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iwaoiness · 4 months ago

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The surfboard on which he is lying sways gently to the rhythm of the moving sea, its melody soft and calm on this summer night. He has no fear of the current pulling him deeper, of the sea devouring him and never returning him to dry land. Iwaizumi, with one hand resting his head and the other on his stomach covered by his wetsuit, gazes up at the dark, vast expanse stretching overhead. It is dotted with stars and a full moon, all reflecting in the water.

Somehow, it feels like being in space.

Hajime closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, his lungs filling with the fresh air he has grown up with, with that salty tang he can almost taste. For a moment, he allows himself to think of nothing, pretending to be a speck of dust suspended in the air.

He forgets that the next day he has to report for work at seven in the morning. He forgets his busy schedule. He forgets the coldness of parents who continue to treat him as if he were 18 and not 27. He forgets the selfishness of people who approach him out of interest. He forgets the expectations of a surname he has not chosen. He forgets his fiancée asleep on the sofa. He just forgets.

Until he hears a soft splash.

"Iwa-chan’s dead?" And then that soft voice to his right.

When Iwaizumi feels an extra weight resting on his surfboard, he slowly lifts his eyelids, turning his head to the side.

There, bathed in silvery moonlight, Tooru grins from ear to ear, his eyes narrowed. His hair is soaked, the strands falling over his face like seaweed. Bare arms crossed on the surfboard, droplets of water glide down his pale skin, tracing the reliefs of his muscles.

"Why would I be dead?" he asks, his voice hoarse and tinged with sleepiness.

"Dunno" He shrugs, cocking his head naively. The movement shakes his hair and exposes folds of skin on his neck that flutter with a subtlety that Iwaizumi's eyes now perceive even in the dark. "You so quiet."

"I was just relaxing."

"Mmh," Tooru hums, his intense gaze never wavering from Iwaizumi as he slowly sits up on his surfboard, letting his legs sink into the icy water that nips at his bare skin.

But Hajime doesn't even register the sensation. His hand moves to Tooru's face, his thumb stroking his cheek, feeling beneath his fingertips for ethereal softness. Then, he retrieves a small piece of reddish flesh caught at the corner of Tooru's stubby lips.

"Did you just eat?" Hajime arches an eyebrow curiously, glancing at the morsel before flicking it away into the sea.

Tooru nods, an amused glint in his eyes, proudly displaying his pearl-white teeth, save for the dark spots on his sharp, larger fangs.

"What was it this time?"

"A heartbroken boy," he replies, licking his lower lip slowly as if to relive the taste. Hajime loses himself in the movement, in the way his slender tongue glides. "They're the tastiest."

"Mmh," Hajime hums, his hand rising to his face again, this time to brush a damp lock away from his forehead. "Can you see the heart I have today?"

Tooru nods energetically, uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on the board. The water churns at his movement as he propels himself upwards, climbing onto the surfboard, which sways subtly under his weight. A cold wave radiates from his body, lapping at the bare skin of Iwaizumi, who takes him in completely and lets his hair stand on end. As Tooru settles in, Hajime can't help but notice his waist, where his skin melts into radiant turquoise scales, even in the darkness, spreading across his long, powerful tail, now half-submerged in the water. Iwaizumi’s gaze travels back to Tooru's face, which is lit with a playful expression, his eyes narrowed and lips curved in a lopsided smile.

“Am I so irresistible you always fascinated by me, even you see me a lot?"

Hajime frowns at him, already feeling his ears redden and his heart beat faster.

"I'm not fascinated, freaking fish tail. Are you going to look at my heart now or not?"

"Gezz, Iwa-chan’s boarding."

"It's boring, stupid" And for the first time in a week, since the last time Iwaizumi could see Tooru, he smiles easily.

"Whaterver!" He sticks out his tongue as a child at him before holding up one of his hands, the long, bony fingers joined by very thin folds of skin at the knuckles. "Let's see Iwa-chan’s heart" He murmurs, his gaze on Hajime's chest.

His thumb rests on top of the wetsuit, the rest of his fingers spread over his collarbone. Iwaizumi holds his breath unwillingly, tensing up as he feels a hot blast shoot straight through his heart, enveloping it like a thermal blanket. Tooru barely blinks, his pupils so dilated they've practically eaten the entire iris.

The waves continue to dance in whispers, the water sloshes to the rhythm of Tooru's heavy tail movements and then, the warmth in Iwaizumi's heart melts away as Tooru pulls his hand away and can finally breathe, relaxing his shoulders.

"Iwa-chan's heart still the same" He breaks the silence, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Sad and cracked every day. Red and warm when is with me."

"Enough to eat me?" He jokes, but his voice sounds too serious.

Tooru looks into his eyes, his pupils back to their normal size, the golden color sparkling with something Iwaizumi’s afraid to name. It's intense, powerful. Iwaizumi feels as if the water is rising up his body, numbing his limbs and paralyzing him in place until it reaches his throat, where it stops and pools, waiting for any false move to drown him completely.

Yet, he knows Tooru would never allow that.

Hajime's heart races as he struggles not to lower his gaze, striving to be just as firm.

"Told you" Tooru speaks, genuine and somewhat frustrated, as his hands cradle his face lovingly. "I can take you out of your stupid world, make you come with me. Not eat you, save you" He murmurs, leaning forward, just enough to let their noses brush.

At some point, Iwaizumi’s hand has curled around his waist, his fingers dancing between smooth skin and rough scales.

His words echo the first time Tooru looked straight into his heart, when they met in this very place, on the same surfboard, under the same moon. Back then, Iwaizumi clung to a thin rope at the edge of the abyss, and Tooru spoke in archaic and distorted Japanese, but with a sincerity so solid that Iwaizumi could not escape it—nor did he want to.

And from then on, everything flowed like a river. Almost a year of meetings during nights and sunrises, of modern Japanese lessons, of silences, of icy water, of the splashing of a restless tail, of touches on cold skin and warm skin, of brushes, of heads resting on shoulders, of easy smiles and stifled laughter, of knowing that a person with a broken heart tastes better than one with a heart corrupted by hatred, and that Iwaizumi's heart is something rarely seen. For the first time, Tooru did not feel the desire to consume, but to heal.

Hajime was holding on to keep from falling into the abyss, but Tooru came to show him that the fall doesn’t hurt, that he would be there to catch him.

"And then?" Hajime murmurs, his voice hoarse and low, clinging tighter to Tooru like the anchor he has become, holding back the aimless ship of his life.

"We will spend eternity together," Tooru promises, tilting his head carefully, allowing their lips to brush this time. "Alone, you and I, Hajime. I'll take you to all oceans, sea chasms, coral reefs. You just have to ask."

The warm breath against his lips. Hajime puts one foot over the abyss.

"Eternity is a long time" He speaks, just for teasingly, only to see the smirk painted on his face again.

"Not long enough to spend with you," Tooru assures him, gently stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes pleading in a way Iwaizumi has never seen before.

Ask me, Hajime. Just ask me.

Iwaizumi thinks of tomorrow's work, the company, his employees, his parents, his family name, his fiancée, his home.

What does he lose? Everything.

He also thinks of his few friends, his cat, and the endearing children of the volleyball team at the foster home he funds, who greet him with sincere smiles and cling to his legs until he stays to play with them.

What does he win? Tooru.

The rope slips between Hajime’s fingers and his body begins to lean forward.

"Take me with you, Tooru."

The mermaid smiles, a sweet, sincere, relaxed curve beneath his glistening eyes and colourful cheeks. Hajime thinks Tooru doesn't need any siren song; his very existence is already a complete threat to anyone. And then, Iwaizumi releases the rope entirely, surrendering to the void as he bows his head, and finally, fucking finally, they kiss.

The kiss is wild, powerful, real. Tooru's lips are wet and taste salty and blood, but he doesn't give a shit. Their mouths collide again and again, breaths hitching in a battle for dominance. Sharp fangs graze against warmer lips, and human teeth tug at wet lips. Tongues meet for the first time as Hajime's free hand gently grips Tooru's chin, tempting his mouth open.

At some point, their bodies start to sway, Tooru's arms wrapping around Iwaizumi's neck, and Iwaizumi enveloping his waist and back completely. Between kisses, Hajime feels that, this time, he's truly lunging forward. There's a slight sense of vertigo, and then the sea engulfs him completely, bubbles buzzing loudly in his ears, and, like in space, oxygen disappears entirely.

On the surface, the sea grows calm as their bodies sink deeper and deeper.

The surfboard drifting away.

...

u can find this and me on my ao3 🍉

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miitgaanar · 2 years ago

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@soartfullydone asked: You/Tamlin: a kiss after one muse has killed for the other

This turned out to be MUCH LONGER and more involved than I intended. Oops. So it gets its own post lmao

***

The halls of the Spring Court were still and quiet. Almost desolate, as they were wont to be as of late. The quiet chatter of the guards no longer echoed the halls, the brilliant birdsong muffled to distant musical notes on the breeze, the vibrant colors of spring that once sparkled in the sunlight dulled to muted shades of green and pink and blue.

Life itself seemed to have been leached from his home, leaving Tamlin bereft of the usual comforts that helped to quell the racing thoughts overtaking his mind. He was alone, isolated, even—though he knew this to not truly be the case.

Tamlin stood facing the windows of his study, the ever-present cool breeze of his court drifting gently through the curtains, making the translucent fabric dance to a song he could no longer hear. A lock of hair fell out of place, displaced by an especially strong gust. He quickly reached up to tuck it back behind his rounded, mortal ears, unable to bear the sight of the now dull, near caramel shade of his once golden hair.

It had been months since Eris had stripped him of his immortality in exchange for Cassandra’s life, and yet, above all else, it was the quiet that left him the most unsettled. He felt both blind and deaf to the world around him, vulnerable in a way he never thought possible. He knew his guards still roamed the grounds, chatting idly as they went about their rounds; he knew the birds still sang, cheerful and careless as ever; and he knew that his court remained vibrant and bright, the magic that sustained it holding fast despite his folly.

He was the one who was different, he was the one who had freely handed over his immortality—relinquished the magic that came with being the High Lord of Spring—and left his court leaderless and defenseless.

Tamlin sighed heavily, his hazel eyes staring out at the manor grounds unseeing. It was bad enough that his people were left without a High Lord, but those closest to him now had to take on the burden of ensuring the Spring Court did not suffer any more than was necessary. Lucien had stepped in to share the burden of leadership, hopeful that at least the presence of a High Fae would help to deter Eris from launching his invasion just yet, as well as quell the unease that rippled through his subjects. Elizabeth was hard at work searching through their oldest texts for a way to reverse Eris’ spell, determined in her entirely human way to unearth the secrets of the old, dark magics Eris had utilized.

And Cassandra…

A sharp pain wound through his chest, tightening like a noose around his newly human heart. He had sworn that he would protect her, that she would be safe in his lands from any and all who would seek to use her powers. He had failed her, completely and utterly, and Eris had used her to usurp his father, to draw Tamlin out of the confines of his court and into the land of eternal Fall.

And then Eris had killed her, and in his desperation and rage and grief, Tamlin had paid the ultimate price to bring her back. Just as the son of Autumn had wanted.

Another sigh escaped him, his hand flexing out of habit as the embers of his rage sought an outlet. Claws no longer lingered beneath his flesh, ready to rip into the nearest threat and rend skin from bone. Instead, his nails were now short and fragile, all in various states of broken and chipped.

He scoffed softly. Useless. Even as an immortal and powerful High Lord, he had been unable to protect the woman he loved, what could he possibly do now to protect her from the other High Lords? Rhysand remained only too quiet, sequestered in the north where Tamlin’s scouts were unable to reach. And Tamlin could not rely on the other seasonal courts to stand by him, not with Autumn’s open declaration of war.

He had failed his siren, his people. And they now stood alone against the might of whatever court decided to move against them first.

Tamlin finally moved from the window, the joints in his knees cracking from being locked in place for too long. He frowned, but tried not to dwell on it. He didn’t need another reason to despise his newly mortal existence.

The floorboards were quiet beneath his boots as he left his study, though he knew anyone nearby likely heard each step as clearly as if he stomped on the aged wood. He hated being unaware of his own presence, unable to tell what was truly inaudible and what was as loud as the crash of thunder. He was a hunter by nature, and yet he now walked through these fae lands as their chosen prey.

The halls were mercifully empty as he wandered aimlessly, his eyes downcast. He couldn’t stomach how the manor’s staff would pointedly avoid his gaze as they went about their duties, choosing instead to offer him a cursory bow before returning to the task at hand. It broke something in him each time, and a part of him knew that it was pity that left them unable to meet his eyes as they passed. He wished that they hated him, wished they cursed his name and his mortal existence. He deserved it, after all. He had failed them as surely as he had failed Cassandra.

But pity? To know they pitied him and his shortened life was a worse fate than death. Eris knew that, and had likely hoped for it.

Tamlin turned a corner, his eyes catching on the faint flutter of a cloak at the end of the hall before it disappeared around the bend. He raised a single eyebrow, a frown pulling at his lips. It could have been a shadow—his eyes played many a trick on him these days, seeing things in darkened corners that simply weren’t there—but the sun was bright today, and the shadows were few.

He followed on silent feet—or at least what he deemed silent—avoiding what floorboards he knew creaked at the faintest application of pressure. He reached the end of the hall, unsurprised to find no one there. He paused for a brief moment, listening.

Nothing.

Tamlin straightened, a frustrated scowl pulling at his lips. He was acting like a fool, prowling through his own manor like a thief in the night, intent on catching prey that did not exist. That hunter’s instinct he had prided himself on seemed to have left him utterly. What use would he be in battle if he was reduced to chasing shadows and phantoms through the halls of his home?

He was about to turn back the way he had come, despondent and dispirited, when there came the soft creak of a door being opened from somewhere behind him. He spun around, prepared to see one of the maids exiting a guest room with linens to be laundered, only to see a fae he decidedly did not know slip through the doorway and lock eyes with him.

The fae had the appearance of a bat, with a pushed in, flat nose and short snout that revealed rows of sharp, needle-like teeth, but stood tall and hulking, rivaling even that of Tamlin’s build.

With a flap of his great, black wings, the beast rushed Tamlin.

Instincts that Tamlin had feared left him kicked in, and he dropped into a roll, barely dodging the creature. The fae shrieked in frustration, pulling a long blade from a sheath at his side.

“I was sent to find the siren,” the fae hissed, “but the fallen son of Spring will do.”

The creature swung his blade, his movements almost too fast for Tamlin to follow. He managed to duck the first swing, but the fae fluidly transitioned into the second, and cut upward from the hip. Tamlin stumbled back, but the tip of the blade pierced the flesh of his stomach, cutting a long line from the center of his abdomen nearly up to his right shoulder.

A pained yell was ripped from his throat as he fell back onto the plush, forest green carpeting that lined the hall. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he struggled to take in air as he attempted to push himself back to his feet. Searing agony ripped through him at the slightest movement and his arm collapsed beneath his weight, leaving him broken and bleeding upon the floor as he stared up at his attacker.

“Rhysand has yet to make his move,” the fae spat as he advanced, those bat-like features pulled into what Tamlin could only assume was a derisive sneer. “But Eris grows impatient, and seeks to hasten the pieces on the board. The siren behind the Night Court’s borders would do nicely.”

Horror flooded Tamlin, his blood turning to ice in his veins. No. Not again. Not now. Not after everything he had done to get her back, to bring her back.

Please, no.

The fae raised his blade, those sharp teeth glinting in the afternoon sunlight, as he made to finish off the disgraced and forgotten High Lord of Spring.

“Tamlin!”

A voice broke the heavy silence, and both Tamlin and his attacker looked to the end of the hall. Cassandra stood there, a gown of the deepest ocean blue pooling around her feet, her burgundy hair a wild halo around her pale face, her brilliant green eyes widened in horror.

The fae turned from his prey to face Cassandra, and the blood drained from Tamlin’s face.

“Run!” he cried out, his voice cracking as desperation flooded him.

The intruder twirled his blade, fully intent on his new mark, and Tamlin struggled to get to his feet once again. Pain lanced through him, his blood pooling beneath him at an alarming rate, and he fell back to the floor in a heap.

No. No, no, no, no…

Tamlin looked towards Cassandra once more. She had not moved, her eyes rapidly flickering between himself and the monstrous fae that now advanced on her. Why wouldn’t she run? Why was she still here?

“Cassandra, go!” he tried once more, but she remained rooted in place. She did not move an inch, simply holding her ground.

He thought it to be shock, the horror of the scene keeping her locked in place, but then he saw her eyes, and he realized that the horror he had seen in them had fled. In its place, a fiery anger he had seldom seen in his wild halfling had taken root.

She breathed deep, her features a mask of deceptive calm, like a sea in the moments before a raging storm.

She opened her mouth, and a voice of the most ethereal nature filled the halls of Spring.

Tamlin froze, watching, distantly noting that their attacker had also stopped in his tracks. It was difficult to focus, to keep a hold of himself, but through the haze of her song, he watched as the fae dropped his blade, seemingly in a daze.

Cassandra continued with her song, keeping the fae under her thrall. Each note seemed to echo eternally, evoking images of lone ships lost at sea, seeking safe harbor from the crashing waves. He watched as she walked forward, approaching the bat-like fae, and bent to pick up his discarded weapon. It seemed so much larger in her hands, so out of place.

And without once pausing in her continuous, haunting melody, she lifted the blade, and slit the fae’s throat.

The intruder fell to the ground with a dull, wet thud, his head only just barely still attached to his body, and the song abruptly ended.

“Tamlin!” Cassandra was suddenly at his side, her green eyes wide with panic, her skin spattered with fresh blood. “Tamlin, look at me. Hey. You’re okay. Just hang in there.” She ripped off a piece of her lovely blue gown, the fabric already bloodstained and ruined, and pressed it to his wound.

His eyes drifted to the now dead fae and the still growing pool of blood that ringed his body, before he once again met her gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his hand weakly lifting to brush the blood from her cheek. He simply succeeded in smearing it, like a macabre imitation of human cosmetics. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Cassandra’s face twisted into a look of utter befuddlement. “What? Why?”

“I should have protected you,” he said softly, each word laced with grief. “I promised to protect you.”

Her confusion morphed into a grief of her own, and she shook her head. “I’m only here because of you,” she said. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. It was a gentle kiss, one born of a quiet promise whispered into the dark. As she pulled away, she pressed her forehead to his own, looking into his dull, hazel eyes without hesitation. “It’s my turn to return the favor.”

#a court of thorns and roses #tamlin #acotar #tamlin x oc #soartfullydone #otp: the songs the siren sang #writings from Mandalore #writing prompts #AU: Fae Court Book #kiss prompt

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