had dismissed the rest.

The track led you deep into a forest where the branches were thick and the leaves were colored a dark shade of green, your shadows moving and warping against the trees. Had you not seen the sun shining down on you in the clearing earlier, you would’ve mistaken it to have been night time rather than day.

Shiba suddenly came to a halt and rapidly sniffed the air around him. Before he could yell out his warning, six Shinobi had jumped out from the dark colored leaves and attacked.

The Shinobi were strong, Kakashi could see why so many Anbu had failed in capturing them. Through his peripheral vision, he could tell that Sakura was fighting against one of the enemies while Yamato was fighting with two, one was being flung around by the branch Yamato had summoned as he fought in close combat with the other. Kakashi tried searching for you but couldn’t find you. Just that moment, his opponent ducked and thrust his Kunai in hopes to slash Kakashi’s leg but he was too slow. Kakashi was so engrossed in trying to jump away from the Shinobi trying to slash at him every two steps, he failed to notice that his second opponent had slipped away from the fight and by the time he had, it was already too late.

It had all happened too fast. One second he just landed a strong punch, successfully breaking the Shinobi’s nose and rendering him unconscious and the next, he heard you cry out in pain. Whipping his head around, he watched with horrified wide eyes as your body slumped forward, a Kunai shoved deep into your back and dangerously close to your spine.

“Y/N!” Kakashi screamed and rushed to your side to hold you in his arms.

“K-Kakashi.” You gasped weakly as your husband tried to hold you up. Your vision blurred and it was difficult to stare at the silver haired Shinobi. A burning sensation filled your lungs with every breath you took and you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“Y/N, stay with me!” Kakashi barked, “Don’t close your eyes!”

There was a soft thud somewhere; could be closer or nearby the area. But you were too out of it to really tell. Though, you immediately felt another pair of hands grab onto your left arm and drape it across broad shoulders.

“Sakura!” A voice yelled urgently, however you don’t know why. Things were getting hazy and it was strenuous to stay focused on your surroundings. Everything became cold. Your limbs grew weak. And your head felt heavy. Everything hurt and you just wanted to sleep.

“Baby, stay awake. We’re gonna fix this, okay?” A voice that trembled with fear spoke. The words were fast and clumsy. You nodded your head in response despite your eyes closing fully.

“Oi, Y/N!”

And just as a tingling sensation grew into a strong sting on your lower back, you were pulled deep into an ocean of darkness.

-

White noise invaded Kakashi’s ears as he was being pushed about Konoha’s Shinobi Hospital’s ICU, overpowering the hustle around him. His hands were covered in blood, stark red against his pale shaking hands. His shoes, covered in mud that dirtied the white tiled floor. And his mask was dampened with all the tears he had shed.

Kakashi never in his life had cried in front of anyone, not even you. But when he felt your body become limp in his arms and you failed to respond to him, he had genuinely thought you had died. And Kakashi lost it. He shook with all his might, and if the Kunai shoved deep into your back hadn’t killed you, then your neck snapping from Kakashi’s abusive shakes would’ve. Yamato tried to stop him, to pry his hands away from your shoulders, but he was met with the harshest glare Kakashi had ever directed at him. It wasn’t until Sakura had slapped him after successfully stopping the blood from flowing out and closing the wound to a small gash, did Kakashi finally snap out of it. The trip back to Konoha was fast and short and you were quickly admitted into the hospital. One glance at blood covered Kakashi with tears streaming down his cheeks had sent the hospital into a frenzy.

The five nurses struggled to take you from Kakashi’s hands (he was too scared to let you go, that if he looked away then you would die) while two doctors tried to sedate Kakashi. It took two shots from Kakashi’s hands to go numb, though not enough to knock him out. He helplessly watched as the nurses laid you onto a gurney and sped through the doors for emergency surgery. That was six hours ago.

Kakashi’s vision was obstructed by a beige paper cup that was filled to the brim with black coffee. Elegant swirls of grey smoke twirled heavenwards and almost successfully tempted him into grabbing the cup and chugging the whole liquid, uncaring if it burnt his throat along the way.

“Just take it.” Sakura huffed after rolling her eyes at the way Kakashi had lowered his head in shame.

“It wasn’t your fault.” She spoke once Kakashi had taken the warm drink from her hand and into his. “You were both doing your jobs. It was just...the bastard was a coward.”

Sakura’s words did nothing to ease Kakashi’s self loathing. Y/N, his caring wife, had waited patiently for years for Kakashi to move on and live a healthier life. Stayed up all night with him to comfort him through his nightmares and his insecurities. Still, there were times when those bouts of anxiety would sneak in and mercilessly torment him.

“I spoke with the surgeon operating on her.”  

That had Kakashi lifting his head.

Sakura hid the smile that was threatening to stretch across her lips, she knew him too well,  “Luckily, the Kunai wasn’t shoved into deep to cause permanent damage.” She began slowly, “She will need to enroll in a rehabilitation program to help her walk again.” At the way Kakashi’s shoulders tensed, Sakura reached out and placed a hand on his right shoulder, “She’s going to be alright.”

“What’s the bad news?” Kakashi’s voice was raw. It sounded as if it was too painful for him to speak. Be it from the tears he’d shed or from the way he had screamed his wife’s name when she passed out, Sakura winced.

With a deep exhale, she replied, “She is to be dismissed from Anbu. Effective immediately.”

Dismissed.

From Anbu.

Immediately.

Kakashi’s ears rang with an annoyingly high pitched whistle. He felt dizzy and if he stood up, then he’d feel like the room was spinning.

Y/N took Anbu seriously. It wasn’t just a job for her. It was her legacy; her pride and joy. She spent most of her life in Anbu and Kakashi wondered how fate could be so cruel.

At least she didn’t die.

The voice in his head whispered.

True, had she died...Kakashi wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He already lost so many people dear to him, losing Y/N, his best friend and the love of his life...Now that would be brutal, even fate wouldn’t be heartless to do something like that.

If only Kakashi was quick enough.

If only Kakashi was paying attention.

If only-

“She’s awake.” The head of the surgeon team interrupted his thoughts. His forehead glistened with sweat and his eyes dropped with exhaustion. But there was a small and weak smile tugging at his lips, proud of what he and his team had accomplished. “I wanted to debrief her on her surgery but she insisted that you be there, Hokage-sama.”

Weakly, Kakashi nodded his head and handed the empty paper cup to Sakura and stood up to follow the surgeon to where his wife was recovering.

“Hey, you.”

Her voice was light, playful almost. Though her skin was pale, her eyes grey and her hair matted to her forehead. However, she still greeted him sunnily, as if she hadn’t been in surgery for the past eight hours.

“H-Hi.” Kakashi replied, internally cursing at himself for stuttering and his voice breaking at the end. He knew that Y/N could tell that he had been crying. She could always tell from the way his voice broke at the end of his syllables and how nasally it sounded. He didn’t deserve her.

Y/N nodded to the empty chair beside her with great effort. Kakashi would’ve wept just then if the surgeon wasn’t waiting patiently behind him to step into the room.

“Y/N-sama,” The doctor spoke when Kakashi had taken a seat next to his wife’s bed and instantly took hold of her hand, gripping on it as if it were the life line that will rescue him from whatever darkness that was drowning him. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I do.” Her voice was scratchy and Kakashi hurriedly poured her a glass of water and handed it to her.

“Good.” The doctor wrote down on his note, “Thankfully, the surgery was a success. The Kunai wasn’t plunged too deep and thus did not damage any major nerves. However, due to the sensitivity of the surgery, two month of rehab is strongly recommended.” The doctor informed them before he hesitated. He met Kakashi’s gaze, as if asking him for permission for what he was about to say next. Seeing that Kakashi remained quiet and didn’t intervene, the doctor continued.

“As your surgeon, I have spoken to my team and the council in regards to your surgery and the post effects of it. It may have been successful, however, any strenuous activities could lead to long lasting aftermath. It was agreed that you are discharged from Anbu duty and as Shinobi. Effective immediately.”

Both the doctor and Kakashi were waiting for an outburst. For Y/N to throw a tantrum and beg the doctor for any other way for her to continue being an Anbu or be an active Shinobi. But their ears were met with nothing.

One glance at Y/N and they were both surprised to see her crying.

“Y/N!” Kakashi cried in surprise and jumped from his chair.

“I’m fine,” Y/N hiccuped as she hastily rubbed her tears away, “I’m just happy that I’m alive.” she choked. Kakashi instantly wrapped his arms around her, careful of her wounds, and laid his head atop of hers.

Sensing the need for privacy, the doctor discreetly excused himself. Though, his ears didn’t miss the choked sob coming from his Lord Hokage.

-

Six months later Y/N is fully recovered.

Her recovery wasn’t easy. There were a lot of frustrating moments and times where Y/N couldn’t stop crying. Having to relearn how to walk, something that was so natural to her, was laborious. She would stumble and sometimes trip on thin air and fall. She could only walk two steps at first before slowly walking five steps, then ten steps and so on and so forth until she could walk normally.

It was difficult, but just like how Y/N was with Kakashi, her husband was with her every single step of the way. Consoling her. Comforting her. And encouraging her. Kakashi was patient, endured all of her tantrums of frustration and was her shoulder to cry on.

[writer-dreams]

Colors (Draco Malfoy X Reader)

I'll be honest, I've had this one fully written since last week. I've just been very nervous to post it because the ending is so bad 😅. I haven't been sure how to fix it and I've re-written it several times. This fic is definitely rushed but hey, it's a one-shot (and I wanted to try writing something short and sweet for once). This is still part of the Cliche Month Challenge by @wreckofawriter (sorry this was so late). I've finally gained enough courage to post it and I hope you enjoy this messy fic.

Prompt: An AU where you can only see the shades of your soulmate's eyes until you first touch.

House: You choose

Blood Status: You choose

Warnings: Possible swearing

Note: Again, very messy. Not sure I like this one too much. The reader in this story is female / uses female pronouns.

Word Count: 1,694 words

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3rd Person POV

Y/n opened her eyes to see the world was still the same shade of steel grey. She longed to know what the world truly looked like, to see actual colors other than this grey. When she was younger, she was ecstatic to learn that someone out there was destined to be with her. She used to fantasize about meeting her soulmate, seeing in color and her falling in love. She imagined what her soulmate would look like, what their personality was like, their likes and dislikes.

Now, as she grew older, she began to develop fears. What if they didn't like her? Even if the universe had put them together, there was still a chance they could reject her. What if she didn't like them? She never considered herself to be a picky person, especially when it came to love, but that didn't mean that they couldn't have a horrible personality. All of her friends have already met with their soulmates, and it did seem like they matched each other perfectly. They always talked about how beautiful the world was and how they couldn't wait until she could see the colors too.

She snapped out of her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she walked off to the courtyard, hoping a good book could distract her from the whole soulmate situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n wasn't sure how much time had passed when she finally finished her book. A few hours, at least. She looked around the courtyard, seeing that she was the only one there. She sighed, deciding to go back inside. Y/n looked at the sky, dreaming about the day she could finally see the blue sky her friends talked about. She wondered how beautiful the night sky looked when it was in full color, how pretty a sunset could be. Yet, all she could see was grey. She was almost at the point where she would begin to resent the color. Still, she remained patient, still trying to hold on to the small shred of hope that she would someday meet the one.

On her way in, she bumped into someone rather harshly. The two fell back, Y/n closing her eyes and rubbing her head gently from where it hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, her mind was blown as suddenly, she could see the world in color. Amazed, Y/n slowly took in her surroundings, admiring the green grass and the blue sky. She looked at the bark of the trees, the castle, the white fluffy clouds. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she slowly let it all sink in. She could see, she could finally see! It was all so much more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.

The boy in front of her got up with a groan. In her dazed state, Y/n had almost forgotten about him. She looked back at him to see platinum blonde hair and grey eyes looking back at her. Her face immediately became shocked as she recognized that familiar face, those eyebrows, those thin lips, those sharp cheekbones. Draco Malfoy.

Said boy looked back at her with the same shocked eyes. He glanced quickly around him, an astonished expression on his face. His grey eyes landed back on her, almost in disbelief.

"You're my—" They both whispered.

Y/n couldn't do this. Even when he didn't know they were soulmates, Draco Malfoy was a bigoted twat. How could the universe possibly pair her up with him? Y/n shook her head, before she got up and quickly retreated to her dormitory. She could hear Draco calling after her but she ignored him and simply kept running.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she arrived, most of her friends were already there, talking amongst each other on their beds. At the sound of the door opening, they all turned their heads and greeted her. Y/n still couldn't believe that she could see in color because of Draco Malfoy. Now, she could see the color or her friend's hairs and their eyes. She turned to a mirror and examined her reflection, playing with her (h/c) hair. She could see that she had (e/c) eyes, which was so surprising, considering that she had only seen a grey version of herself for years.

"Hey, Y/n! I just want you to know that you're beautiful and you better not be saying bad things about yourself to that mirror!" (F/n) said.

"I'm not....I just...."

"You'll find your soulmate eventually, Y/n. Then you can finally see how pretty you are." Another friend reassured.

Y/n smiled back at her, not sure if she should tell her friends that she met them and that it was the worst possible matchup ever. She decided against it, telling herself that the universe had made a mistake. There was no way that Malfoy was her soulmate, she refused to believe it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Almost a week had passed after that incident and Y/n was still avoiding Draco. She could see him trying to reach out to her but she would quickly lose him in the crowded hallways. Everyday, every hour, she was playing a game of avoidance cat and mouse. She had gotten pretty good at it too, swiftly navigating her way through all the students.

Today was just another one of those days. There she was again, quickly walking through the crowds, afraid that she would see Malfoy and have to talk to him. Luckily for her, she managed to make it to class without running into him. She settled into her seat next to her friends, who were quietly gossiping to each other.

"Malfoy's been pretty quiet lately. Hasn't been taunting Potter or anything. He's not even picking on any first years."

"Maybe Dumbledore's finally had enough of his behaviour. Or maybe his father threatened to ground him or something."

Y/n stayed silent, listening in to their conversation. Great, even if she could physically escape Malfoy, he was still there in conversation. It really seemed like the universe was insistent that it was right with this pairing.

"Could you guys stop talking about Malfoy? He's old news anyway. Who cares if he's not bullying anyone for once? Maybe he's actually become a decent person." Y/n snapped.

Her friends looked at each other. "What's gotten you so riled up? You care about him or something?"

"Nothing. I just don't wanna hear about him. Let's just focus on the class, okay?"

Her friends nodded slowly, looking at her suspiciously before they changed the topic of their conversation. Why did she defend him? Everyone, including her, knew that he was a prat and that wasn't changing. Y/n sighed quietly, feeling frustrated. Another thing she had kept to herself was a feeling of longing for the blonde male. He appeared in her dreams like a prince offering to sweep her off her feet. She'd feel drawn to him when she saw him in the hallways, even when she forced herself to stay away from him. Y/n was afraid as to what it could mean, she couldn't accept the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After classes ended, she continued through her usual route back to her dormitory. Unfortunately for her, Draco Malfoy was waiting for her right at the entrance. She quickly turned to try and make a getaway but he grabbed her arm.

"Wait. L/n, can we please talk?"

"What's there to talk about?" Y/n asked coldly, even when her heart fluttered at his touch.

"Just, come with me." Draco began pulling her away as Y/n rolled her eyes and allowed him to drag her.

He took her to an empty hallway, where he finally let her go. Y/n looked at him expectantly, putting her hands on her hips. She knew this was coming, there was no avoiding it, especially when the universe constantly pushed them together. The universe can rot in hell.

"So...we both know that we're.....soulmates. Why do you avoid it?" He sounded hurt, and Y/n's heart ached at the thought of that.

"Because, you're Draco Malfoy. You bully Potter and practically everyone else in this school. All you care about is blood status, the Slytherin house, and impressing your arsehole daddy. You're a spoiled brat who acts like you're entitled to everything, and I refuse to be one of those things just because I'm your 'soulmate'." Y/n growled at him.

He seemed to take everything she said into consideration, which was extremely out of character for him. "I can change, Y/n. I can change for you. In fact, I already have. Haven't you noticed how silent I've been? It's been the talk of the school this entire week." He said, desperately. Y/n wondered why he was so persistent, why did he continuously chase her, even when she actively ran away?

"You feel it too, don't you? A pull to me, like a bond?" Draco asked, watching her carefully. Y/n didn't answer but her silence gave her away. "I feel it too. I see you in my dreams and Merlin, I feel my heart race when I see you. I know you think this is a mistake, but the universe doesn't make mistakes. I love you, Y/n. Just give me a chance to prove it." Draco took her hand softly.

Y/n felt it. Some sort of invisible bond tying her to him. The universe had her in its clutches and it would not let her go. She felt her heart tighten and she sighed. What could it hurt to try? Clearly, the universe wasn't giving up on this and maybe there was a good reason for that. She remembered that feeling of longing for the Slytherin boy and bit her lip.

Damn it all.

She took Draco's face and smashed her lips against his. It felt like everything clicked into place as he held her face and kissed back. His lips fit perfectly against hers and she could feel the world around them stop. It was as if the universe was satisfied with its work and was allowing them to enjoy their moment. She pulled away and opened her eyes, the colors around her seemingly more vibrant than before. Draco looked at her with the widest smile on his face.

"I'll take that as a yes?" He chuckled.

"Don't make me regret it, soulmate." Y/n smiled back.

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Permanent Taglist (if your name is crossed out, I couldn't tag you for some reason):

@my-name-is-jazzy-x

**********************************************

Thank you so much for reading! This was pretty hard to write (I guess I'm not that good at soulmate AU's yet 😅). I hope it wasn't too horrible to read. Yes, I am still working on requests while I'm writing these things (I promise). Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Until next time.

-Jade

[booksimp]

Flame of Autumn - Part Two

A/N: Part two of Midnight at Rita’s is finally here, everyone! Sorry it took so long, I started a new job and I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. As you can tell, I’ve named this series something different. That’s because Midnight at Rita’s was supposed to be a smut one off, but it has a mind of it’s own and has become an actual fic. This will be part two of a series called “Flame of Autumn”. This fic is going to be quite long, and more elaborate than anything I’ve written here so far. I hope you enjoy!

“Oh, fucking hell.” I curse, clapping a hand over my mouth in shock.

Azriel chuckles sardonically, running a hand through his already sex mussed curls, puffing out a shocked breath. His cheeks are an adorable shade of pink, eyes wide.  

“Well said.”

For a few moments, we just sit and feel the bond thrum between us, like the plucked string of a cello. We’re still flushed and dazed, our panting breaths the only sound in the room as we stare at each other. 

A strange intermingling of emotion overwhelms me. Elation, joy, desire. A desire to take hold of Azriel and never, ever be parted from him. But all of it is entirely eclipsed by a sense of dread. It wraps itself around my throat, my heart, like a noose of ice. 

A mate is just another person to lose, to endanger with my own existence. 

The faces of all those that have suffered to protect me, that I ultimately lost, flash across my vision. A macabre version of a scrapbook. Just as easily as he perceived my earlier insecurities, Azriel notices the rising emotions in me. With the mate bond newly revealed, I wonder if the connection we’d felt all night had been the first clue. That, and his uncanny ability to read me like an open book. 

“Sabine, I don’t expect anything from you. But I- I’d like to explore this. We can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.” 

His face shines with hope as he takes my hand in his, squeezing gently. A hesitant reach down the bond caresses against me. His eyes are open and earnest, a shy smile on his face. The epitome of honest and trustworthy. 

I wonder what he would think if he knew Sabine isn’t my real name. 

A pang of guilt shoots through me, at the dishonesty of it, and it's suddenly hard to breathe. Lying to others has become disturbingly easy over the years I’ve been in hiding. I’m skilled at it now, diversion and distraction like second nature. But the thought of keeping up the ruse with my mate is unbearable. Having to lie every day, and to the person who should know the absolute truth of myself? I can’t do it. I won’t do it. 

I’m opening my mouth to admit things I haven’t in years, when my mothers face flashes through my mind. She was the first to implore me to hide my abilities, and the first to die because of them. 

“You threaten his crown. He will destroy everything you love to keep you quiet, my girl. You cannot give him more ammunition. You get close to no one. You keep moving. Don’t ever come back here.” 

Her words ring in my ears like I’m hearing them for the first time. I shut my mouth with a snap. I can’t tell Azriel anything, for fear of bringing the wrath of my father down on him. Can I even stay in Velaris? 

When I first heard of the hidden city of the Night Court, heavily guarded by the most powerful High Lord, I rejoiced. Isolated and with a varied population, it made the perfect hiding place. Not to mention that Velaris is far outside the reach of my fathers court. I’ve felt almost safe here, and the thought of leaving this city, of leaving Azriel, has my heart sinking into my stomach. Azriel slowly places a hand on my cheek, breaking me free of my internal struggle. Concern shapes his features, hazel eyes heartbreakingly gentle. He is too perceptive to not see the indecision and fear in me, bond or not. Without meaning to, I speak. 

“Okay.” 

A relieved grin graces his lips. I feel the apprehension fading from him, being replaced with soft joy. It makes my decision for me. Azriel is an Illyrian, not exactly an easy target. We’re in the safest place there is for me. If I guard my secret well enough, I can stay. Stay, and see where this newfound bond leads us. I pray to the Cauldron that I’m not making a stupid, selfish mistake. 

“Are you sure?” His brow furrows, intent on my response.

In that moment, I know that no matter how strongly he feels, Azriel will let me walk away. If I decide he’s not what I want, he would honor my choice no questions asked. It only makes me more certain of my decision. I’ve never been one to tolerate a controlling male.

“Absolutely. Are you?” I ask, inching closer to him, still clutching the sheets against myself.

His eyes flicker down to my chest, and back to my eyes. When a faint blush paints his cheeks, I nearly drop the bedding in shock. So the confident male can get flustered. I file the information away for later, barely containing a smirk. 

“Of course I am, I’ve waited almost six hundred years for you.” His voice is low, each syllable more sure than the last. 

My heart soars inside my chest at his words. Depthless hazel eyes bore into mine, and his shadows brush against my bare skin. They send shivers all along my body, and I edge even closer to him. He meets me in the middle of the bed, his forehead touching mine as his gaze roves over me like I’m a precious, once lost jewel. I do the same, drinking in the sight of the magnificent shadowsinger before me. My mate. 

Long ago, some inexplicable force decided that he belonged to me, and I him. I wonder what makes us so compatible, and I find I’m excited to discover every reason for myself. I want to know all the simple, small details of him like the back of my hand. I want to memorize the planes of his face, every color in his eyes.

If my mother could meet him, I imagine she’d remark on the beautiful grandchildren we’d make her. It's that thought, and the sudden realization that we are both very naked, that has a fierce blush coloring my face. 

“Maybe we should get dressed.” I whisper, only slightly breathless. 

Azriel’s eyes run along my sheet-clad form once more, before he pins me with  that now familiar alluring smile. 

“As you wish.” 

He says again, only making me more flushed at the memory. Without an ounce of shame, the Illyrian rises to his feet and walks to the dresser at the other end of the room. He begins digging through the drawers, before selecting some grey sweatpants and a long sleeve black shirt for himself. I’m still wrapped in his sheets, attempting to not gawk at the unobstructed view of his ass, when Azriel looks over his shoulder at me. He smirks at my obvious observation of his body.

“Do you want something other than your dress? Something more comfortable?”

I look down at the rumpled silk garment on the floor and grimace. He’s right, the thought of shimmying myself into it right now is about as appealing as a cold bath in the middle of winter.

“Yes please. Preferably something a bit warmer.” 

He nods, and picks a few items from his dresser. He places them on the bed before me and fixes me with a sweet, slightly shy grin. 

“Are you hungry? I have pastries from the bakery down the street. I could make coffee?” 

My ears perk at the mention of food, and my stomach grumbles in agreement. I like that instead of pushing me to continue our conversation about our future, he’s making sure I’m fed and comfortable. That warm, light sensation flutters in my belly again.  

“I never turn down coffee or carbs.” I manage to get out, smiling coyly. 

“Noted.” Azriel smiles again, a quiet amusement in his eyes. 

He leaves me to change, heading towards the kitchen to start the coffee. I put on the sweatshirt and black briefs left for me. Both are too big, but they’re warm and soft against my skin. Worlds better than the dress. I pull the collar of the sweatshirt up to my nose and inhale his scent of cedar and moonlight and rain. Gods, what does he bathe in that makes him smell so good?

For the first time all night, I’m able to observe Azriel’s bedroom. My eyes widen as I take in the beautiful A frame ceiling with exposed wooden beams. The soft patter of rain on glass draws my eyes to the east wall, which is made entirely of paneled windows. Silver rivulets of water run down their surface, reflecting flickering beams of moonlight into the room. The floors are a dark oak, the walls a calming sage.

Candles burn on Azriel’s overflowing bookcase, and the fireplace crackles merrily on the opposite wall. I reach out hesitantly with my ability, and feel the heat of each flame flicker inside my awareness. For a moment, I watch the candle flames dance and twist under my will. It's rare that I ever have the chance to explore my gift, the small flames too often exploding into an uncontrolled inferno that attracts attention. But I can’t help playing just a little.   

The sound of a kettle whistling startles me from my reverie, and a few tea lights extinguish entirely. I wince, and quickly light them again before following Azriel into the kitchen. 

He’s at the counter, adding hot water to a french press. The earthy scent of coffee tickles my nose as he presses the grounds down, the muscles of his arm flexing deliciously.

“How do you take your coffee?” He asks, gesturing towards a pale box of pastries for me to choose from. 

“Cream and sugar. Lots of cream.” 

“You like your coffee sweet.” He smiles to himself as he pours extra cream and sugar into my cup, as if adding the observance to a mental list.

 I pad closer and peer at the box of pastries over his broad shoulder. On the front it reads ‘Diana’s Bakery and Coffeehouse’ in elegant script. I bite my lip to keep from laughing as I open the familiar box, and take a bagel from inside. 

He notices me smiling at the pastries and raises a thick eyebrow at me, the corner of his lip quirking up.

“What is it?”

“Nothing it's just - well I work at Diana’s.” I laugh, taking a bite of the magically warmed bagel after liberally smearing it with cream cheese. 

“You do? But I’ve been in there everyday this week, I haven’t seen you.” 

He passes my mug to me, filled to the brim with creamy coffee, and I take a careful sip. He leans against the marble counter, hazel eyes looking me up and down, that small smirk making an appearance once again. What is it about males liking us in their clothes? Not that I’m complaining. 

“Well, you wouldn’t. I work in the back with Diana as her baking apprentice. I even baked those cinnamon rolls.”

 I know they’re mine by the slightly imperfect glazing. Diana is meticulous and every single treat she bakes is always flawless.

He points to the icing covered cinnamon rolls inside the box, mouth gaping in shock. 

“These cinnamon rolls? They’re the best I’ve ever had. I’ve been buying you guys out everyday.” Azriel exclaims, eyes wide and alight with surprise. 

“Oh, so you’re the reason I’ve had to make twice as many recently?” I chuckle, pink staining my cheeks. The fact that Azriel loves my baking brings me way too much delight to be proper. 

“I’m sorry, but Cassian and I can’t get enough of them. What do you do to them? They’re like biting into a cloud!”

“I can’t tell you that! It's a secret recipe!” I wink, a goofy grin on my face.

Azriel rolls his eyes and smiles, grumbling about how secretive bakers are as he deposits a large mound of cinnamon rolls onto a plate. A truly genuine smile breaks across my face at the sight. He collects his own mug and leads me to a comfy couch, where we both plop down and tuck into our midnight snacks. 

I can’t help but watch him, completely mystified. This sexy, adorable male is my mate? I’ve never felt lucky a day in my life, but as Azriel finishes his third cinnamon roll, I can’t help but feel like the fates smiled on this one aspect of my life. Having finished my bagel, I sip on my coffee and relax into the couch. I’ve been running for a long time, keeping everyone at arm's length, never staying in one place for more than a few years. But maybe I can stay hidden in Velaris and keep Azriel a lot closer. Maybe I don’t have to be alone. I want that future so badly it becomes hard to breath.

“So you bake. You dance at Rita’s. What else?” 

Azriel’s voice brings me back to the present, and I glance up from my coffee cup. Silent laughter dances in the hazel depths of his eyes, his plate of pastries discarded on the coffee table. Suddenly self conscious under his intent gaze,  I reach a hand up to feel the tangled masses of my dark hair. I grimace when I realize what a mess it’s become. It will probably need to be dyed again as well.

“I play music. Mostly the piano. I write sometimes. And you?”

The admissions, however small, make my throat tight with anxiety. I haven’t told anyone anything true about myself in years, and I haven’t touched a piano in just as long. The feeling is nerve wracking, and I can’t help but feel exposed. My eyes follow the upward curve of his lips as he smiles at me, one arm draped over the back of the couch. 

 “I can see you playing piano. You have the hands for it.”

I blush at his statement, my gaze falling to my entirely ordinary hands. What does that even mean?

“I’m something of a homebody. If I’m not with my brothers, I’m probably here with a book. I train, I work, I come home."

That explains the mountains of novels all over his room. And the incredible body. He reaches over and runs a hand through my slightly curling hair, the hours I’d spent straightening it made useless. He curls one of the ringlets around his finger, giving it a slight tug, before he tucks it behind my ear. Every single nervous thought evaporates at his touch.

“I like your hair like this, especially since I’m the one who made it this messy.” 

He murmurs, a sudden heat in his eyes. I feel my body warm in response to that look, and I have to divert my gaze down at my lap to keep from jumping him right there. Again.

“You’re a shameless flirt, shadowsinger.” I mutter, playing with the silver ring of leaves on my finger, noticing that his thigh is now pressed against mine. When had he moved so close?

“Not usually, trust me. My brothers would be astonished.” He laughs, running a hand through his own messy hair. 

“Not usually?” I trace a finger along the back of his hand, fascinated by the combination of scarring and complex veins. 

He shivers slightly, and I smile in satisfaction. He’s not the only one who can play that game. 

“I make exceptions for my mate.” He whispers, taking my hand from his and pressing a kiss to my palm, lips soft and warm. 

“I was supposed to have drinks with my brothers. They must think I decided to stay in.”  He laughs against my skin, kissing his way to the pulse point of my wrist.

“Little do they know, huh?” I gasp, made breathless by his ministrations and the thought of exactly why he’d ditched his brothers tonight.

“Little do they know. When you’re ready, I - uh. I know they’d love to meet you.” He looks up at me, cheeks filling with color as he straightens. 

My stomach drops, and a bit of reality comes crashing down. A mate is one thing, but letting his family into my life? They’d be two more people to lie to, two more people in danger because of me. I avoid any straight answers, and decide to divert his attention elsewhere.

“Tell me about them?” I drink from my mug, using it as an excuse to break eye contact. I can’t shake the feeling that he can see down to the very truth of me when our gazes meet. 

“Their names are Cassian and Rhys. Complete idiots. But those two have saved my life in so many ways.” His eyes glow with a warm, far away look, a goofy smile on his face. 

“It sounds like you love them very much.” I speak softly, not wanting that radiant look to ever leave his face.

“I do. Do you have any siblings?” His eyes flicker back to me, the distance clearing from them. 

“An older brother. Micah.” I try not to let my voice break on his name, the longing slamming into my chest like a horse at a full sprint. 

I curse myself for using my brother's real name, a slip up I wouldn’t have made with anyone else. Azriel’s mere presence is enough to disarm me, and it's a struggle to focus with him this close. I haven’t seen Micah since the day our mother was murdered by my fathers sentries, and we both fled for our lives. In opposite directions. The day that started my life on the run. 

“Are you two close?” Azriel’s shadows curl around me as he squeezes my hand in silent support, like he already knows the answer. 

“We used to be, when we were young. Not so much anymore.” 

I tense, hoping that he doesn’t push the subject. I can’t exactly tell him the truth of our forced estrangement. At least not yet.

“Where are you from?” 

 His tone is light, and I am endlessly grateful for the change in conversation. He doesn’t seem to miss a thing when it comes to me. The thought is a constant inkling of worry in the back of my head. 

“Not Velaris.” I reply quickly.

It technically isn’t a lie, but the evasion feels even worse.

“I could’ve guessed that, love. I’ve lived here for hundreds of years, if you lived in Velaris I would’ve found you sooner. Are you from the Night Court?” 

He chuckles, taking up another strand of my hair to play with. For a moment, I forget that he’s waiting on a response. 

“No, Summer Court. Adriata. Did you grow up in Illyria?” 

 I attempt to change the subject, the subterfuge like spoiled milk in my stomach. I wish I could tell him all about my little cottage on the outskirts of the Autumn Court, about my mothers smile, and Micah’s penchant for getting me into trouble. Instead, I have to wriggle my way out of letting him get to know me. This is going to be harder than I thought. 

“Unfortunately, I did.” Shadows rise from deep within his eyes, blotting out almost all the light in them. 

I’ve heard many stories about the brutality of Illyria. Their perilous winters and sprawling mountains, the discipline that they ingrain into their children, how they throw themselves into the path of war. I wonder who put the scars on his hands, his wings, and I feel sick for an entirely different reason.

I search his eyes for answers, glimpsing an age old sadness there. I feel him trying to shove it down deep, but he can’t hide from me anymore than I can from him. A burning rage seethes in my chest at that sadness. It makes me want to grow claws and rip and tear, scorch those responsible with my flames.

He closes his eyes and rests his head where my shoulder and collarbone meet, a deep sigh leaving him. From the tension in his body, I know he wants me to let the topic drop. So instead of asking the questions on the tip of my tongue, I kiss the top of his head and stroke his back softly. He practically purrs, pressing closer, telling me to continue. I smile softly, trailing my fingers down his spine in slow circles. His back is deliciously firm, and rippling with muscles from his often used wings. Heat scorches across my face as I remember how I brought him over the edge just by kissing them, the absolute unleashing of it. 

“I- I didn’t realize. That, well um- your wings. That they were so-“ I stutter pitifully, the blush spreading down my neck. 

Azriel leans back to meet my eyes, a slight smile beginning on his face, previous troubles forgotten. 

“You didn’t know?” He asks, disbelief in his tone and a glint of amusement in his eye. 

“No, they just looked very kissable.”

He throws his head back and gives a loud, full belly laugh. I beam at the musical sound, satisfaction flowing through me. I want to make him laugh like that again and again.

“An Illyrian males wings are the most sensitive part of their body. If touched in the perfect spot, we can finish from that alone. As you saw. But they are also our greatest weapon, and we protect them accordingly. For that reason, I usually keep them far away from any - partners.” He explains after sobering from his laughter, voice soft and a slight blush painting his elegant cheekbones.

“But you make exceptions for your mate?” I ask, eyes downcast as I play with the cuff of his long sleeve shirt.

“I do. Only for you.” He takes my hands from his sleeve, and presses them to his lips once again.

I glance up at him, to find his eyes already on me. The warmth and tenderness I find there has my heart flying in my chest, and tears pricking my eyes. I blink them away hurriedly, looking to his wings instead of the intense emotion he’s showing me. For some reason, the adoration I see there has a small burst of fear running through me. 

“I’m glad you let me touch them. They’re beautiful.” I whisper reverently as l behold the incredible expanse of his wings. 

Vibrant plum and lavender, veined with maroon and the silver of scar tissue. I can’t even think of these beautiful, majestic wings being mutilated like that. My hands ache to touch them again, feel their silky warmth. 

“You definitely showed your appreciation for them.” He leans closer, his breath fanning across my cheek as he whispers in my ear. 

It sends shivers deep into my core, and I have to squeeze my thighs together and hope he doesn’t catch my scent. The confident, seductive Azriel of earlier tonight is back. 

“Not yet I haven’t.” I murmur, emboldened by my renewed need for him. 

The need comes quickly, overwhelmingly. Especially now that I know what being with him is like. Entirely world shattering. He may have ruined every other male for me. Again, not that I’m complaining. A low rumble comes from deep in his chest, and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap with ease. 

“Is that so?” There’s a sultry promise in his voice, and I feel him stir against my thigh. 

The room is filled with our mingled arousal as he inhales against my neck. 

“I still can’t believe I found you.” He groans, pressing kisses against my throat. 

I let my eyes fall closed, shocked anew at how easily he reduces me to a gasping mess. His hands begin to roam over my hips and waist, his touch worshipping and disbelieving. When I begin to slowly move myself over his growing arousal, I feel a shift in him. His hands halt their exploration, and he tenses beneath me. I open my eyes to find his face veiled with worry, his brow creasing. 

“You don’t have to, Sabine.” He cups my face in his hands, dark eyes gleaming with concern. 

I try not to flinch at the false name, and I wonder what his voice would sound like saying the name my mother gave me.  

Shoving those thoughts away, I shake my head, a small grin forming on my lips. Does he not see how infatuated I am already? Of course I don’t have to, but I want to. 

“Az, you idiot.”

And with that, I plant my lips on his. He doesn’t need further convincing. His body responds to mine eagerly, a low growl building in his chest. My back meets the leather couch as Azriel maneuvers himself above me, his hands sliding under the hem of my sweatshirt. He is somehow gentle and commanding all at once, his skin burning hot against mine. I sigh into the kiss as I give myself to him, entirely content to do so this time. 

“You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He whispers against my lips, that reverent tone back in full force. My eyes prick as my chest fills with equal parts warmth and fear. I can see how easy it would be to love my mate. To fall fast and completely. And the part of me that’s been running scared from those I once loved is terrified.  

“I’m scared.” I murmur back, surprised at my own honesty.

I feel his frown against my lips, and he only holds me tighter. 

“I’m scared too, love. But I won’t ever hurt you. You’re - You are everything.” His eyes, soft and dark and endlessly kind, convince me. 

I smile sheepishly at him, holding out my left pinky. 

“Promise?”

Without hesitation, he wraps his finger around mine. 

“I promise.” 

The next morning, sunlight streaming in through the expansive windows wakes me. A sleepy contentment keeps me drowsy and warm, and I stretch like a cat after a particularly restful nap. 

“Good morning.” 

Cauldron, his morning voice is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

I blink my eyes open, the blurry image of a very amused Azriel coming into focus. His black hair is tousled and falling onto his forehead, and pillow marks color his cheeks. 

Delicious.

I cuddle closer to him instead of replying, not ready to start the day yet. He wraps both arms around me as I bury my head in his very bare chest. Memories of last night rise to the surface, and I feel my cheeks warm. After his pinky promise, Azriel made love to me. That's the only way to describe the beautiful, tender way he touched me. He made sure every ounce of doubt was replaced with complete trust. It was the most intimate I had ever been with anyone in my entire life. 

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?” He asks, a teasing grin curling his full lips.

I can’t help but remember those lips on my body in the living room. And the bedroom. And the bathtub. Needless to say, we didn’t sleep until dawn.

“W-What did I say?” I can only imagine the mortifying things my sleep self has to say to this male.

“Just my name. Over and over again.” His voice deepens, eyes darkening.

“Shut up! I did not!” I hiss, giving his shoulder a shove. 

He only chuckles and waggles a brow at me, before placing a kiss to my forehead. He smells even better in the morning, his cedar scent more potent. How is that even possible?

“How did you sleep?” 

He brushes my hair over my shoulder, peppering even more kisses across my collarbone. I shiver under his attention, my eyes falling closed again.

“Better than I have in a long time.” I admit, my voice still raspy with sleep. 

“So did I.” 

He runs gentle hands through my hair, our legs still entwined intimately. I haven’t felt this safe and content in someone’s arms since I was a girl, when my mom would hold me after I woke from nightmares about monsters under my bed. Azriel already feels like home, and the thought doesn’t scare me as badly as it did last night. Thoughts of my father seem distant and insignificant now, chased away by the bright morning light and warmth of my mate’s presence. 

“I wish I could stay here with you all day, baby.” He groans, a deep sigh leaving him. I can feel his reluctance in how firmly he presses me to him, strong arms locking me against his chest. 

“Then stay.” I grumble moodily, a frown curling my lips downwards. I know we can’t stay sequestered in his apartment forever, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. 

“I have to do some work for my brother today, but you’re more than welcome to stay in my bed. In fact, I hope you do.” Azriel chuckles, untangling his limbs from mine and kneeling before me. He drops a tender, lingering kiss on my lips  before standing.

My cheeks warm as my blood sings in my veins, and my breath catches in my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way his touch affects me. I hope I never do. 

“Oh? What kind of work do you do for him? Does he have his own shop or something?” I yawn my way through the question, cuddling myself into his vacated warm spot. 

Azriel smiles over his shoulder at me, while sliding into Illyrian fighting leathers. My mouth goes dry at how the skin tight garment outlines his muscular thighs and powerful chest, accentuating the golden tones of his skin. Hubba Hubba.

“Actually, Rhysand is High Lord of the Night Court. I’m his Spymaster. I have spying to do.” His lips twitch as if he’s trying to not let the easy smile fall from his face as he continues dressing. He watches for my reaction intently.

The blood in my veins turns to ice, freezing my heart in place as my eyes shoot open in shock. 

Azriel’s brother Rhys is... Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. All sleep leaves my body, and I have to fight to stay still. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, run far and fast. 

Because Rhysand knows my father, seeing as he’s High Lord of the Autumn Court.

In fact, I know Beron has met Rhysand many times. He often spoke about the half breed bastard who challenged his authority at meetings.

I met Rhysand at Beron’s court once, when I was barely fifteen. It's been decades, but he could easily recognize me as Beron’s bastard daughter. And he could tell my father where I am, maybe even deliver me to him. 

Even if he doesn’t recognize me, grown and changed as I am, Rhysand is a Daemati. He could rip the truth from my own mind with hardly a thought. And the High Lord of the Night Court has a reputation for finding pleasure in that sort of thing. The thought has me shivering despite the warm blankets tucked around me. 

“Oh. You didn’t mention that last night.” I rasp, trying not to look like I’m about to throw up. My stomach roils, and my palms dampen with cold sweat. 

“I forget that he's High Lord sometimes. He’s just Rhys to me.” Azriel shrugs, with his back now turned to me as he readies himself for the day. I thank the Cauldron for it. 

I can only imagine the stark horror in my expression, and I take a few extra moments to reign my emotions in. Gods, no wonder Azriel can read me so effortlessly. It's not only because of the bond, he’s a spymaster. Reading people is his job. A job he performs for a mind stealing, murdering monster of a High Lord. Bile rises in my throat, and I feel my heart crack in my chest. 

Azriel is not who I thought he was. The trustworthy, gentle male I spent the night with could just be another mask he wears. A tremble begins deep within me.

“When will you be back?” I try to sound eager, like I can’t wait for his return. 

In reality, I’m trying to find out how far away I can get before he even realizes I’m gone. 

“Tonight. I just need to visit some - colleagues in another court.” He says, while lacing his sturdy looking boots into place. 

What court is he ‘visiting’? Will he be spying on other High Lords for Rhysand? Despite the new revelations about his dangerous brother, I feel a stab of fear for my mate. Any High Lord would slaughter him in a moment if they caught him spying on the Daemati’s behalf. 

“Will you be safe?” I hear the worry in my own voice, and Azriel either hears it as well or can feel it from me. Damn mate bond. 

The male perches on the bed next to me, a reassuring smile on his striking face. The two versions of him that exist in my head clash terribly; the vulnerable, kind Azriel of last night and the formidable Spymaster I’ve heard grave stories about. My gaze falls to the dark dagger strapped to his leg. Truth Teller. I try not to shiver as the light glints lethally off its razored edge. I wonder how many truths he’s tortured out of his enemies using it. 

“Of course. Always, but especially now.” Azriel strokes stray curls out of my face, his eyes brimming with unabashed tenderness. He kisses me soundly, a promise to return. 

My stomach flips and suddenly my heart is no longer racing out of fear. For a moment, I almost forget the hidden lethalness and only see Az. But that’s foolish. I can’t shiver at the sight of his famed blade and crave his touch at the same time. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” I ask, mentally calculating how long I have to leave Velaris. I go through the well rehearsed steps of my escape plan, focusing on mundane details to keep the fear and longing from rendering me completely useless.

“Of course.” Shadows of worry cloud his eyes, and I can almost see the sharp, spy's mind calculating behind them.

Azriel kisses me once more, his lips hesitant for the very first time.

His mouth tastes like sorrow, and I feel a flicker of something down the bond. It's gone too quickly for me to decipher it. I curse internally, hoping he only thinks I’m intimidated by his brother’s position. Between the bond and his spymaster abilities, who knows what he can decipher from my reaction alone.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” He stands, tucking his wings in close and letting his shoulders droop slightly. 

He searches my face, lips slightly turned down at the corners, brow furrowed. 

“I’ll be here.” The lie burns my throat like acid, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

Instead, I pretend to settle deeper into the bed, closing my eyes as I bring the blankets up to my chin. I don’t want to see the confusion and worry in his gaze. And I can’t watch him leave, knowing that I may never see him again. Azriel squeezes my thigh softly, whispering another farewell as he leaves the room with a sigh. 

I wait until I no longer feel the thrumming current that is Azriel’s presence,  when I know he’s well and truly gone. Then I spring into action. I burst from the bed, and head straight for Azriel’s dresser. I yank a pair of sweats from the drawer and pull them on hurriedly, shaking so hard it takes me three tries to get my legs through the correct hole.  I practically run through the living room, propelled forwards by thoughts of obliterated minds and the dank cells beneath the Autumn Court. 

I glimpse the forgotten mugs and pastry box from last night on the coffee table. Tears prick my eyes at the memory of the hope I felt during that meal. I told Azriel, my mate, more than I’ve shared with anyone in years. He let me see some of the anguish he carries with him, buried so deep it's become a part of him. I gave my body to him. And he felt like home. Can I really run from that?

Yes, I can. I have to. I was a fool to think that I could ever be outside my father’s reach.

On impulse, I hunt down a pen from the kitchen cabinets and scrawl a quick, cowardly note on a scrap of paper. Shame coats my tongue so thoroughly I think I may choke on it.

I’m sorry. - S 

  With the note finished, I raise the hood to conceal my face and tear down the stairs, avoiding the elevator Azriel first kissed me in. Soon enough, my bare feet are slapping against the rain slick pavement, my heart cracking with every step. I don’t stop to notice the people that watch me fly by, or the sun shining over the Sidra. I let the fear cloud every guilty thought, until all I know is adrenaline. 

Once I reach my apartment, I change into clothes more appropriate for an escape attempt, and collect my emergency bag from beneath some loose floorboards. Not the most creative hiding spot, but it’s better than my underwear drawer. 

Less than an hour later, I’m standing on the rickety, wooden deck of a foreign boat, sailing away from Velaris. Tradesmen man their vessel, hardly paying attention to me as I stare out over the water from their starboard side. I can imagine the mystery I pose. A lone, cloaked female, begging to stow away on their watercraft.

The money I slipped to their captain keeps the curious glances to a minimum, and I hope it keeps their mouths shut in the future. Either way, I won’t be settling where I first disembark. I’m not entirely sure where I’ll go yet, but maybe that’s for the best. If I’m entirely impulsive, my actions will be harder to predict.

I’ve run scared so many times over the years that I’ve lost count, but I’ve never been so conflicted. Every mile I put between me and the shore of the Sidra is another knife shoved up under my ribs, and it becomes harder and harder to breath. Eventually, the vibrant colors of the Rainbow fade from view and the citrus scent of the river becomes the salty brine of the ocean. Hot tears sting my eyes, and I let them fall. The hood of my cloak covers my face anyway. 

“Goodbye, Az.” 

[pythagoreanwhump]

Eyes Closed, By My Side

AO3 link

After helping Anastasia vivisect a rebel spy, Kai has to make sure they survive the resulting infection long enough to confess. They didn't want to think about any other reason they were being so gentle, not when their head was still cloudy with emotions they weren't ready to face yet.

Thank you to @sopwithwhump for helping me with the idea and making it happen!

CW: Aftermath of torture (vivisection, but not explicitly mentioned), intimate whumper, dissociation (again not explicitly mentioned), very very brief (like half a sentence) mention of compulsive handwashing and what could be read as denial of that

Kai wasn’t one to startle easily, something to be expected given the nature of their job, unless there was something on their mind that bothered them deeply. Today wasn’t the type of day where they would admit to themself what they were thinking about when the phone rang, though.

They were rarely phoned for anything important, most of their superiors opting to use a pager in case Anastasia had them out of the office, but it would be undisciplined for them to not answer the phone immediately. The voice on the other end was one that they have heard before, but not familiar enough to recognize over a call.

“Lieutenant Waykes?” They heard the voice ask. They must’ve mumbled something in affirmation, though they couldn’t quite realize what they said. The voice continued. “The prisoner needs surgery. We just need a confirmation that you want them alive.”

This time, they distinctly heard themself say yes, but they didn’t think they knew what it was supposed to be about. They found themself pacing to the door of their office, an open file still clutched in their hand, before they stopped themself from rushing out without even knowing where they wanted to go. They set the file down, pressing with their thumb and smoothing out the corner where their grip had left a crease, and anxiously adjusted the position of everything on their desk, and then their uniform, before heading toward the med wing.

The place was empty, a large room set aside for prisoners with a couple of cots along the back wall next to windows covered with grey curtains. A small desk sat in the corner with a locked shelf next to it, and inside sat a few bottles with their labels obscured with the thick plastic screens of the doors. Certainly, it would be better for a prisoner to be brought here for help than to be in the cells being tortured everyday, but the place was no less gloomy. Swallowing thickly, they tried the door that they knew connected this room to the main medical office. It didn’t budge, and it was clear from the uniformly dull copper knob that it hadn’t been touched in a long while, but there was a tint of dark red hidden behind it, and a splotch on the old yellow paint of the door that looked faintly orange, brown even.

They left through the front door again, pulling it shut behind them, and somehow it felt like the hallway had brightened up as they did. The outside of it was painted a shade of green only slightly lighter than the walls, and with a few more steps down the hall, it was easy to forget the room even existed. The next room had double doors, propped open with two battered pieces of triangular wood, and the sunlight spilled through the tall windows, but the lights were still on overhead, buzzing with their harsh white glow.

“Can I help you?” The nurse sitting by the door barely looked up only to glance at the small silver bar on their shoulder. Kai stared back, scanning over the table and the pile of papers, more organized than their own desk ever had been even on their first day, and the nurse’s neat uniform, an ironed crease down the middle of the red cross printed on a clean white armband sitting right below the sewn-on double chevrons of his rank.

“Hm?” Kai responded, hoping they hadn’t zoned out long enough for it to be weird. “Right. I’m looking for a prisoner I sent over there yesterday.” They gestured toward the other room, and there was a shelf where they remembered the door being. “There’s no one there.”

“They’re in surgery,” The nurse replied. “It’s all hands on deck over there. There’s not much staff assigned to prisoners in the first place. It’ll take a few hours.”

Kai thanked him with a nod, asking him to tell the others to give them a call when it was done, and walked out, making the trip back to their office. They hoped no one would stop them and assign them some other task, walking close to the walls with their eyes down, their finger skimming against the rough chalky paint as they moved, feeling the friction that soon turned from grounding into numbness.

They sat in front of their desk and picked up the same file as before, laying it in the center of their desk so the spine aligned with the knob on the drawer right in the middle. The crease from their grip before was still there, sharper on the left than the right, and they smoothed it out with the side of their left wrist while they picked up their pen with their right hand.

The same grey walls that they had usually felt secure within suddenly felt too close, too tight, and they knew they needed a change of scenery. They would never admit how often they felt like this in their officer after they came back from the cells, how the walls were painted the same color and how they could very well end up in the other type of room with a single misstep. They found themself thinking that they would prefer even the gloom of a storage room that had been converted to heal only to prolong suffering.

They tucked a stack of files under their arm and once again walked to the med wing, opening the door to find the room as empty as before. They found a chair by the window, setting their stuff down on it and reaching to draw open the curtains. They expected to find dust floating in the rays of light that spilled in, but there was nothing. They didn’t know if they should be glad that the place was at least clean or hate it for how dead it seemed.  They spread their things out on the windowsill, trying to ignore now the peeling paint making crinkling noises as they wrote. Leaning against the side of the window and pushing their work into the sunlight to see better, they almost felt like a young student posing for an aesthetic photo of themself studying.

The thought occurred to them that they still had no idea where the operating rooms were when they heard a bed being wheeled down the hallway toward them. It can’t be far, but they never bothered to look for them. They had little time to wonder, anyway, the doctor seeing them in the room and directing the others to push the bed right to them, rolling the rebel, still unconscious, onto the closest cot.

“Here,” She tossed them a pair of cuffs, grabbing the rebel’s hand on her side and attaching it to the railing of the bed. “Get them cuffed up. They’ll be waking soon. And close the curtains. They always try to look out and plan to escape if they can see through the windows. Every one of them.”

“This one definitely would,” Kai looked down at the rebel who looked defiant even while unconscious. “I’m sorry for the trouble, ma’am. Captain Kolettis didn’t tell me it would be this bad.”

The doctor sighed, stepping aside to let a nurse put in a new IV. “You know, we don’t usually expend so many resources for prisoners. We had to pull staff from the normal care team today. I’m a doctor, and I will save their lives when I need to, but they don’t deserve to take up medicine and manpower that are meant for our own soldiers. This one lost their right to it when they decided to betray us. Next time you want someone alive, make some effort yourself instead of dumping all the work on us.”

“Captain Kolettis doesn’t care about what Captain Ridley would do if she killed the rebel, but I would prefer not to cross her after she made me promise I would get a confession from her prisoner.” Kai moved away from the bed, following the doctor to her desk. “I’ll get them out of your hair as soon as they’re good to go back to a cell.”

The doctor looked at them in silence, wariness showing on her face. “They’ll have to be here for a while. If you want a confession from them, you’re gonna have to wait. They’ll be too delirious to say anything for a day or two.”

Kai hummed, rushing back to the prisoner’s bedside when they heard the cuffs clanging against the railings of the bed as they started waking up. “Do you want me around or would I just get in your way?” It seemed like in the movies, people always tried to rip their IV out as they were half-aware, waking up in a hospital, but the rebel just struggled, the edge of the cuffs digging into their wrists.

“Sure,” She scribbled something at the bottom of a document that looked too messy to be a signature, even for a doctor’s handwriting. She pushed it under a clip and snapped it closed, looking around as if looking for something. “I’ll leave one nurse here, then, so it doesn’t get too crowded. Do whatever you want. I don’t care, as long as you don’t damage them up too much and then need me to fix it again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kai muttered, not looking up at her as she left the room. They cupped the struggling rebel’s face, pressing them down into the bed and whispered against their forehead. “Hey. I know you can’t really understand me right now, but you know I don’t like so much struggling.” They weren’t able to tell before from the fleeting touches on their wrist, but now that they were close, they could feel how hot their skin burned. “I’ll have to punish you later if you keep struggling like this, okay?”

Kai didn’t know if it were the threat or the cool touch of their hand on the rebel’s forehead, although they doubted either would be really effective. They stilled, arms falling limp, but they jerked their head to the side, trying to escape Kai’s touch. They mumbled something, but Kai shushed them, thumb brushing over their lips as they leaned in to whisper another threat in their ear. “It’s okay, you’re alright,” Kai said when they’ve quieted again. “They just had to do surgery to clean you up so you wouldn’t die on me. Anastasia should’ve been more careful with you, you’re too beautiful to be killed like that.”

“No Kai please-” The word “surgery” seemed to have sent them into a frenzy. They arched off the bed, then collapsed down and tried to turn onto their side and curl up. Kai grabbed their shoulders and shoved the point of an elbow into their chest to force them down. Their eyes were open, but they were more feral than clear. “You can’t, please, don’t let them cut me open again, Kai.”

That seemed to take all the strength they had in them in their current state. Their eyes slipped closed and their shoulders trembled with quiet almost-sobs, but there was nothing left in them to struggle anymore. Kai ran their hand through their sweat-soaked hair, picking away the tangles. A whimper escaped their tightly pressed-together lips when Kai placed the back of their hand on their forehead, but soon their both hands were warm and the rebel was still burning hot.

“Private,” Kai waved at the nurse where he sat, probably just catching up on paperwork like everyone else. “Is there something I could use to cool them down a bit? I might as well while I’m here.”

“Yes sir. You probably should if you want them to recover fast so you can ask them questions.” They pointed to the sink. “Would you be alright grabbing it yourself? There’s rags in the top cabinet, and get one wet with cold water.”

“Thank you, private,” They nodded, and they didn’t remember themself getting up and walking over, just that the next moment they had the rough fabric in their hands, held under the running water. They stayed there for much longer than they had to, feeling their fingertips go numb under the cold water. They knew people maladapted to this job for whom washing their hands all the time was the only way to chase away the feeling of invisible blood forever sticking to their hands, but for them it was simply easier to let go of their thoughts while they felt the flowing water take it away from them. They glanced at the nurse again, but he paid them no mind, hopefully not nothing how long they stood by the sink.

They wrung out the cloth and used it to wipe their hands, folding it into a neat rectangle and laying it on the rebel’s forehead. They mumbled something incoherent and Kai hummed as if agreeing, taking hold of the rebel’s hand with their own, rubbing their cold fingers into their palm. “Does that feel better? Just relax and sleep now, you won’t be hurting so much when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Their eyelids cracked open a bit, but Kai doubted they could see the reassuring smile they flashed them. “I don’t… wanna hurt anymore…”

“Mhmm,” Kai nodded, squeezing their hand and feeling them squeeze back gently. They couldn’t promise them no more pain, but at least nothing would be as bad as what Anastasia had done. What they had helped to do. Flipping over the wet cloth, they muttered a quiet apology, but the rebel was already unconscious again. They bore witness to their suffering, and now they will stay by their side in their vulnerability. It wasn’t much, but at least they could convince themself they did what they could.

[sxvxrxssnape]

broken crayons and half a peanut butter cracker

snapetober day 28: “what did you do?” / day 25: headache plot what plot? there’s no plot in parenthood

Tentatively, he opened his eyes.

There wasn’t an immediate assault of pain as he blinked through the tired haze still enveloping him, so he figured it was safe to fully open them. Severus sat up, carding lazy fingers through his hair, and glared at the part in his curtains that allowed soft sunlight to filter into his bedroom. 

He had gone to bed last night, suffering, after finding his jar of headache balm both empty and repurposed for inane childish use. He’d immediately binned the idea of staying up to brew a new batch, electing for an early bedtime and a moment of well-deserved peace under cool sheets instead.

It was early, especially for a Sunday morning, but the bright June sun had no qualms against rising as such. He might as well take this time to brew, before the next inevitable headache came. 

Dressing quietly in a pair of trousers and a grey henley, Severus crept out of his room and peered through the door across the hall. He could make out the sprawled-out outline of a toddler fast asleep in their crib, the knitted blanket Minerva had made him only covering a singular foot. He sighed as he made out the rising and falling of a tiny chest and flicked his wand to fix the discarded blanket before closing the door with a gentle click. 

He still wondered how they both ended up here. 

There was a twist in his stomach, a tug on a shard of something sharp in his chest, whenever he thought about Lily. It had only been a couple of months since she had died - since she had been killed, not just at the hands of the Dark Lord, but in a way, also at the hands of himself. 

Taking in the child who had nowhere else to go was the least he could do. 

Jumping off the Astronomy Tower was the other, but Albus had warded the Observation Deck not too long after his breakdown in the circular office and though it irked him that the Headmaster had such little faith in his - admittedly - suicidal potions professor, he should at least know Severus wouldn’t do something quite so. . .dramatic. 

Or maybe he would.

Fine, Albus had a point, but Severus was still allowed to be mad about it.

He grimaced as he walked into a discarded toy, accidentally causing the contraption of colorful plastic to light up and start singing. His wand was still in his hand, so he cast a silencing charm over the boy’s door and flicked the off switch on the activity cube. 

The cube wasn’t the only thing littering the corridor, or the rest of his living space truth be told, and he could feel the remnants of last night’s headache reigniting. He could make out a half dozen jars scattered on the floor as well and scowled as he picked up the one holding something inside. 

If that little brat was playing with expensive potion ingredients, he was going to owl him back to Hogwarts and demand Albus rehome him, no living relatives be damned. 

Instead, he found it full of broken crayons and half a peanut butter cracker. 

On second thought, he might just rehome him anyway.

He stalked into the kitchen and started brewing a pot of coffee, mentally going over the ingredients he would need to brew the much-needed headache balm. The sweet, earthy smell of dark-roasted Columbian beans permeated the air now, so he poured himself a mug and stirred in sugar. 

He shook his head at the choice of mug - a tacky green thing that read “happy holidays” in the worst possible font - and took a long sip. It had been a gift from a first year - and not even one of his own first years at that, but a bloody Hufflepuff who wasn’t even good at potions - but last Christmas had been his first ever as a professor and despite scowling down at the child when handed the gift, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something whenever he looked at it. 

So yes, he had packed up the stupid mug when term ended and it was time to go.  It wasn’t even the strangest thing he had packed up. This time, he had an orphaned toddler he had been coerced - manipulated, guilt-tripped, asked by the child’s own dead mother, take your bloody pick - into taking with him. 

At least he didn’t have to return to Spinner’s End.

If being handed the keys to a small cottage in Solva was the payment for raising a child, he supposed he could have done worse. Of course, the little house hadn’t been chosen with his comfort in mind, but more with the safety and well being of The Boy Who Lived. 

Oh, Merlin.

He was really doing this, wasn’t he? 

It had been easy when the school year was still ongoing - Minerva and Pomona especially, were keen to take little Harry Potter off his hands whenever he had a class to teach or potions to brew. He had just gotten the hang of walking then and could often be found stumbling through the castle corridors and babbling away to bewildered portraits and students alike. 

Now though? Now it was him and him alone against an almost two-year-old who was insistent on getting into everything and disregarding every boundary Severus had set. He was just like his wretched father, but Minerva had simply laughed at him and insisted that’s just how toddlers were. 

He didn’t  bother to point out she had inadvertently called James Potter a toddler. 

He was too busy freaking out over how his path had led him to this particular point in life. He didn’t know how to be a father - all he had to go off was what not to do, and that largely consisted of not shoving a child down the stairs or drinking himself stupid. 

Severus finished his coffee and set the empty mug aside. He opened a cabinet and began pulling out what he would need, easily settling into the familiar routine of filling the cauldron with water, picking marjoram and peppermint from the windowsill planter, prepping his ingredients, and began brewing.

This wasn’t the first time he’d nearly thought himself into an anxiety attack over Harry’s permanent existence in his life. He didn’t even care how it had happened anymore, all he cared about was keeping the boy alive for the summer.

He’d deal with the the rest of his life part later.

He fished out the steeped bitterroots from the simmering cauldron and moved them to the cutting board, finely chopping up the softened magenta plant. Normally, he would discard them after this step, but he was intent on experimenting this morning in hopes of increasing the potency while also decreasing its unfortunate side effect of putting him to sleep after a few hours.

These days, he needed to be more alert and clear-headed. 

Keeping the bitterroot in should do just that. 

“Let’s see what happens then.”

Severus dropped about half of the chopped bitterroot into the cauldron and watched it carefully, wand at the ready in case the potion had an adverse reaction. The light blue brew was slowly becoming grey and he pursed his lips, adding a few more drops of peppermint oil as an inhibitor and nodded when the potion turned back to blue. 

He turned the flames off and floated the cauldron onto the kitchen table, resting the hot pewter on top of a wayward oven mitt, admiring the ribbons of herb scented steam that curled from the finished potion. Now it just had to cool before he could store it - or test it. 

Setting the cutting board back on the table, he took his assortment of knives and measuring devices to the sink and spelled the tap on. As water ran over the dishes, he began rifling through the refrigerator for anything he could use for breakfast. 

It seemed they needed to make a trip to the local market soon - this afternoon, preferably - and he scowled at the thought. Picking up groceries wouldn’t be such a chore, he thought, if someone didn’t insist on picking up every interesting stone they passed or kept veering off the path to follow the ducks. 

He was holding onto a carton of eggs and was moving aside containers of unlabeled potion ingredients for the last bit of swiss he knew was somewhere, when he heard an excited little yell sound off behind him. 

He peered over his shoulder and dropped the carton of eggs in alarm.

“What are you - get down from there!” he shouted, taking in the scene before him. 

The messy-haired, green-eyed one year old that should still have been asleep was now perched on top of the table - and how the bloody hell had he managed to climb up there?! - and was peering curiously into the waiting cauldron. 

Harry had stepped in the remaining bitterroot and had a tiny fist full of Merlin knows what, and was sprinkling his finds into the cauldron just as he had seen his guardian do many times before. 

Severus whipped out his wand and cast a shield charm on the cauldron as he rushed to the table and picked up the delighted child, moving him out of the way before the potion could potentially explode. 

“What did you do?!” he demanded of the insufferable toddler, setting him down on the farthest possible counter and glaring down at him.

In response, Harry only clapped his hands and tried to peer over his guardian’s shoulder. “Ba!” he squealed, pointing at the cauldron. 

Severus rubbed at his temple, another headache threatening to flare up. How had he been so careless to not listen in for Harry? To leave the cauldron somewhere he could reach - and how had he?! Hadn’t he learned better by now? The boy had been in his care for how long now? Six months altogether? Two weeks out of Hogwarts? And Merlin, what a mistake this was turning out to be.

He rested his forehead against Harry’s for a moment before setting him back down. He had half a mind to floo call Minerva and ask her to take Harry for the day while he brewed a new batch of headache balm and maybe drafted a plan to off himself. 

He returned to the abandoned cauldron and blinked. The potion was still the same shade of blue he had left it. He swirled a stirring stick through it and eyed it carefully, but the balm soon became a muddy brown as he fully incorporated whatever Harry had added. 

He tested a small bit of the potion on the inside of his wrist and hissed as the skin blistered, immediately wiping the ruined potion off on the hem of his shirt. He turned to glare at the toddler and found he had wandered over to the discarded carton of now-broken eggs and was playing with bits of shell, a bit of yolk rubbed into his curls. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” he sighed, in equal parts amusement and defeat. “What are you doing now?” 

He vanished the eggs, much to the child’s confusion and levitated the spelled-clean, pajama-clad boy into the air. “Come, Mr. Potter, I believe we have breakfast to locate.” He reached over and turned the still running tap off and grabbed the floating child. 

He hoped Minerva wouldn’t mind the company. 

“Nack?”

Severus shook his head, biting back an affectionate grin as he grabbed his cloak and a handful of floo powder. “Yes, you can have a snack.” he confirmed, with a very serious voice, tossing the powder into the grate. 

He draped the cloak over the boy, covering his face, and stepped into the fireplace.  ------ self-indulgent trash where i based baby harry off what my own toddler did? he didnt ruin a headache balm but he definitely decided to drop a handful of odds and ends into my coffee cup so same thing. the egg incident was a nightmare and sev should consider himself lucky that he has magic

anyway, hello, for my birthday today i wrote neurotic dad!snape i might delete bc ik how dumb this was 

[clan-sayeed-fic]

Business (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Previous chapters: 1, 2

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios)

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they’re the property of Pixelberry Studios as well)

Warnings: angst, smut

Rating: Mature

Author’s note:  I’m not a native English speaker, I’m sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

Just like I promised, I'm posting the third chapter of the story 😄 I'll do my best to post the rest of the fic in the future. I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't mind that it’s so long 😂💖

~ 2900 words

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Chapter 3

"Let me go!"

Despite all the power put into the scream, words had been stolen by the infinity of the forest. The only sounds echoing in the darkness were the drumming of hooves and loud breaths coming out from both: rider and his horse.

Just when the man thought that he managed to escape the jaws of death, some impossibly strong creature knocked him off from the saddle. His body flew in the air before hitting the ground, breaking bones.

The young, chestnut stallion stopped galloping as soon as he sensed the lack of weight of his owner on the saddle. This well-trained creature turned around, ready to stand by the side of the man that groomed him since he was only a foal.

But at the time he got closer to the owner, something emerged from the shadows, sneaking up toward them. The horse's ears went wild, moving in different directions. He lifted his head high, getting a better perception of the surroundings as all of his muscles tensed, ready to react.

That's when a harsh red light flashed in the middle of the road in front of them. Despite all the previous courage, the presence of an unusual for the horse predator awoke his instincts.

Instincts that were saying to run away as fast as possible.

The dust picked up around the wounded man, and all he was able to hear was the neighing of the stallion. The sound was slowly fading away, deeper into the embrace of the forest.

"Seems that not even a horse is willing to help you," a feminine, harsh voice came straight from the direction of the crimson light. "I got the order. You must know how these work."

He was her target, a prey to hunt down for her master, her creator.

She had been said to look for the leader of the village in this part of the land. There was a prophecy saying about the downfall of vampires. It pointed at this specific person becoming the cause of it one day.

Her master wanted to take care of it in advance. To make sure that vampires will remain at the end of the food chain for much longer.

So there she was, just doing her part of the job.

"My wife..." the man managed to speak, being interrupted by his own blood, making him choke. "My wife is pregnant, I need to be there..." another spit of blood, "...for her and my child."

The vampire approached the begging man. Just to kneel down, so she would be able to look directly in his eyes. To see his fear and unsureness about the future of his family.

"Oh..." a seemingly sympathetic tone escaped her mouth.

Just to be followed by the dagger aimed straight in his heart.

"...but you will not."

***

Hesitation hit Amy along with the cold air of the evening right after she got out of her car.

Words said during the meeting echoed inside her mind, filling the space with doubt. She was well aware that her attitude during the gathering might have caused the end of this collaboration before it even started. That she might have just ruined the deal on which depended a lot.

Only because her pride had to win... once again.

It was the hour of her meeting with Kamilah. To her surprise, the place that she sent her to wasn't the building of Ahmanet Financial by itself. Instead, she got the address to one of the fanciest neighborhoods in New York.

Amy drove there on her own without bodyguards. She didn't let her parents know about any of what happened so far. In that case, she needed to deal with the situation on her own, praying that she would have only good news to share with them later.

Full of hope, she stepped into the elevator typing the guests' code that Ms. Sayeed sent her earlier that day.

"Now, try to fix it, Amy," she mumbled quietly.

***

The elevator stopped, and doors opened with a loud click sound.

Did she invite me to her penthouse? Amy asked herself in thoughts, stepping inside unsurely, slowly taking in the picture before her eyes.

Her steps were quiet. After walking through a short corridor, she found herself in a spacious living room with a view of the dining table and the open kitchen.

But there was no sign of the apartment owner.

With typical for her curiosity, she looked over the place. The girl was educated in interior design enough to admire a modernly stylized space. The colors around her were outweighed by black, light grey white on the walls and dark, deep browns of the furniture. Here and there, she noticed some accessories in the faint shade of lavender. Everything created a well-balanced contrast, pleasing to the eye.

After a while of waiting, Amy couldn't hold herself any longer, and she slowly approached the dresser that caught her eye from the start. What especially got her attention was an old photograph of the CEO of Ahmanet Financial and some strangers posing in the picture, all smiling. She assumed that the photo showed Kamilah in the company of friends.

But the only person she recognized from it was Adrian. He looked exactly the same as when she met him for the first time. The only difference was visible in his clothes. Everyone in the picture seemed to wear garments that had been taken straight from a different era.

Was it taken during some kind of costume party? Or maybe just a long time ago, but... how long? The girl put her purse aside to place one of her fingers on the picture, tracing over its surface, lost in thoughts.

"I can see you're the nosey one," a deep whisper made her jump in surprise.

Amy turned around quickly, almost knocking the picture by doing so. Just to face a smirking Kamilah Sayeed standing right there with her arms crossed. The girl's heartbeat increased from sudden shock, making her attempt to compose herself fail badly.

"Oh," Amy felt her cheeks reddening without permission, "I thought you were in a bathroom, or..." she was making excuses, but it got her thinking.

Why didn't she notice the woman sooner?

"I was watching you," Kamilah answered like she was reading her mind just by staring intensively at the girl. "Let me invite you to my office."

After a moment of hesitation, Amy decided to leave her concerns for some other time. So she followed this tall, mysterious woman, getting further into the apartment.

She found herself amazed by how different this room was decorated in comparison to the rest of them. It was way more cozy and old fashioned there between these four walls decorated with ancient artifacts.

"I'm surprised to see you alone," Kamilah stood behind the desk, inviting Amy to take a seat in front of her with a hand gesture.

Documents had been already arranged, waiting for her to read them. But suddenly, Amy lost her previous boldness. Out of nowhere, she felt intimidated by the presence of this absolutely beautiful woman.

"I'm not always surrounded by them," the girl tried to focus on the files as the following words slipped out of her mouth without her knowledge, "I'm a grown-up."

Kamilah smirked slightly at this but did not make a comment. Instead, she sat down and let Amy read the new contract that she had prepared for her.

***

Finally, Amy picked up a pen after she read the whole deal several times to make sure she understood everything clearly. She signed it and put the pen aside, having a hard time looking at Kamilah's face.

"Could you stop?" Amy whispered with unusual shyness in her voice.

"Excuse me?" Kamilah's eyebrows furrowed slightly, but she didn't take her eyes off the girl.

"You were staring this whole time," Amy did her best to not drop her gaze. "And you're still doing this," she blushed uncontrollably, making the woman smirk with satisfaction.

Kamilah's shoulders lifted and fell with a short yet deep breath. She reached for the documents just to put them on her side of the desk, giving the girl a short break from her stare.

Just to intimidate her with it again a second after.

"Dear...Amy," she started with a pause. "Is that how you'd like to be addressed?"

"It's up to you, Miss Sayeed," thoughts screamed inside the girl's head, judging her for the lack of courage.

"Kamilah," the woman corrected her before continuing. "I was wondering... Your family tree is a truly generous one."

The girl stayed silent, waiting for the rest, but Kamilah clearly expected her reaction.

"It... certainly is," unsureness grew in her chest.

"For centuries, every single newborn in Paines family," Kamilah leaned back on the chair. She twirled her hair around one of her slim fingers, "was a boy, am I right?"

Amy's body stiffened slightly, but she forced herself to nod calmly in response. But her mind worked faster from then on. She started paying more attention to the topic of their conversation. Because they were touching some delicate matters.

Dangerous matters.

"You are very well protected by your family," Kamilah was circling around the subject mercilessly. "Your parents trust you with their business," she tilted her head slightly to the side. "That must mean you are fully informed in the type of clients they are working with."

Oh my god, I am so stupid, Amy cursed herself.

At that same time, her right hand slowly traveled up her thigh. Her dress was designed with a little pocket on the side. Big enough to hide there a small object without arousing suspicion.

In this situation, even such a small wooden stake was good enough for self-defense.

"And yet, you're here." Kamilah squinted her eyes, letting the whisper to escape her lips. "All alone."

It was too much.

Amy stood up, ready to run, but she wasn't fast enough.

The girl wasn't a fool. She knew too well that she could never be faster than any of them. But it was the last chance left for her.

And it still failed.

In a split of a second, she was pushed against the wall with her hands firmly held down her sides. Making it unable to escape even if she dared to put up a fight.

Kamilah's shining eyes moved from the girl's eyes to her lips, following the path of the vein pulsing on her neck. Corners of her lips curled up as she looked down at Amy's right hand. Her fingers moved along.

"And what, care to tell," she ripped the stick out of Amy's grip, "were you planning to do with this?" Kamilah threw the weapon away, filling the room with the hollow sound of the wood hitting the floor.

"I..." Amy tried to calm down her breathing. "I know what you are."

It made the woman close the distance between them even more, their bodies almost touching.

"Enlighten me," Kamilah opened her mouth a little, letting her tongue run over her sharp teeth.

Amy swallowed hard at the view, trying to get her body under control, without success.

Finally, she managed to look into the woman's eyes, noticing a spark of crimson in them.

"You're a monster," words escaped her lips without hesitation.

Kamilah's eyes changed to red in a flash as a performance of power.

But to her surprise, the view didn't make an impression on Amy.

Actually, it caused quite the opposite reaction. The closeness of Kamilah's body suddenly changed from threatening to intimate, spreading heat inside the girl.

The woman leaned down since she was a little bit taller, bringing her lips closer to Amy's ear.

Close enough to let her hear the whisper.

"Are you afraid?" her breath teased sensitive skin on Amy's neck.

The girl closed her eyes for a moment, knowing how bad this situation was for her. Knowing that the anticipation created inside her was easily perceptible for the woman standing just an inch away from her.

That she shouldn't even question her own feelings. She wasn't supposed to react this way around the vampire. Any of them, there was no exception.

At least she thought so until that day.

"I'm not," she almost moaned the answer when Kamilah's hands moved to her waist, eagerly pulling her closer.

Their lips met, letting them taste each other's warmth.

Kamilah teased her, fastening and deepening the dance of her tongue, just to slow down soon after. To step back, waiting for Amy to follow.

The girl climbed on her toes, wanting Kamilah's lips closer, wanting to feel the ecstasy of this feeling forever. She attempted to touch the woman's face after freeing one of her hands. Just to find herself being turned around with an impossible power in response. She waited patiently this time, pressed against the wall with hands behind her back.

"I want to hear you moan," Kamilah whispered into her ear, thrusting from behind.

Amy's dress raised up dangerously, showing her legs, giving access to her skin. Kamilah let go of her hands, and instead, wandered her fingertips all over the girl's exposed thighs, making her writhe under this touch. Making her place both hands on the wall in an attempt to steady herself.

She was breathing heavily, indeed. But that was not what Kamilah expected from her.

And she wanted to make it clear only one more time.

"I said something," her voice sounded a little harsher than before.

Kamilah's hand moved on the inside of Amy's thigh, squeezing. While the other one came impossibly close to the girl's underwear, which was already soaked more than she suspected it to be.

At that point, Amy couldn't hold it anymore, didn't really try either. She moaned through her gritted teeth, moving her hips to feel the woman's fingers more.

"That's a good girl," Kamilah smirked, leaning down to move her tongue on Amy's earlobe.

From there, she moved lower, placing kisses on her nape, moving her blonde hair away from her skin. As she made sure to leave hickeys on her neck, her fingers were teasingly playing with the material of the lingerie. Amy's moans became more urging, revealing her growing impatience.

Desire to finally feel it.

Her aching for the touch.

"You have no clue how much it takes from me," Kamilah muttered into her skin, "to not devour you right now."

These last words were like a dash of cold water that Amy needed at that moment.

She tensed immediately, causing Kamilah to stop touching her. The woman didn't assume to misunderstand her signs earlier, but obviously, something made the girl change her mind.

Amy freed herself from Kamilah's grip, pulling the dress down with shaking hands, trying to cover her exposed skin. To cover thighs that she wanted to have touched so badly only a moment ago.

"I should go," she blinked a few times to collect her thoughts.

"Easy, darling," Kamilah was astonished by this unexpected shift. "I assure you, I won't bite," her appearance showed unusual for her concern.

But Amy was already moving back, making her steps to the way out.

She felt so stupid.

So reckless.

"I..." she couldn't find the right words.

So she chose to say nothing, walking out of the room in a hurry. Vanishing like a scared teenager.

Leaving the woman in her office completely alone.

"That was... unexpected," Kamilah said out loud, pouring herself a glass of gin.

***

A piercing scream signaled her destination.

The well-known scent of blood teased her nostrils, leading toward the source.

After barely a moment, she found herself standing between the buildings of the village, looking at the scene through the window from afar. She heard the faint heartbeat of the woman in labor, growing weaker with every passing second.

"There's no point in saving her, fools," the vampire muttered to herself, ready to turn around.

But something inside her broke.

The feeling remained for barely one short second, obligating her to save this family. Like she owed it to the man that she left behind in the forest.

Without thinking any longer, she used her vampire speed to get inside the building.

To move among people gathered around her target as if she was a ghost. A nothingness that left behind only a gust of wind that was immediately blamed on the open window.

She moved quickly enough to cut her wrist with one of her fangs, letting a few drops of it leak inside a bottle placed on the desk. Poisoning the purity of the water with a deep shade of red.

Just to disappear soon after into the darkness like the shadow that should have never left it.

The vampire ran fast, distancing herself from the place before she could feel the regret inside her chest. Repressing the disappointment in herself because she just broke the most important rule that all of them had sworn to obey.

Humans should never, under any circumstances, feed on vampires' blood.

Maybe if she stayed there a little bit longer, she would know that her efforts were in vain. Despite all the power her blood contained, it was not enough to save the woman. Her heart was too weak to survive the labor.

It stopped beating, just to leave the village and the forest around it with the burden of silence.

But at that moment, the peace of the night was disturbed one last time with a sound of hope.

Weeping of a newborn.

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Next chapter: 4

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tag list: @evexofxtime  @kamilah-is-queen @ariaminsinclair @helpconfusedpersonhere @ayushixo @nydeiri @vonda-b-real

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 33)

I don’t exactly know how to tag this but a warning on this chapter as I feel like some of the language can be unsettling for mental abuse survivors and, though the chapter doesn’t contain sexual harassment, some of the language might be similar? Maybe the best way to but it would be to say that there’s a CW for objectification. 

Normally tears don’t come easily to her, not when she has to induce them herself. It only takes thinking back to the not so distant past to coax them forward. She hates the feeling of his hand on hers as he leads her down the hall. She worries that she is appearing too lucid so she lets herself stumble. The man sighs deeply as though she is an inconvenience. As though that isn’t exactly what he wants. “This way he mumbles.”

She knows the way, he has forced her to walk it so many times now. She knows the way though she hasn’t been down this hall in ages. She didn’t expect to have such a visceral reaction to trekking it once again. It comes like nausea. Her stomach drops and her throat runs dry. This time when she shakes it isn’t drug induced.

He chuckles, “keep walking, it isn’t that hard, we’re almost there.”

Which is all the more reason to come to a standstill but she lets him drag her into the room regardless. He leads her to the surgical table, she can smell the vines, their musky, freshwater odor. It leaves her stomach heaving. Agni, she hates the smell of sea plants...

“Get yourself comfortable.”

He knows well that the chill of the table’s metals offer no comfort at all.

“Since you’ve been a good girl, we won’t use the straps today.”

She waits for him to turn before letting out her sigh of relief. She lays herself back upon the table, staring at the ceiling. The same ceiling she’d been forced to stare at before. She shudders, feeling entirely queasy. For a moment she wonders why she is doing this to herself. For a moment she forgets that this is the only thing that will drive the nightmares from her mind once and for all.

Control. She will let old scenarios play themselves out. They will end the way that she wants them too.

They will if she can stave off the panic that comes with such familiar discomforts. A tear slips from her eye. She hadn’t meant for it to do so.

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He purrs as he fixes the first vine to her forehead. “Do you know that?”

And he will be pretty when he is a smear of blood on the floor.

“You’re better off this way. Trust me, you are. You’re more likable when you’re mindless.” He drums his fingers upon the side of her head. “When I’m done with you I’ll let you go back to your friends. I’m sure that they’ll appreciate my work; they’ll find you much more agreeable.”

It shouldn’t, but somehow it still stings. She realizes then, that she has made a mistake. She has made progress, sure. She has begun to rebuild old friendships and make new ones. But, Agni, she is still riddled with her own innate insecurities and the man has seen enough of her mind to exploit those.

If only she could reassure herself that he is wrong beyond a simple awareness that, even if he isn’t, that she’d rather be resented for her stubborn and unlovable personality than to have it wiped clean to make room for an uncannily sugary one. At least if she is unlikable, she knows that she is still Azula through and through.

“Don’t look so forlorn.” Sangyul chuckles. “You aren’t complete yet. But don’t worry, you will be. I’ll fix you.”  

Her breath hitches in her throat. She needs someone to fix her but, spirits, not him. She needs to fix herself. She will fix herself.

“Now I’ve watched the Avatar do this many times and I think that I’ve found a way to use electricity to activate the vines without the Avatar’s help.” He declares. “We’re going to test that on you. I anticipate this hurting.”

She goes tense.

“If you don’t squirm too much, we won’t need the restraints.” He pushes her back onto the table.

She wonders if she should put a stop to this now. But no. No, that wouldn’t be good enough to drive off the nightmares… She can’t keep her breathing level not when lightning sizzles on his fingertips. She hadn’t realized that he was a lightning bender. She hadn’t realized that he could bend at all. Thank Agni, he doesn’t know that she can also bend again.

The lightning surges through the vines, it tickles her head in the most bitingly unpleasant way. She gives an involuntary whimper and his lips curl into a wicked grin. She closes her eyes and works the current away from her head. She hasn’t exactly mastered redirection yet--it still stings terribly. And the vines on her head glow. He sends a few more bolts before withdrawing a long thin metal stick with a clay handle.

“See, this is going to help me guide the electricity. In theory, the lightning will do for me what the Avatar could do with spirit energy…” He mumbles.  He presses the stick to her forehead and drags the current along. The sensation is tingling, agonizingly so. She can feel tiny fingers of lightning touching the strings of her mind.

She closes her eyes. Eyes that water reflexively. The charge dancing in her mind is much more chaotic than Aang’s touch. When he had entered her mind he had entered with clarity, purpose, the ability to gauge how the colors of her aura were reacting to him. The electrical charge has no such ability. It is erratic, touching the fearful muted blue strands of her aura and dying them an even duller grey a sad grey--the result is anxiety inducing. It bounces back and strikes a different strand green. Guilt and self loathing trickles in.

She squeezes her eyes tighter. Her breathing becoming increasingly erratic. She needs control. She needs to take it back. The electricity has none of the guilt and compassion that Aang had, had. Aang...he no longer needs to touch the threads to dye them shades of red and pink. She takes several deep breaths. It is hard to relax with currents running through her mind, harder still with an enemy in such close proximity and damn near impossible with her mind left so vulnerable. But her mind is still hers. She lets herself burrow back in her mind, retreat into a familiar place. She can hear the rush of water as it slaps against the side of the boat, can feel the wind tugging at her hair. Mostly she can feel the flame of her chakra lapping at her belly, hear it crackling in her ears… It is hers, her chakra, her fire, her mind...

The lightning dances around in her head, but it doesn’t reach any further. It no longer corrupts. It can’t corrupt. Sangyul withdraws the metal rod and steps back. Her body jerks and convulses. Only twice--maybe it has been jerking this whole time. She isn’t sure.

“Now sit up.” He demands.

Dizzy, pained, she obeys. She tries to shake the daze from her head. Spirits, it hurts so terribly. Sangyul brushes a curtain of her hair out of her face. “Good girl.” He comments again. Her ears are ringing. “Now stand.”

She isn’t ready to stand, she thinks that her legs will buckle if she tries.

“Stand.” He growls.

She forces herself to her feet. It takes everything she has to remain upright. “Now,” Sangyul smiles. “Your hair has gotten quite long again…”

She swallows, her stomach lurches. Her tears are very real now and it only seems to delight him more. She knows what he is going to ask of her next. He presses a blade into her palm, it nips her skin and several dots of blood blossom upon it. But this time when she raises the blade, it won’t be to her own face where her scar is tingling with more fury than ever.

.oOo.

He finds her in the corner of the room, legs drawn up to her chest, cheeks stained with tears. Aang stoops down and touches her cheek, she doesn’t move an inch. Her eyes are hollow, dim. He takes her hand, her bloody hand and squeezes it. He runs his free hand over her locks. Locks that are clumped together with drying blood. It is smeared upon her face, her chest. It soaked through her shirt.

“Azula?”

She looks up, wordlessly. Her lips part.

He knew that this whole thing was a bad idea.

She souches forward and he expects her to begin crying into his shoulder. But she doesn’t, despite the soft tremors of her body, she remains quiet. He rubs her back as he takes the blade from her hand.

“Aang, what’s going on?”  Zuko asks.

“It’s over.” Aang replies as he hoists Azula upright. She holds her own weight but still leans very heavily into him. “Sangyul is…” He gestures to the body. Its throat is carved into a smirk as wide as the one that never had a chance to leave his arrogant face.

“Is Azula okay?”

“Azula is fine.” She grumbles.

Zuko clears his throat, “I guess I should have asked you directly, huh?”

Aang squeezes her tighter. “Are you sure that you’re okay you just...you know…”

“Killed a man.” She elaborates. “He needed to die, Avatar. I just…” She pulls back and seems to study his face.

He is fairly certain that he knows what she is looking for and he won’t let her find it; he is afraid but he fights to keep it out of his eyes. He knows what else she is looking for, “I love you, Azula.” His lips brush against her ear.

She swallows and finally she returns his hug. Holding her feels like holding a dragon; dangerous, unpredictable. Unstable. He wishes that he wasn’t afraid.

She won’t hurt him. He knows that she won’t and so he scoops her into his arms. “Are you ready to go home?”

“I can walk on my own, Avatar.”

He wants to remind her that she just went through some sort of hell. Wants to tell her that it isn’t a good idea. But he can’t, not here. Not in this room. “Is that what you want to do?”

She nods.

It is instinctual to ask her if she is sure. But he remembers what she had requested quite a while ago and he resists. Instead he offers, “if you get tired of walking, let me know.”

She nods again. He has a pretty decent feeling that she will end up letting him carry her at least part of the way to the airships.

“I’ll send the imperial firebenders to make the rest of the arrests and I’ll meet you on the airships.” He glances at Azula. “Take care of her, please.”

“She can take care of herself.” Aang replies. He just hopes that she’ll let him help for a change. Her hand tightening around his is it’s own reassurance.