i may be cringe but i am free

“Did you put on sunscreen?” you ask, and Shigaraki grimaces. “You should. Or you’re going to burn.”

“I don’t need –” Shigaraki breaks off abruptly when Dabi pelts him in the chest with a bottle of sunscreen. “What the fuck?”

“If you burn, you’re gonna bitch about it. I don’t want to hear it and neither does anyone else.” Dabi’s already wandering off down the beach. “Make the mermaid put it on you.”

Shigaraki’s face flushes. He uncaps the sunscreen, pours some of it into the palm of his hand, and shakes it off in a hurry, splattering your rashguard. “That’s disgusting,” he snaps. “I’m not putting it all over me.”

“And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you get heatstroke,” you say. “Either put it on or go sit in the shade.”

“That’s fucking boring,” Shigaraki says. “I hate that stuff. It makes me itch.”

“Everything makes you itch, Tomura-kun,” Toga says. She’s back to building her sandcastle, this time with help from Compress. “Just wear it. I picked a nice kind. It’s not bad for the fish and it smells like coconut.”

“I don’t want to smell like coconut!” Shigaraki’s starting to remind you of a kid throwing a temper tantrum. “I looked for one of those. There wasn’t one.”

He’s pointing at you, and your rashguard. It’s part of your hero uniform, something you wear to make yourself easy to pick out among the crowds on busy beaches, but it’s also UV-resistant, with long sleeves and a high neck. You’ve been in the sun long enough for it to dry out a little bit, and you’d like to get to the swim lesson sooner or later. And with how skinny he is, how narrow his shoulders are – “Here. Take mine.”

“Don’t take your clothes off. What’s wrong with you?”

“I have a suit on underneath,” you say, exasperated. It’s not a cute swimsuit, either – just a standard one-piece training suit in black, leftover from your school days. You peel off your rashguard and hand it over to Shigaraki. “Wear that. Then you’ll only need to put sunscreen on your face.”

Shigaraki’s expression clears, but only slightly. “I’m still not touching that shit.”

“I’ll do it, then.” At this point you’re out of patience for everything, including the shocked expression on Shigaraki’s face. “Put that on.”

Shigaraki struggles into your rashguard, and you beckon him closer. He comes closer without protesting, and he holds still, although he startles when you grab his chin to hold his face steady. You’re not unused to putting sunscreen on people, but usually those people aren’t villains who kidnapped you. Although you guess Shigaraki’s not the one who kidnapped you. Out of all the villains on this beach, he’s the one who’s least responsible for what’s happening to you.

Except for the part where he tried to drown himself to keep you from leaving. That part is probably going to piss you off forever, just like everything else Shigaraki’s doing. “Why are you putting so much on?”

“It’s not effective if you don’t use enough. Or if you don’t rub it in.” You do everything in your power to ignore the way Shigaraki’s eyelids flutter shut as you rub the sunscreen in at his temple, then across his forehead. “Most people don’t do it right. I spend half my time on shift dealing with people who’ve burnt themselves and gotten heatstroke.”

“I bet that just burns you up. Having to deal with idiots who can’t read instructions on a bottle instead of saving people.”

“If I have to go out into open water and save someone, a lot of things have already gone wrong,” you say. You’ve been on the job since you were fifteen, and your stomach still clenches when you hear a siren go off, when you see someone bobbing out past the surf, their chin dipping below the surface. “I want to stop things before they go wrong. Sometimes that means stopping people from getting heatstroke so they don’t wander off into the water when they’re not thinking straight. It’s all part of the job.”

“That’s stupid,” Shigaraki says, although you think there’s less scorn in his voice than before. Maybe you’re only thinking that so you won’t want to rub sunscreen in his eyes on purpose. “What do you do off the job, anyway? Go drinking with your friends and brag about how many people you saved? I bet it’s like a competition and you all keep track.”

“I don’t really know what other people do,” you say. “The people I saved aren’t the ones I remember. All done. Fifteen more minutes and we can start the lesson.”

You cap the sunscreen and set it aside, and Shigaraki opens his eyes. “Hold up. You can’t just drop something that cryptic and keep rolling. You don’t remember the people you save? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You decide you don’t owe him an answer. You turn your gaze out to sea, picking out the distant shapes of islands on the horizon. If it’s a clear day and you can see them, you’re within swimming distance. That’s where you’ll go, once you get this over with. You’ll get there faster if you dive deep and let your quirk take over completely. You’re thinking about that, about how deep the channel between this island and the others might go, about how far away from the light you’ll be, when Shigaraki’s hand comes down on your shoulder and scares the hell out of you. “What are you doing?”

“You need sunscreen, too.” The palmprint Shigaraki left behind on your shoulder is wet. You can smell coconut. He put so much on that you can practically taste it when you open your mouth to insist you can do it on your own. Shigaraki cuts you off. “You helped me. So I’m helping you.”

You probably need sunscreen more than you want to admit, with the way your face is heating up. “I thought it was too gross to touch.”

“Only if I’m putting it on myself. This is – fine.” Shigaraki pats gingerly at your shoulder, index finger lifted. “Now tell me why you forget about everybody you save.”

“That’s not what I said. I just said I don’t –” You decide all at once not to get into semantics. “I’m a rescue hero. That’s not the same as –”

“Oh, so you’re not like other heroes?” Shigaraki is doing a lot of sneering for somebody who’s still trying to put sunscreen on you. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s not the same,” you say. “How many rescue heroes do you see on the charts? Can you name any of the schools rescue heroes come from? We don’t go into it for money or fame. And we don’t go into it thinking it’s our job to save everyone.”

Shigaraki’s hand goes still on your shoulder, and the fact that his index finger is still up is the only thing that keeps you from bolting. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it sounds like. I’m one person. There are limits on what I can do. If I push past those limits and get myself killed, nobody else gets rescued. That’s why we work on teams when it comes to big disasters.” You’re blabbering, but you don’t know what else to do. “There’s only so much I can do. But somebody else might be able to do more. And someone else can do what that person can’t. If we all work together, maybe we can save everybody. But we can’t do it alone.”

Shigaraki’s quiet. His hands lift away from your skin, and you collect the bottle of sunscreen and get to work on yourself, still talking. “Heroes who don’t specialize in rescue act like they can do more. They’re okay making those promises. They’re not the ones who have to explain to someone’s family why the person they loved didn’t make it.”

“They make you do that?” Shigaraki’s voice sounds weird. “When somebody dies on your watch, you’re the one who tells their family?”

“That’s why I remember the people I lose. I see what happens to the people they leave behind.” You remember when you found out about that part of rescue work. How sick the idea made you feel, how you swore to yourself that you’d never lose anyone. How fast the world made you break that promise. “It never gets easier.”

It’s quiet for a while after that. You set the sunscreen aside and settle in to wait for it to set. You decide you’re not saying anything else. Opening your mouth right now seems like a great way to get Shigaraki to kill you. This is simple. Teach him to swim, then hit open water and don’t come up for air until you’re past the twenty-fathom line. You don’t need to try to convince him that you’re different than other heroes. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you.

“Tell me about one,” Shigaraki says, and you glance at him. “One you lost.”

“Why do you want to know about that?”

“I’m seeing if you meant it. Tell me.” Shigaraki is studying you intently. “You admitted you can’t save everybody. Who didn’t you save?”

Of course he wants you to talk about the worst part of your job. “I’m not talking about that. It’s not funny and I don’t want to listen to you mock me.”

“I’ve never heard a hero say that before,” Shigaraki says. “That you can’t save everyone. Every other hero lies. I’m not going to mock you for telling the truth. So tell me the truth.”

Can you trust Shigaraki not to mock you? Probably not. Are you telling the truth? Yes. And this is why you remember, right? So that person’s memory exists somewhere other than their family, so their name finds a home in someone else’s voice every so often. You might not want to tell Shigaraki. But it’s also the right thing to do.

“So – her name was Naoko,” you start. “Hamada Naoko. She was fifteen. Only child, quiet, kind of kept to herself. She was scared of the water. I swam all three of her friends out, but she wouldn’t come with me. She had asthma and she couldn’t hold her breath. I found an oxygen tank and went back in, but the ship was inverting, and everything was falling – and I was too slow. She was dead when I got to her. I couldn’t even bring her body back.”

You were going to. You would have swum Naoko back to the surface, tried your best to resuscitate her, hoped and prayed that the water was cold enough to give her a chance. But the ship was all the way under by then. Under, upside down, plummeting into pitch-darkness. You could only hold your breath so long. Only survive a certain amount of pressure. Your supervisor forced you to let go of Naoko’s body, dragged you out of the ship faster than you could have swum with Naoko trailing you. And then you watched, sickened and horrified, as the ship’s hulk vanished into the deep.

Shigaraki’s still looking at you. Waiting for you to say more. “Her parents were so angry,” you say, hating the way your voice gets quiet, hating how it almost shakes. “I saved the other three in the cabin with her. Why couldn’t I have saved her? Why did I let her die? I should have swam faster. I should have brought an oxygen tank in with me from the start. I should have grabbed two of the students at a time. I could have done so many things differently, and she’d have come home.”

“Students,” Shigaraki repeats. “That ferry sinking four years ago. You were there?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I can read,” Shigaraki snaps, but it’s half-hearted compared to the venom he spoke to you with before. “You were there?”

“It was my first big rescue,” you say. “Or – not rescue, I guess. The airlifts off the deck made the big headlines – that was Hawks’s first operation, too – but there were a lot of us in the water, or under it. The way the ship was sinking, most people couldn’t make it to the deck, so we had to go get them.”

“But not all of them.”

“There was no way,” you say. You aren’t the only hero who lost someone that day. Almost everybody assigned to the water rescue did. “They briefed us on the ship’s layout on the way to the wreck site, and as soon as we saw it, we all knew – open ocean rescue isn’t like any other kind, you’re miles out, it’s just you and your team and the victims – and there were so many victims. I’m not like All Might. I can’t save a hundred people in ten minutes. It was my first one, and I wasn’t fast like I am now – if I’d trained as hard as I should have been –”

You don’t usually verbalize this thought process, and if you were going to, you picked the wrong audience. “I sound like I’m making excuses. There’s not an excuse. People have died because I couldn’t save them. More people in the future will probably die, because I won’t ever be strong enough or smart enough or fast enough to save everyone. You should find a better swim instructor.”

“Somebody else would lie,” Shigaraki says. “I don’t like liars. And I don’t like people who pretend they’ve never fucked up in their lives. That’s not you, so – I think I’ll stick with who I got. Has it been fifteen minutes?”

“Close enough.” You glance down the beach, looking for a good access point, and find a section of calmer water, protected from the surf by a rocky outcropping. “Over there. Let’s go.”

As soon as you’re back in the water, you’re fighting your quirk, but that’s something you’re used to. Shigaraki follows you willingly into chest-deep water. “Now what?”

“You’re going to learn to float,” you say. “This is probably the most important thing about swimming. Everything else is nice to know, but you have to be able to float in order to do all of that stuff.”

“It’s the top of the skill tree,” Shigaraki says. Whatever that means. You nod. “How do I do it?”

“Watch.” You tip backwards in the water, letting your feet leave the sand, and extend your arms to either side, stiffening your torso so you won’t buckle at the waist and sink. “The goal here is to keep your body as flat as possible in the water. Because if you bend at the waist or try to sit up –”

You demonstrate and promptly sink, then return to floating and get your feet back on the sand. “Try it.”

Usually adults who aren’t scared of the water are easy to teach, but Shigaraki doesn’t even want to tilt backwards. “I can’t do the thing you did. I’m going to fucking drown.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going to let you drown.” You resist the urge to drop into the voice you use when you’re teaching little kids. You have a feeling Shigaraki won’t like it. “Just try it. If anything goes wrong, I’ll help you, okay? I’m here.”

Shigaraki aims a flat, frustrated glance your way, and you cringe – but he tries it, tilting his head and shoulders back into the water, arms extended slightly at his sides. It’s not bad, but then he can’t get his legs up, and the weight of his lower half sinks him. You reach out to help before his head can go under, and Japan’s most feared supervillain grabs onto you like a kid who’s just remembered that the ocean has sharks in it. “What the fuck was that?”

“Like I said. Your body has to be parallel, or –”

“Explain like I’m one of your dumb students.”

You’re pretty sure Shigaraki doesn’t want to hear how you talk to five-year-olds. You try to think of something else, and an example comes to mind. “Okay, you know the Titanic? When it was afloat, it was in a straight line on the surface of the water. Then when it hit the iceberg and the flooding started, the bow section of the ship started getting heavier than the stern section. It sank, and it pulled the stern upright for a little bit –”

“And then it snapped,” Shigaraki says. “My legs aren’t that heavy.”

“It’s not just about that. Even if they’re lighter than the rest of you, they’re still acting like a counterweight, pulling you straight up and down. If you’re straight up and down, you’ll sink.”

“You’re not sinking,” Shigaraki points out.

“I’m treading water. That’s like – level three,” you say. “Like I said, floating’s most important. Try it again.”

“Why, so I can drink more water and look like a clown?”

“This time I’m going to help you,” you say. “Tilt back the way you did last time, and I’ll get your legs up. So then you’ll at least know it works.”

“Fine.” Shigaraki gives you a wary look and tips backwards again.

You hook your arm behind the backs of his knees and lift them slowly to the surface, hoping he’s remembered to keep his body rigid. “Straighten your legs out,” you instruct. “Don’t sit up. Just, like – starfish.”

Shigaraki keeps his arms all but glued to his sides. “This is hard.”

“You just have to get used to it,” you say. He might be floating, but you need him to loosen up a bit. “Now that you’re on the surface, you can relax if you want to. I’m not going to let you sink.”

To Shigaraki, relaxing seems to mean sitting up. He’s not comfortable in the water at all. “Let’s try this,” you say. “I’ll support you – like this, with my hands under your back – and this way you can just focus on trying to relax. Okay?”

“Fine,” Shigaraki mutters. Even though you warned him what you were going to do, he still flinches when you touch him. “So – what? I need to move my arms out?”

“Just a little bit out,” you try to compromise. “You’re safe with me.”

Shigaraki snorts. “You wouldn’t have to worry about remembering my name. Nobody would miss me if you’d let me drown.”

At first you think he’s joking, but when you look down in his face, you see that he’s serious. It’s your turn to laugh, even though you know it’s pissing him off. “Don’t laugh at me. Why are you laughing?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t see –” It occurs to you that he didn’t. “When Dabi pushed you off the cliff, your other friends were angry with him. They were worried about you. They kidnapped me for you because they wanted to come to the beach and have a good time – with you. They’d miss you. I’d remember you for them.”

His gaze drifts away from yours. Something about it makes you sad. “I’d remember you for you, too. But I won’t have to. Because I’m not going to let you drown.”

“Sure you won’t.” Shigaraki won’t look at you, but his arms begin to shifts away from his sides. Your hands are still under his back, and you feel him beginning to relax. “How am I doing?”

“Better,” you say. “I’m going to move my hands now, and –”

Shigaraki sits up and immediately sinks. You haven’t taught him how to get back to floating yet. His mouth and chin dip under before you can catch him again, but you pull him upright before his face can submerge fully, and he twists in your grip to hold onto you again. Face to face with him, you can see that he’s not panicking. Not only is he not panicking, he actually looks pleased with himself. “Just testing you,” he says. You grit your teeth. “You meant it.”

“I meant it,” you confirm – and then your annoyance breaks through. “I meant it when I jumped off a cliff after you, too.”

“You didn’t know me then.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. His grip on you is tight, even with his index fingers lifted. “I can float now. What do I learn next?”

“How to get from being upright in the water to floating,” you say. Shigaraki nods. “You’re going to have to let go.”

He scowls at that, but lets go. This time, he’s quicker to get from standing to floating, quicker to move his arms out to the sides and relax in the water. You don’t need to support his back this time, but you do it anyway, just to be safe. He might be an adult, but he’s not any safer in the water than a kid who’s barely able to swim. You can’t make the mistake of assuming he knows more than he actually does.

From there, you move on to a basic side stroke, one that will let him make progress without having to submerge his face. Shigaraki is a quick study when he wants to be. He picks it up fast, fast enough that you almost wonder if he was faking how much trouble he was having with floating before. He can float and he can swim – a little bit – and that means your job here is almost done. “Time for your swim test,” you say, and Shigaraki looks up, alarmed. “We’re going to go out a little bit past the waves – I’ll be right there –”

“Teach me how to do that first.” Shigaraki points at you. The tide’s come up a bit, enough that you have to tread water to keep your head up. “I learned two other skills. I’m at level three.”

“Okay. Treading water,” you say. “Then we’ll do your swim test.”

Treading water is intuitive for you, and the steady advancement of your quirk makes it easy, but you have to break it down into individual motions for Shigaraki – and then you have to explain why they work. It’s starting to strain your patience. So is treading water in a small pool, face to face with Shigaraki, close enough that your feet and hands brush against each other as you keep yourselves afloat. You’ve had a lot more physical contact with Shigaraki than with your usual students or the usual people you rescue. In some ways, it’s a relief to have the distance. In others, it makes you uneasy.

“You’re doing really well,” you tell him, and he scoffs. Either his face is turning red, or it’s time for him to put on more sunscreen. “Seriously. And if you ever run into trouble in the water, you can alternate between this and floating until someone’s able to get to you.”

“Only if it’s warm. What if it’s cold?”

“If it’s cold?” You don’t like that question. “Try not to fall in if it’s cold. If you drown in cold enough water, your chances of resuscitation are – okay. But that depends on someone getting to you fast enough. Cold water slows a rescue down.”

“Even for you?”

“Usually,” you say. “If my quirk fully activates, no.”

“You had a tail,” Shigaraki says. “That’s not fully activated?”

“No,” you say awkwardly. “If I transform all the way, there’s other stuff that happens. When it’s all the way active, I can handle most water temperatures. And more pressure than I can right now.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Shigaraki asks. “I bet it’s cool.”

“It’s not cool,” you say. He gives you a skeptical look. “We’re in saltwater right now. If I stay here long enough I’m going to turn into half a tuna, and that’s not – see, you’re laughing right now. It looks dumb.”

“The way you said it is dumb. It’s actually cool,” Shigaraki says. You shake your head, and his foot brushes against yours in a way that feels less accidental than the other times you’ve bumped into each other. “So if I fell in cold water and drowned, you could still save me?”

“Don’t fall in cold water,” you say. “And don’t drown. Resuscitation doesn’t work every time, and little kids are more likely to make it back than adults.”

“How come?”

“Their hearts are stronger,” you say. “Don’t drown.”

“I don’t want to drown. I didn’t want you to leave,” Shigaraki says. This time, it’s his hand that brushes against yours, and it feels even less accidental than before. “I still don’t.”

“Why?” you ask before you can decide if it’s a good idea. “You hate heroes. I’m just some hero your friends kidnapped to teach you to swim. You should want me gone. Or maybe dead.”

You wish you hadn’t said that. Shigaraki’s expression shuts off. “You’re a hero. Maybe you want me dead. I should get out of the water before you come to your senses and drown me.”

“That’s not what I said. Where are you even getting that from?” you protest. You’re not even sure what you’re protesting – the absurd idea that you’d drown someone on purpose, the fact that he’s taking it so personally when all you’re doing is repeating what he’s said about heroes to you and everybody else, the fact that he’s splashing awkwardly out of the water. “Shigaraki, wait. I – slow down –”

You can’t catch him. Your transformation snuck up on you, and you might not be half a tuna yet, but your legs are close enough to fused that you can’t stagger more than a few steps before falling into the sand. It sticks to your arms, your swimsuit, your face, your hands. You look stupid, and no matter where you try to go next, you’ll be dragging yourself. This is awful. You shouldn’t care about this at all. It shouldn’t matter to you that you’ve somehow hurt Shigaraki’s feelings. He’s a villain. He probably is going to kill you. So where does he get off getting so mad –”

“Help!”

It’s not Shigaraki’s voice, and at least you think it’s saying ‘help’ – while there’s some shape to the syllables, it’s barely more than a wordless cry of pain. That’s not a sound you hear very often in water rescues. There are only two things that cause it. One of them is injuries from propellor blades, and you haven’t heard an engine. The other is animal attacks. Bites, if sharks are involved. Stabs, if it’s a swordfish or something. Stings.

The person screams and keeps screaming, and someone else splashes in from the shallows. Toga, with telltale stripes across her thigh and stomach, eyes filled with tears. “There’s something out there,” she gasps, and you lurch into motion, dragging yourself across the sand towards the surf. “Spinner told me to swim back – he said he was right behind me –”

He’s not right behind her. He’s out there, and there’s a jellyfish out there with him. You drag yourself towards the surf, faster now, shouting out orders that you don’t have a clue if anyone’s going to follow. “Stay out of the water. All of you! Get back above the tide line. I’ll get him!”

“Hey! Are you crazy? If you think we’re just going to leave our friend –”

“Stay back,” you snarl at Twice, who flinches back, cowed. “I’ll get Spinner. If any of you so much as touch the water I’m going to –”

Drown you when I get back, is what you were going to say, but then a wave splashes up and over your head, and you let your quirk take over, like it’s been trying to do all day. After this much immersion time, it happens fast. By the time you’ve cleared the waves, you’re already fully transformed.

You were wondering why this beach was so empty, and now you know. You know where you are, too, not that it matters now – there’s only one island that’s closed to swimmers thanks to a jellyfish bloom. The breakers and currents have kept them clear of the shore before now, but the tide’s coming in, and now the surface is covered in them, so many that you can’t count them all. You’re amazed Toga made it out without a couple jellyfish attached to her. There’s no way you can swim Spinner out of there without both of you getting stung.

Without both of you getting stung even more, because Spinner’s stopped screaming, his mouth and chin dipping below the surface. You don’t know if it’s the pain or the paralysis getting to him, but either way, you don’t have much time. You can’t swim him out along the surface. The surface is where the jellyfish are. You’re going to have to swim down. Which means the League of Villains is going to watch you drag their friend under.

It doesn’t matter what they think. You know how to save him. There’s only one way. You brace yourself, dive deep, and come up directly beneath the bloom.

At first you try to dodge the tentacles, but there are too many. They brush against your shoulders, your hands, your sides, sending jolts of agonizing pain rippling along your skin. Your transformation gives you some resistance, but not enough for prolonged exposure. You swim upwards, flinching as a tentacle brushes over your face, over your right eye. Your vision goes dark on that side immediately, and you close the other to protect it. If you were just a person, you’d be doomed.

But you’re not. Your flank and dorsal fins can pick up movement in the water, and you know exactly where Spinner is without having to see. You reach up one-handed, grab Spinner’s ankle, and yank him down. Once he’s at your level, you get a better grip on him and dive deep.

He’s not fighting you. You wish he was fighting you, but he isn’t, and you can’t even assess him until you’re both clear of the swarm. You find a deep, cold current, submerge in it, then let it carry you back to shore, close to the headland again, away from the swarm. As soon as you can no longer sense them in the water, you swim for the surface again. You need to get some air on Spinner’s face. And you need to start transforming back. Nobody on that beach knows CPR, and you have a bad feeling that Spinner’s going to need it.

You’re right about that. Once he’s on the surface, you realize that his mouth is open, that he’s been swallowing water. And once you drag him onto the shore, you’re right about something else, too – the League is ready to kill you. “You fucking drowned him!” Dabi snarls at you, when you and Spinner are barely clear of the water. “What the fuck – Compress, Twice, grab her so she can’t get away –”

“Spinner? Hey, Spinner?” Toga pries Spinner away from you. “Guys, his eyes are open, but he’s not – Spinner? Say something –”

“Don’t just stand there,” Dabi explodes at someone – not Twice or Compress, who you’re struggling to fend off. “Are you stupid or something, Shigaraki? Fucking kill her!”

“If I kill her, he’s dead.” Shigaraki’s voice is shaky, flat. “None of us know how to save him. She does.”

“She just drowned him. You think she’s going to save –”

Twice lets go of you. A second later, Compress does the same, and he gives you a push towards Spinner, who Toga’s struggling to drag up the beach. “Save him. Now.”

The eye you were stung over isn’t opening. You do your basic assessment through one eye, with hands that are still webbed and clumsy. There isn’t much to assess. He’s not breathing. There’s probably water in his lungs. He needs CPR. You lever yourself upright, open the airway, and seal your mouth over Spinner’s for two rescue breaths. Then you straighten your arms, fold your hands on top of each other, and start chest compressions.

The feeling of someone’s ribs cracking beneath your hands never fails to make your skin crawl, and right now is no exception. You swallow down nausea and keep a steady rhythm, thirty compressions, then two more breaths, then back to compressions again. Spinner’s young. You got him out of the water as fast as you know how. You know how to do CPR. He’ll be fine, right? The League will kill you if he isn’t, but that’s not what’s making you sick. You feel this same sickness every time you attempt a resuscitation, every time you’re scared it won’t work. Every time you feel someone’s life slipping away beneath your hands.

“Hey, he blinked!” Twice grabs your shoulder, disrupting your compressions. “He’s blinking! Look!”

You look, and relief swamps you in an instant. Spinner’s blinking. His mouth opens, then closes, but his shoulders are heaving. “Roll him,” you snap, and Toga and Compress grab him, pulling while you push until Spinner’s on his side. Not a second too soon, either – one more heave of his shoulders, and seawater comes spilling out of his mouth. You speak to him over the sound of his gagging, over the League’s questions and demands. “You’re going to be okay. You had some water in your lungs, and it’s going to hurt to get it out, but you’re going to be okay.”

More coughing and gagging. “You’re doing great,” you tell him, lapsing into hero mode on autopilot. How many times have you been here, relief tightening your chest, trying to hide the way your hands shake? “Everything is going to be okay. My name is Carpathia. I’m a rescue hero and I’m here to help you.”

You’re supposed to be conducting a neurological exam, but you can’t wrap your head around things enough to speak clearly. You can only see out of one eye. The villains probably still want to kill you. You and Spinner are both covered in jellyfish stings, and Toga’s got her share. Spinner coughs a few more times, then speaks. “It hurts –”

“Your chest hurts because I broke your ribs doing CPR,” you say. “Everything else hurts because you were stung by jellyfish. A lot of jellyfish. We need to – um –”

“I know!” Twice announces loudly. “We pee on it! Everybody start drinking water! I don’t have enough pee for both of them!”

“No,” you say at once, but they aren’t listening. You actually see Dabi and Shigaraki looking around for water bottles. You raise your voice. “You don’t pee on jellyfish stings! That’s a myth.”

“Then what do you do?” Toga demands. Her eyes are teary, and you remember that she got stung, too. “It hurts –”

“Do you have tentacles on you?” you ask. Toga looks puzzled. “Somebody check. Everybody check. Spinner first –”

He has one on his wrist, one around his neck, and another wrapped around his ankle. You’re about to ask if anyone has tweezers, but before you can, Shigaraki reaches in and grabs the tentacle with all five fingers. “Don’t,” you protest, but Shigaraki holds on until the tentacle’s disintegrated, then grabs the next one, swearing under his breath the entire time. “Don’t get stung –”

“You’ve got some on you, too,” Compress points out. You glance down at yourself and get lightheaded. Some? They’re everywhere. “Shigaraki, here –”

“Don’t –” You flinch away from Shigaraki, but Toga and Twice grab you to hold you still, and rather than thrash to get away, you try to recall the next steps for treatment. “We need hot water. Not scalding hot, but as hot as we can manage –”

“You should have led with that,” Dabi snaps at you. “Compress – tell me you’ve got a bucket somewhere in there –”

You lose track of whatever’s happening there in your efforts to stop Shigaraki from getting himself stung. “I already got stung. Stop it,” you protest, but he keeps at it, grimacing and swearing. “Hey! Stop. I can do it myself.”

“I can do it! I found the first-aid kit!” Toga shoos Shigaraki away, then goes after you with a pair of tweezers. “You got stung so many times. Even more than Spinner. How could you still swim?”

“My quirk,” you say. “Are there heat packs in that first-aid kit? We can use those, too.”

Twice goes digging through the first-aid kit, looking for them, while Toga peels off tentacles and chucks them away into the sand. “Don’t lie,” Shigaraki says, and you glance at him. He’s scowling, clenching and unclenching his fingers. “Your quirk turns you into a mermaid. It doesn’t make you immune to jellyfish stings.”

“No, but those were Portuguese man o’ war. Their stings really hurt, and they can be paralyzing if you get enough of them, but when I’m transformed, I’m – half a tuna.” You want him to laugh, but his expression doesn’t change. What part of it you can see doesn’t change, at least. “Tuna are way too big for them. I’m fine.”

Shigaraki is still glaring at you, and you can’t work it out. You didn’t ask him to use his quirk to get rid of the jellyfish tentacles. You told him not to. It’s not your fault, so why is he looking at you like that? “Tomura-kun,” Toga says, tugging on his shirt, “go help Spinner. He has lots of stings. You can hold the heat pack on them for him and that way your hands will get warm too.”

Shigaraki glares at you for a few seconds more, then makes his way over to Spinner, leaving you with Toga. She smiles at you, and when you smile back, her smile broadens. “I like you,” she says. “Tomura likes you too.”

You decide you’re not going to think about it. It’s not hard. You still have Spinner to keep an eye on, and your stings really hurt.

Your transformation is slow to fade. When you force it, it always takes longer to go back than usual, and you wait to treat your stings until after you’ve got human legs again. In your human form, the stings look even worse, and your eye still won’t open. On an ordinary beach, an ordinary day, you’d already at the hospital. Somebody else would have stepped in to cover for you, and you’d have doctors looking at your eye, taking care of you, telling you it’ll be all right. But it’s not going to be okay. You’re still kidnapped by villains. They still might kill you. They –

Something comes down over your eye and you startle. “It’s me,” Shigaraki says. “Spinner said he could hold his own heat packs.”

You think about pointing out that you can hold your own heat pack, too. You stay quiet, and Shigaraki adjusts it so that it’s covering the sting completely. You close your other eye, so you won’t have to look at him, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than before. “Carpathia, huh?”

“Yes.” You brace yourself, but he’s quiet. “What?”

“You knew you were going to get stung going after Spinner. You didn’t even blink,” Shigaraki says. “Saving me wasn’t proving a point. That’s just what you’re like.”

“That’s my job,” you say. “Are you disappointed?”

“No,” Shigaraki says. He’s quiet again. “I was right about your transformation. It does look cool.”

“You have weird taste in fish.”

“I have great taste in mermaids,” Shigaraki says, and you feel your face heat up under the sunscreen. You want to blame the jellyfish stings, but if you were going to have an allergic reaction, you’d have had it already. “I’m jealous of Spinner.”

“You – huh?” You twist away from the heat pack to glare at him. “Are you stupid? He’s covered in jellyfish stings and he almost drowned! Why would you be jealous –”

“He got to kiss you,” Shigaraki says. “I didn’t.”

Your brain stops working for a second. “CPR isn’t kissing.”

“It looked like kissing,” Shigaraki says. He shrugs. “The jellyfish aren’t great, but I could always go back out there and –”

“Don’t even joke about that,” you snap. “If you want me to kiss you, just ask.”

Shigaraki blinks. “Really?”

Your face feels so hot that you’re probably seconds from bursting into flames. “Yes.”

“You want to,” Shigaraki says. You nod. “You mean it. You’re not just doing it so I won’t –”

Shigaraki’s tested your patience so many times today. You’re officially out of it. You grab the front of his rashguard with a hand that still has webbing between its fingers, yank him closer, and press your lips to his.

His lips are chapped, rough against yours. His skin tastes like salt and sunscreen, which is what yours probably tastes like, too, and it couldn’t be clearer that he’s never kissed someone before. Swimming, kissing – Shigaraki’s doing a lot of things for the first time today. You wish you were even half as good at teaching someone how to kiss as you are at teaching people to swim.

Shigaraki doesn’t look like he thinks you’re bad at it when the two of you separate. His eyes are intent on your face in a way that makes sense, given that you’re pretty sure you still have pieces of your transformation hanging around. He’s still holding the heat pack over your eye one-handed, but the other hand lands on the side of your face, index finger lifted as he cradles your cheek. “It’s not like CPR,” you say awkwardly. “Do you believe me?”

“No,” Shigaraki says. He’s figured out the key difference, at least – when he leans back in and his lips part against yours, he breathes in instead of out, stealing a few molecules of air from you in the bargain. Not enough for you to blame oxygen deprivation for the way your head spins and your heart skips beats it couldn’t afford to miss. “Show me again.”

<- part 1

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It wasn’t the worst singles table you’d ever sat at, at the start. Then Magne bailed to sit with somebody she knew at a different table, and Dabi and Hawks hit it off and then snuck off to God knows where, and then it was just you and Shigaraki sitting at your table in the far back corner of the reception hall. That’s how it’s been for an hour, and the only interaction the two of you have had is when you’ve passed the table’s bottle of champagne back and forth, filling your glasses and then draining them out of sync. It’s depressing. After going to eleven weddings in two years, you can hang in there with the best of them, but you’re pretty sure you’re about to crack.

Your glass is empty, and when you reach for the bottle, you find that it’s empty, too. You want to get more, but you’re not going to look like a lush in front of your weird tablemate. “Hey,” you say, and Shigaraki looks up from the screen of his Switch. “This is empty. I’ll go get more if you want it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shigaraki says. You raise your eyebrows. “This will suck just as bad whether I’m wasted or not.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “But then you’ll be able to pretend it sucks because you’re wasted, not because you’re stuck at the singles table yet again.”

“Yet again? Sounds like you’re projecting,” Shigaraki says. You shrug. It would hurt more if you hadn’t heard the same thing from at least one person at the last three weddings you went to – usually towards the end of the reception, usually when everybody’s getting weepy and ridiculous. You’re ahead of schedule this time. “Sure. I’ll take more.”

Two tables over, a group of happy couples have abandoned their champagne bucket in favor of the dance floor – or the photo booth, or something. You swap your empty bottle for their full one and come back over, hoping Shigaraki will have gone back to his game and forgotten you existed. No such luck. He’s sitting up, watching you, as you sit down, fill your glass, and slide the bottle back across the table to Shigaraki. “Yet again,” he repeats. You down half your glass in a single swallow. “I’m only halfway through the first one of these stupid things I’ve been to and I’m already done. How many times have you put yourself through it?”

“Eleven,” you say. Shigaraki’s red eyes widen. “No, that’s just people from work. If I count friends from school, it’s, uh – sixteen.”

“If you’re this miserable, stop going.”

“Is that what you do?” you challenge. “When your friends invite you to celebrate the happiest day of their lives, you just don’t go?”

“My friends know better than to invite me to shit like this.” Shigaraki copies you and drains half his glass in one go. “I wouldn’t have come to this one, except Toga critical-hit me with this guilt trip about how we’re her family and she needs her family to be here –”

You did notice a conspicuous lack of parents or relatives on Toga’s side of the aisle. “And I said I’d go if I didn’t have to go alone,” Shigaraki continues. “Dabi was supposed to be doing time with me. Figures he’d score a hookup and bolt.”

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” you say. They barely talked when Dabi was sitting here. “How do you know Himiko?”

“Juvie,” Shigaraki says, and you’re not sober enough to keep the surprise from showing all over your face. He snickers. “Not what you expected?”

You shake your head. “Is that where you know Dabi from?”

“And Spinner,” Shigaraki says, pointing out a purple-haired guy at a different table. “And Twice. Magne was a peer counselor or something. If I hadn’t met them I probably would have killed myself in there.”

You can’t stop your surprise from showing this time, either. Shigaraki grimaces. “Don’t read into that.”

“No promises,” you say. Shigaraki snorts and lifts his glass partway, then drains it. “So you’ve known each other for a while.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re friends with the girlfriend. Wife.” Shigaraki refills his glass again, but leaves it alone for the time being. “How long have you known her?”

“Work,” you say, then facepalm. You’re lucky you manage to do it with the hand not holding your glass of champagne. “Two years or so. I already worked there when she was hired. I kind of watched the whole thing with Himiko from the sidelines.”

That’s how you always watch relationships play out at work, or anywhere, really. Pretending to be happy, really being happy, and still feeling like you’re pulling a tarp over the sinkhole in your chest. “So the wife invited you and you showed up even though you knew you’d hate it,” Shigaraki concludes. “You’re crazier than me. I’m never going to another one of these things again.”

“Not even your own?”

“Do I look like the kind of person somebody marries?” Shigaraki finishes his whole glass in a single swallow. You were thinking about trying to keep up with him, but if you try that, you’ll throw up all over the dress you had to buy, which is probably dry-clean only or something worse. “I don’t get why anyone goes to these things.”

“They’re supposed to be fun,” you say. You feel bad picking on Ochako’s wedding. It’s not Ochako’s fault that you’re single, bitter about it, and this close to drunk on alcohol she paid for. “But they’re usually only fun if you go with someone.”

“I went with somebody. He ditched me to hook up with a guy who named himself after a bird.”

You snicker at that. “I meant a date,” you clarify. “If your date ditches you to hook up, then you’ve got bigger problems than whether you’re having fun at a wedding.”

“He’s not my date. I’m not gay.” Shigaraki looks up. “Did you think I was gay?”

“I really didn’t – think,” you admit. You didn’t come to the wedding looking for a hookup. If you had, you’d have tried to put a move on Hawks before Dabi could. “The activities are more fun with a date.”

“Activities?” Shigaraki asks. “Like games?”

“Uh, sometimes,” you say. You know Ochako set up lawn games outside, and the sun won’t set for a while. “Sometimes there’s an art project you’re supposed to do for the couple, as a keepsake or something. I went to one last year where you were supposed to write a good wish, fold it into a paper crane, and then hang it off a branch of this tree they’d bought.”

“Too much work. What else?”

“Dancing,” you say, although you felt like that was pretty obvious. “And Himiko and Ochako have a photo booth.”

Shigaraki’s nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“As a keepsake for the guests, I guess,” you say. “Again. More of a couple thing.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki pours half a glass this time but still finishes it in one swallow. Then he stands up. “Let’s do it.”

You freeze in the act of pouring yourself another glass. “What?”

“I’m never coming to another wedding. You’re bored and drunk –”

“I’m not the one who’s been treating glasses like shots.”

“So let’s do it,” Shigaraki says, like you didn’t say a word. “If this is the last one I go to, I want to get my money’s worth. Do you have something better to do?”

You were this close to taking out your phone and opening up Tinder. You shake your head. “Finish that,” Shigaraki says, and you finish the half-glass you just poured and get to your feet. “Where’s the stupid photo booth?”

You lead the way. Even in heels, you’re faster than Shigaraki – he’s meandering a little bit, possibly due to all the champagne. You reach out and grab his hand to pull him back on course. He jumps, stumbles into an empty table, and glares at you. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted the wedding date experience. Holding hands is included.” At least you think it should be. If you had a real date you’d want to hold hands with them. Shigaraki follows you a little more closely than before as you make your way up to the photo booth. “It looks like they have props. Should we use them?”

Shigaraki hasn’t let go of your hand. He picks up a fake mustache on a stick. “Who would use this?”

“Me, maybe?” If you had a wedding date, you’d want to be spontaneous and fun. You lift it out of his hand and hold it up to your face. “What do you think?”

“No.” Shigaraki takes it away, puts it back, and picks up a flower crown. “Here.”

“No, that’s for you,” you say. Shigaraki argues, but you pluck it out of his hand and settle it on his head anyway. “See? It looks great.”

“If Dabi sees me wearing this stupid thing –”

“He’ll be jealous,” you say. The crown would look stupid on Dabi’s spiky black hair, but the pastel shades of the flowers look nice with Shigaraki’s blue-grey hair. “Okay. Now you can pick one for me. I’ll even do the mustache.”

“No,” Shigaraki says again. He sorts through the props and comes up with a headband with bunny ears. “This one.”

You two are going to look ridiculous. It’s hard not to laugh, and you haven’t even seen the full effect yet. You put on the headband, thankful that you went for a low-effort hairstyle that’s easy to fix, then pull the curtain on the photo booth and wedge yourself into it. Shigaraki follows you in.

It’s a really tight fit. You were pretty sure the photo booth was a couple activity, but now you’re sure – you love your friends, but you wouldn’t want to end up most of the way into any of their laps. You have to stop holding hands to try to get situated, and while you’re still trying to figure yourselves out, the photo booth takes the first picture. Shigaraki grimaces. “Wait. That probably looked stupid. Where –”

The booth takes the second picture while he’s talking, and you snort. There’s about a ten-second interval to get positioned correctly. You manage to face front in time, but your elbow lands on Shigaraki’s thigh as you’re trying to steady yourself, and he flinches away. You drop out of the frame as the booth snaps the third photo, and it occurs to you that the only part of you visible in the picture will be the bunny ears. Based on the location of the ears in relation to Shigaraki’s body, it’s going to look pretty compromising. You hope no one sees that picture. Ever.

Shigaraki’s snickering as you sit up. “Nice one. I want a copy of – hey!”

You’ve elbowed him on purpose this time, just in time for the fourth photo. The fifth photo’s probably going to be blurry. You’re both lightly shoving each other, trying to get each other out of your personal space without pushing either of you out of the photo booth itself. The sixth photo’s probably the only one that’s worth anything, and it won’t be very good, either – Shigaraki’s flower crown is off-kilter, and you’re pretty sure your headband’s falling off. The printer begins to whir, and the two of you sit in silence as the booth prints out two sets of photos. You pick one up. Shigaraki takes the other. A second later, you’re both laughing.

The photos look even worse than you thought, and somehow that makes them better. The photo where it’s just your ears in the frame features Shigaraki staring down into his lap, looking all kinds of startled, while the photo where you’re pushing each other is blurry enough to be a still from a found-footage horror movie. In your opinion, the first photo is the funniest. “We look like that meme with the cat,” you wheeze. “The one with the loading circle over its head.”

“The last one looks like a mug shot,” Shigaraki says, his laughter so raspy that it borders on a witch’s cackle. “After a bar fight –”

The idea of getting in a bar fight in your wedding outfit sets you off. You slump sideways at an angle and end up with your head against his chest for a few seconds, surprised that you can hear his heartbeat and surprised at how fast it’s beating. “Which of us won?”

“We both lost,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. The two of you look disheveled as hell, and not from anything fun. “Number two is the worst one. You look good and I look like a dumbass.”

“You just had your mouth open,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’re probably smearing your makeup, but who gives a shit. You didn’t do that good of a job on it anyway. “Anyway, that’s the wedding photo booth experience. What do you think?”

“I want to go again,” Shigaraki says. This time, you manage to turn to stare at him without throwing any elbows. “For good ones. No way do people’s girlfriends let them leave with just the stupid ones.”

You would, but then again, there’s not a big enough difference between how you look in bad photos and how you look in good ones for it to matter. “We can do one more,” you agree. “Let’s lose the props.”

Without the flower crown and bunny ears, the silliness factor drops significantly. Now you look less like a couple of drunk clowns pretending to be a couple and more like two people who could actually be together. It weirds you out, but you promised the whole wedding date experience. In the seconds before the first flash goes off, you tilt your head onto Shigaraki’s shoulder.

Shigaraki startles, and as soon as the flash goes off, he pushes you away – but only so he can tilt sideways. He’s taller than you, enough so his cheek rests against the top of your head. Four photos left. When you glances over at Shigaraki, you see that his tie’s crooked, so you fix it for him, burning another photo in the bargain. The fourth photo is Shigaraki shifting the neckline of your dress to cover your bra strap, which is weird but plausible for a couple’s photo booth experience. He has a birthmark just below the right corner of his mouth. You aim for it when you kiss his cheek quickly for the fifth photo.

Shigaraki startles again, and you sit back – but not too far. You’re still close enough that Shigaraki only has to lean forward a few inches for his lips to meet yours.

You weren’t planning to kiss him. It’s not much of a kiss, and it doesn’t last long, but your heart is still racing as the booth spits out your second sheet of photos. You’re almost scared to look. Shigaraki’s hesitant, too, and when you both flip the sheets over to check, he says exactly what you’re thinking. “Shit.”

The first set of photos were a joke. The second set – either you and Shigaraki are really good actors or you’re both really drunk, because they look way too plausible for comfort. The ones where you’re fussing over each other’s clothes are probably the worst offenders on that front, but you’re most alarmed by the last two. You’re smiling as you kiss his cheek. You can see the corner of your mouth turned up. And you didn’t see where Shigaraki’s hand was when he kissed you, but the photo’s preserved the evidence. It’s right by the side of your face, curved like he wants to cradle your jaw in his hand.

Exactly sixty seconds ago, the two of you were screwing around in here. Now it feels like there’s static running back and forth between you, and you scramble out of the booth in a hurry, almost tripping over your feet. Shigaraki gets out, too, leaning against the booth to steady himself. Without a word, he takes both of your sets of photos and tucks them into his suit jacket along with his sets, then fills your suddenly-empty hand with his own. “Now what?”

The static shock is between your hands now. “My hand is humming,” you say, like an idiot, and Shigaraki tightens his grip. “Um, I think there are some games outside.”

“Fine.”

It’s warm outside, but getting cooler as the sun begins to set. There are a lot of games, and most of them are being ignored in favor of a bunch of the goofiest guys from your office playing cornhole while their girlfriends/boyfriends watch. You determine instantly that you’re not coordinated enough for anything that involves throwing something, which leaves you exactly one option. “How about that one?”

“Jenga?”

“Jenga XL,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “My hand-eye coordination’s too bad right now for a throwing game. This will be safer.”

Whoever was playing the oversized Jenga last left the blocks in a heap. You and Shigaraki can’t hold hands while you stack them up, and as you do, your assumption that Jenga would be safer than something else gets tested in the most embarrassing way possible – and of course Shigaraki points it out. “You’re short. If this thing falls on you it’ll flatten you.”

“It won’t fall,” you say with more confidence than you feel. “I’m good at this.”

“Go first, then, if you’re so good at it.”

You get a block out without trouble, but you have to rely on Shigaraki to re-stack it for you, which he does, wearing a really frustrating smirk. “You should have worn taller shoes.”

“I can’t walk in taller shoes,” you say. “Or dance. Are you going to want to dance?”

“If it’s part of the wedding date experience, yeah.” Shigaraki carefully extracts his block and sets it on top of the tower. He’s not all that much taller than you. If the game goes on long enough, he’ll have trouble re-stacking. “They don’t exactly teach dance classes in juvie.”

“It’s not that kind of dancing,” you say. Shigaraki looks relieved. “If it’s going to be that kind of dancing, they warn you on the invitation. A friend of mine who got married last year only played swing music at her reception. She sent out a certificate for free lessons with her save-the-date.”

“Control issues?”

“I think she just wanted stuff her way,” you say. You ease another block out of the tower and hand it over to Shigaraki. “Hers was nice. Everything ran on time, and she sent out thank-you notes six weeks after the wedding.”

Shigaraki stacks your block, then pulls out one of his own. You realize with a jolt that he’s missing the index and middle fingers from his left hand. “What’s the worst one you’ve ever been to?”

“Um.” You don’t want to say this. You really don’t – but you drank too much, and you should be honest. “Mine.”

“You’re married?”

“Divorced,” you say. “Three months after the wedding. I didn’t have the ring on long enough to get a tan line.”

Shigaraki doesn’t say anything. The tower is getting unstable, so you’re careful as you wiggle out one of the side blocks on a row about halfway up. You keep an eye on Shigaraki’s shadow as you do it, bracing yourself for him to walk away. Would you walk away if he told you he was divorced? No, but you’re divorced, so it matters less to you. “Three months,” Shigaraki repeats. “How’d that happen?”

“You’re lucky you aren’t asking me that six years ago,” you say. “With how much I drank tonight, I’d have gone off.”

“Go off. I want to hear it.” Shigaraki actually looks interested. “Anyone who fucks this up deserves it.”

He’s gestures at you. You don’t know what to make of that, and you’ve got a block halfway out of the tower. You go back to work on it. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

“I know,” Shigaraki says. “How’d it happen?”

“This is pathetic,” you warn. Shigaraki gestures for you to go on. You sigh. “We were together since high school. Midway through college I got a bad feeling that we were drifting apart and I couldn’t take the suspense, so I tried to end it. And he popped the question. We got married six months later and three months after that he knocked up my cousin.”

“Damn,” Shigaraki remarks.

“They’re still together,” you say. “The kid’s in primary school this year. And every year around the holidays my aunt and my cousin pick a fight with me about how I need to be nicer to him, because we’re all a family now.”

You finally manage to extract the block, and Shigaraki takes it from you before you can offer it to him. You can’t read his expression, and just like when you sensed things with your ex were falling apart, you can’t take the suspense. “Pathetic?” you prompt.

“Your ex is a loser.”

“You haven’t seen what my cousin looks like.”

“He’s still a loser,” Shigaraki says. He pulls out a block. “I get it, though.”

Your stomach clenches. “What do you mean?”

“If my girlfriend was leaving me because I was dicking around, I might do something like that, too.” Shigaraki sets his block on top of the tower. Your options for blocks to pull are getting slimmer by the turn. “Popping the question. Not knocking up your cousin.”

“I have other cousins,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “I thought you said you weren’t getting married.”

“I said nobody was going to marry me,” Shigaraki corrects. What’s the difference? “Your turn.”

You’re out of blocks at shoulder height. And chest height. And waist height. You crouch down instead, doing your best to balance in your heels, and start trying to wiggle a block loose on the fourth level up from the ground. Shigaraki’s voice follows you down. “If you were ready to ditch him, why did you say yes?”

Now you’re at a real risk of crying. Six years of intermittent only-when-you’ve-got-the-money counseling hasn’t made a dent in this one thing. You remind yourself that Shigaraki can’t see your face and work on keeping your voice steady. “I was the one who asked him out in the first place, back in high school. I always had this weird sense that we wouldn’t be together if I hadn’t. So when he proposed I thought it meant he was choosing me, like I chose him. Which was a stupid reason to say yes.”

You wanted to believe. You wanted to believe so badly that you were worth it, and now you’re divorced at twenty-eight, barely talking to the half of your family that took your cousin’s side, going on a grand total of one real date in the entire time since then that you got up and left partway through because you couldn’t fake hope or excitement for one second longer. The kiss you planted on Shigaraki in the photo both was the most action you’ve gotten in two years, and you’ve put more effort into the fake wedding-date experience than you have into even looking for a hookup. You’re pathetic. This is pathetic. You should be embarrassed, and you are.

But you got your stupid block out. You straighten up and hold it out to Shigaraki, who stacks it for you. You can’t read his expression, and you’re a little too dysregulated to be anything but blunt. “That’s my tragic backstory. What’s your damage?”

“What, going to juvie doesn’t count?” Shigaraki crouches down to pull a block from the opposite side of the same row you just weakened. He’s doing it right-handed; he’s waving his left with its missing fingers at you. “This doesn’t count? The fact that I don’t have eyebrows doesn’t count? Your problem is being a dumb kid with a shitty family and a shitty ex. My problem is that I exist. We’re not the same.”

He straightens up and drops his block on top of the tower. You can see that he’s tenser than before, and you can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound patronizing. “I didn’t notice about the eyebrows until you said something.”

“Great.” Shigaraki won’t look at you. “Your turn.”

You crouch down again. The row below the row Shigaraki just knocked down to one block seems like the safest bet. You start pulling at it, frustrated at the way it sticks. “Careful,” Shigaraki says after a second. “If you don’t watch out –”

The tower topples. You’re crouched down, with no chance of getting out of the way in time, and all you can do is sit there, stunned, while three dozen giant Jenga blocks crash down around your head. The corner of one catches your temple, digs in, and you flinch. But the blocks are light. You’re startled, and humiliated, and possibly bleeding a little bit, but you’re fine. “Are you okay?” Shigaraki asks. You give a thumbs-up, and he crouches down next to you. “I don’t believe you. You look – shit, your face is bleeding.”

“I’m good,” you say. “It’s a good thing we took pictures already. This is not part of the wedding-date experience.”

“I’m done with that,” Shigaraki says, and your heart sinks. Even though it shouldn’t. Even though none of this mattered to begin with, even though you know better, you hoped. You weren’t hoping for anything much – just to keep having fun, just to not spend the rest of the wedding alone. “You have a purse, right? Do you have napkins in there or something?”

“Your suit comes with a pocket square.” You pluck it out of his pocket and press it to your temple. “I’ll pay for cleaning it.”

“Don’t bother. It was my dad’s. He doesn’t have much use for it in solitary.”

Shigaraki helps you up while you’re still processing that one and tugs you away from the wreckage of the Jenga tower, onto a bench. The view of the sunset is really good from here. Further down the lawn, you can see Himiko and Ochako and their photographer doing a last round of pictures, and you slide your feet out of your shoes. It’s that point in the wedding. You’ll probably stay here for the rest of the night.

“Do you need ice?” Shigaraki asks. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe the fact that the sinkhole in your chest is eating the tarp you put over it just hurts more. “Do you still want to dance?”

“You said you were done with the wedding date thing.”

“Yeah. I’m done with the part where it’s fake.”

Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought you did. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously?” Shigaraki sounds annoyed. “I let you put a flower crown on me.”

“Is that some kind of mating ritual in juvie?” The instant you say it, you feel bad, but Shigaraki laughs. “If you’re trying to say something, say it. I don’t do very well with ambiguity on my best night and I’m still kind of drunk.”

“Same here. Otherwise I’d sit on this, and my friends would spend the rest of their lives listening to me bitch about how I didn’t ask out the girl from Toga’s wedding.” Shigaraki’s hand lifts from his lap, rises to his neck, then falls back. “I want to dance with you. Toga and her wife are having an after-party at their place, and I want you to come to it with me. And I want your number so we can hang out again sometime when we’re not wasted. Because I like you.”

You must have hit your head really hard. “We met three hours ago.”

“So? Toga said she knew she was going to marry the wife the first time they made eye contact,” Shigaraki says. That sounds like something Himiko would say. You’ve met her a few times at work parties and she’s always struck you as a little intense and a little off-the-wall. “Do you want to dance or not? Make up your mind.”

You want to say yes. What comes out is something really stupid, so stupid that you can’t look at him while you say it. “This is the kind of thing that happens to other people.”

“What, meeting somebody who asks you out?”

It sounds stupid when he says it like that. You keep his dad’s pocket square pressed to your temple and try to explain. “The whole thing where you meet somebody when you weren’t expecting to meet anybody and things click, at least on your end, and since you know it’s just on your end you try not to get your hopes up – but the other person tells you that it clicked for them, too –”

“That’s dumb.” Shigaraki doesn’t sound like he’s being mean. You could almost call it affectionate. “Forget who it happens to. I’m asking you out. Do you –”

Screw it. If this is some kind of hallucination, you want to enjoy it. If it’s real, you don’t want to miss out. You turn back to face Shigaraki. “Yes.”

He grins, and you notice a scar over his mouth, too. “Good. Now what?”

You think about kissing him. You decide to try hugging first, which involves getting at least as close to him as you did when you were in the photo booth, on purpose this time. Shigaraki isn’t particularly tall or bulky, but when you hug him, you’re surprised to notice that he’s hiding some muscle underneath his suit jacket. Kind of a lot of muscle. Huh. Shigaraki notices that you’re investigating a little bit. “What?” he asks, his mouth against your ear. “Did you think all I do is game?”

“I don’t know what you do all day,” you say. “We didn’t get to that part yet.”

“We will.” Shigaraki draws back from you, and you loosen your grip even as his hand rises to cradle your jaw. This time you see the kiss coming from a mile away, and this time, you lean in.

Everything’s different this time, except the thing that startles the two of you apart – the bright flash of a camera going off. “Tomura-kun!” Himiko squeals from somewhere nearby. “I told you you’d have fun at my wedding. Who is that? She’s so cute!”

For a second you’re worried Shigaraki doesn’t know your name, but he must have been paying more attention than you thought he was when you introduced yourself, because he introduces you to Toga without missing a beat. “She’s one of my coworkers,” Ochako explains, smiling at you. Even through the smile you can see the incredulity on her face, and you know you’ll be getting a lot of questions about this when she gets back from her honeymoon. “I’m so sorry we had to put you at that table. I wanted to put you with everybody from work, but they all had plus-ones –”

“It’s fine,” you say faintly. Himiko’s photographer takes another picture, this time of all four of you talking. “It worked out.”

“She’s coming to your party,” Shigaraki informs Himiko. “I invited her.”

“Oh, good!” Himiko turns her attention to you. “It’s going to be so fun! We have games and movies and we’re going to stay up all night.”

“You should come inside now,” Ochako says. “There are mosquitos out here, and we’re supposed to have cake soon –”

“And we’re going to do the Time Warp. I put that on the playlist for you special, Tomura-kun,” Himiko says. She glances at you. “It’s the only dance he knows.”

Shigaraki flushes, grimaces, but you tilt your head against his shoulder again, lacing his fingers with yours for the third time tonight. You don’t know what he does all day when he’s not at weddings he doesn’t want to go to. You don’t know if what he said about his dad being in solitary confinement was a joke or not. You don’t know what happened to his hand or where he got his scars, or even where his eyebrows went. But you know he likes you. You know you like him enough to give things a shot, at least for tonight, and that’s better than you’ve felt in a long time.

Maybe you do remember something about that. It doesn’t make any more sense the second time around. “Why?”

“Because,” Toga Himiko says, from behind a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, “we’re having our beach episode. And we aren’t going to have fun if we’re worried about Tomura-kun.”

“Right!” Twice announces. He’s still wearing his mask, but the rest of him is decked out in swim trunks, flip-flops, and a floppy hat. “I can’t frolic in the waves with my best pals if I’m worried one of them is gonna wander off and drown, and Spinner said we can’t put Shigaraki on one of those retractable kid leashes –”

“For the record, none of this was my idea.” Spinner looks embarrassed, and not at all like the villain you’ve seen on TV – without his Stain mask, he just looks like a normal guy with a heteromorphic quirk. “I just said we shouldn’t do a beach day if not everybody can enjoy it.”

“And I said you all can do whatever the fuck you want.” Shigaraki is standing off to one side, his face hidden beneath a hand and the hood of his black coat. It’s barely nine and the temperature’s already cracked thirty degrees. He must be boiling alive. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Of course you do,” Dabi says. His sneer isn’t hero-specific, it looks like – Shigaraki gets the exact same one as you did. “None of us want to put up with your bitching and moping –”

“Or your drowning –” Twice chimes in.

“So we found you a swim instructor,” the fifth member of the group concludes. He’s tall, with brown hair and eyes, and you don’t have a clue who he is. “She can help you.”

Shigaraki glances your way briefly, then returns to staring out at the sea. “I don’t need fucking help. Go roll in the sand and leave me alone.”

Problem solved, not that it’s going to help you any. If Shigaraki doesn’t want swim lessons, then your purpose here is at an end, and they’re probably going to kill you. At the same time, though, you’re aware of your proximity to the edge of the cliff. If you can get over that edge and hit the water, you’re golden. None of them have the kind of quirks that would let them chase you down, and you can swim to the nearest guarded beach and sound the alarm. The fact that you didn’t show up for work this morning probably sounded the alarm already. This is doable. Maybe.

The League of Villains isn’t paying quite as much attention to you as they were a second ago. They’re focused on Shigaraki. “She’s an expert. She does this all the time,” Spinner is saying. “I looked her up. People pay big money for her to teach their kids to swim.”

The brown-haired man looks interested. “How much money are we talking about?”

Spinner names a figure that’s triple what you charge for private lessons, on the rare occasions when you offer them. He and Dabi both worship Stain. They’ll think you’re disgusting, and instead of escaping while their backs are partially turned, you open your mouth to defend yourself. “I don’t really do private lessons,” you say, and they look at you. “My swim classes are open to anybody. And the rest of the time I lifeguard. So, uh – if you think I make a lot of money doing this, I don’t. That’s not why I became a hero.”

Twice hoots with laughter. “Some hero. We grabbed you without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m a rescue hero,” you say, aware that it’s pointless. Instead of you using their distraction to escape, Shigaraki’s using your distraction to sidle away from the others. “My job isn’t to fight villains. It’s to help people.”

Dabi gives you an evaluative look. “A rescue hero,” he says. “I heard your type is always on duty. If you see somebody in trouble, and your quirk and training equip you better than the average person to help, you have to. Right?”

“That’s weird,” Toga says. She lowers her sunglasses for a better look at you. “Is it true? If you see someone who needs help, you have to save them?”

“Yeah.” The rules are different for rescue heroes than regular heroes. “If I can help someone in distress, I have a responsibility to do it.”

“Got it,” Dabi says. That thoughtful look on his face is fading fast into malice, and a jolt of terror shoots down your spine. “Hey, Shigaraki –”

Shigaraki takes a few steps away from Dabi without turning around, and before you can so much as call out a warning, Dabi plants his hand on Shigaraki’s back and shoves him over the edge of the cliff. “There’s someone in distress,” he says, as Shigaraki vanishes with a curse that abruptly breaks off in a scream. “Help him.”

You’re not the only one who’s horrified to see Shigaraki go over the edge, but you are the only one who can do something about it. While Twice and Toga berate Dabi, and Spinner runs to the edge of the cliff and comes damn close to giving you two people to rescue instead of one, you pause for the most crucial step in a successful rescue: Taking a second to evaluate the scene. You peer down at the water and realize instantly that Dabi couldn’t have picked a worse place to push Shigaraki off. You could jump from the same spot, but why make it harder on yourself? You move to the left instead.

The brown-haired man you don’t recognize spots you. “What are you doing? He fell in over here –”

You tune him out – and the others, too, when they remember why Dabi pushed Shigaraki off a cliff in the first place. You breathe deep, more for show than anything else, then break into a run. Ten steps puts you at the edge, and you launch yourself over, bracing for the long drop into the water. That part never gets easier.

But your jump has carried you clear of the rocks and heavy surf at the base of the cliff, and when you hit the water, there’s nothing but ocean beneath you. You jumped feet-first, and your water shoes – the only support item you carry – immediately begin to stretch, molding to the shape of your feet as your quirk fuses and elongates them into fins. Webbing spreads between your fingers, and when you open your eyes, they’re impervious to the sting of seawater. Full immersion in seawater is enough to activate your quirk in its entirety, but years of training allow you to hold the transformation where it is. You have someone to rescue.

You swim for the spot Shigaraki went in. He won’t have gone far, not with how ceaselessly the waves batter against that section of the cliff, and it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s underwater, still moving but sluggish under the weight of his clothes, his hair drifting around his face. There’s blood in the water around him. You can taste it, and as you swim closer, you see that it’s emanating from somewhere around his head and shoulders. He hit something when he fell, and head and neck injuries are a disaster no matter who gets them or how they occur. Is he even conscious? Whether he is or not, you need to get him out of the water.

You let the current carry you close, and although you hate yourself for it, you hesitate a second before reaching for him. You know how his quirk works. All five fingers touch you, and you’re dead. Trying to help Shigaraki could be the last thing you ever do.

But ocean rescue is dangerous, even for someone with your quirk. Every rescue could be the last thing you ever do, and if you do nothing, Shigaraki will drown right before your eyes. You can’t let that happen. You dive down to him, slip your hands under his arms from behind, and haul him upward. He comes to life in your grip, thrashing while you kick for the surface. You’d be more frightened of the fact that he’s trying to turn and grab you if every other person you’ve rescued hasn’t done exactly the same thing.

The two of you break the surface, you doing your best to keep Shigaraki’s mouth above the waves so he won’t swallow any more water than he already has while he tries to breathe. Your lungs haven’t even started to burn yet. You give him a few seconds to gasp for air, then order him to keep his mouth shut and close his eyes. No time to check if he’s done it or not. The only way you’re getting through the surge to calmer water is if you go under it. The next wave crests and you dive beneath it, pulling Shigaraki after you.

Now he’s trying hard to grab you, to use you to push himself to the surface. You adjust your grip and switch to a dolphin kick, fighting your quirk and its attempts to help you. At the same time, you keep count in your head. Shigaraki will need to breathe soon. You need to be through the waves by then.

As soon as the turbulence begins to soften, you swim for the surface again. Once again, you make sure Shigaraki clears the surface first. He’s coughing and gasping for air, but his chin’s above water, which means you’re in good shape for now. “Take some deep breaths. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Fuck you.” Shigaraki coughs and spits out seawater. “This is your fault. I’m not safe. You dragged me out to the middle of the ocean instead of – that had better not be a fucking shark –”

“It’s a dolphin,” you say. The dolphin swims a little closer, decides you and Shigaraki aren’t interesting enough for further investigation, and turns swiftly away. “We’re headed to the beach now. I just needed to get us clear of the surge.”

You swim back for the beach, propelling yourself mainly with your legs. You need both arms to secure Shigaraki. He’s not fighting, which is a relief – and he’s not talking, which makes you nervous. He hit his head. You need him to talk so you can assess him. “Hey, Shigaraki? How are you holding up?”

He mumbles something. “I’m going to need you to repeat that,” you say. “How are you doing?”

“Do you put everybody you rescue in a headlock?”

“It’s not a headlock,” you say. “This is how I swim with anyone I rescue. It’s what’s safest.”

“Sure. And it’s not –” Shigaraki coughs as a wave splashes into his open mouth. “It’s definitely not because you’re scared of my quirk, right?”

You don’t see a point to answering that. Shigaraki keeps talking anyway, a sharp, irritated note in his voice. “How stupid do you think I am? I still can’t swim. If I Decay you out here, I’ll drown.”

So you’ll be in more danger on the beach than in the water. Good to know. You swim the rest of the way to shore, dragging yourself and Shigaraki onto the sand. Once you’re clear of the water, you start your actual assessment. “I saw blood in the water. Did you hit your head?”

Shigaraki nods, grimacing. “When?” you ask. He shrugs. “I need to know. Did you hit it when you fell, or once you were already in the water.”

“I came up for air. The fucking waves pushed me into the – what are you doing?” Shigaraki flinches as you move some strands of wet hair out of his face. “Don’t touch me.”

“I need to see the cut.” You keep looking, with a little more urgency this time. “Did you lose consciousness?”

“No,” Shigaraki says. You find the cut – a jagged gouge from his temple to his ear, just below his hairline – and make a skeptical sound before you can stop yourself. “Stop touching it.”

“Sorry. I know it hurts.”

“I didn’t say it hurt. I’m not some primary-school brat who cries about everything.” Shigaraki responds with a lot more venom than you’d expect given what you actually said to him. “It’s not like you can do anything, so don’t bother.”

The League grabbed you on your way to work, which meant you had all your supplies with you. Your first-aid kit is still hooked onto your belt. “I have what I need,” you say. “Are you going to let me help, or do you want to keep bleeding all over the sand?”

“You can’t help me if I don’t let you.”

“That’s right,” you say patiently. Sometimes people you’ve rescued get hostile with you – out of fear, or embarrassment. Even though this is probably just Shigaraki’s personality, you know how to deal with it. “Are you going to let me?”

Shigaraki holds your gaze for a second, averting his eyes faster than you’d expect. “Do your job. Whatever that means to a so-called hero.”

He’s mean. Of course he’s mean. He’s a villain – but honestly, you’ve rescued civilians who were worse. You pry open the first-aid kit and get to work. You’ll bandage him up, make sure he’s not decompensating, and escape. No one’s faster than you in the water, and given that Shigaraki can’t swim, he’s not going to chase you if you go back in. You’ll warn someone, the League will be captured, and you can forget all about this. It’s fine. Everything is going to be –

“Hey, I found them!” Toga is hollering down from the top of the headland to your right. “The hero brought Tomura-kun to this beach instead of the other one. Tomura, are you okay?”

“It looks bad!” Twice announces. Then, to you: “Give him mouth-to-mouth. With tongue!”

“He’s conscious, breathing, and talking. He doesn’t need mouth to mouth,” you say. You hear this joke a lot, usually from guys whose friend you just saved, and it irks you. “And you don’t do mouth-to-mouth with tongue.”

“Hey! You can’t give Shigaraki substandard mouth-to-mouth just because he’s a villain!” Spinner’s arrived now, too. “What kind of hero are you?”

“The kind who’s trying to do my job,” you say. They’re distracting you, and you need to focus on Shigaraki, not in the least because he could kill you instantly if you make a mistake. You need to keep assessing. “Okay, you didn’t pass out. Did you swallow water at all? Or breathe any in?”

“I didn’t breathe it.” Shigaraki coughs, then grimaces, a flash of panic crossing his face. “Shit. I’m gonna hurl –”

He rolls to one side and vomits seawater into the sand, and you hold his hair back, mainly so you can keep it out of the head wound you’ve just cleaned. “See, he’s fine,” Dabi says from the headland. “Told you.”

“Are you sure he’s fine?” Spinner sounds like he’s thinking about pushing Dabi off the cliff. “Hey. Hero. Is he going to be fine?”

“I’m still assessing,” you caution. Shigaraki coughs a few times, then flops back into the sand. “So far, I’m not too worried, but –”

“Great! We’re going to be over there!” Toga points to the beach on the other side of the headland. “That’s where Mister Compress put all the fun stuff. See you soon, Tomura-kun!”

Most of the League vanishes without another word, but Spinner hangs on a little longer, glaring down at you. “Spinner,” Shigaraki says, his voice raspy, and Spinner looks towards him. “It’s fine. See you – over there.”

Spinner nods and leaves, which is a relief for you. Usually you aren’t that intimidated by guys in purple board shorts, but you usually haven’t been kidnapped by a gang of villains who are hovering over you, shouting bad advice. And you’ve got a different problem now – Shigaraki, who’d be intimidating no matter what he’s wearing. Maybe. He’s soaking wet, his clothes plastered to him, and he’s a lot skinnier than you thought he’d be. He’s looking at you expectantly. “Are you going to fix my head?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You pick through your kit for an appropriately-sized waterproof bandage. “Hold still.”

To your surprise, Shigaraki does it, not even flinching when you move a few more strands of his wet hair away from his face. “Why’d you bring me here instead of the other beach?”

“It was a longer swim. I wanted to get you back on land as fast as possible.” You press the bandage down carefully, running your finger over the edge to make sure it seals properly. “Okay. All done.”

Shigaraki starts trying to sit up, and on instinct, you reach out to help, only realizing your mistake when Shigaraki flinches away. He barks a question at you before you can apologize. “How do I get to the other beach? Climb that thing?”

“No,” you say. “Those headlands aren’t stable, and, uh – you probably need both hands to climb. Both hands and all your – what?”

Shigaraki ignores you. He’s fumbling in the sand, patting down the pockets of his coat, and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, panic descends over his features. “The hands,” he says, and your stomach lurches. “I lost them.”

“Um –” You don’t know what to say, and Shigaraki’s hands rise to claw at the sides of his neck. “If they’re a support item – I know it sucks to lose those, but you can probably get –”

“They’re my family’s hands. I can’t just get more!” Shigaraki’s starting to hyperventilate. “I need them –”

He shoves you to one side, gets unsteadily to his feet, and stumbles back towards the surf. You chase after him, thankful that your feet have mostly gone back to normal. “Hey. Where are you going?”

“I have to get them.” Shigaraki shakes you off when you catch his arm, and you grab him again. “Fuck you. Let me go!”

“You still can’t swim. If I let you go out there, you’ll drown.” You grit your teeth. You really, really don’t want to do this, but – “I can go look for them.”

Shigaraki blinks. “Huh?”

“I’ll swim you over to the other beach, and then I’ll look for them,” you repeat. “People ask me to find stuff they dropped all the time.”

You don’t mention that you usually say no, because it’s a waste of time when you’re supposed to be looking out for everyone on the beach. But it’s just Shigaraki here, and his breathing is starting to even out. “How are you supposed to find them? It’s the ocean.”

“They’re a little heavy, right? They’ll sink, and since I know how the currents work, I can figure out where they probably touched down.” You risk letting go of Shigaraki’s arm, breathing a sigh of relief when he doesn’t immediately bolt. “Come on. I’ll swim you over.”

“Are you going to put me in a headlock again?”

“Not if you promise not to grab me,” you say. He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kidding.”

“And I’m not stupid. If I kill you out there, I’ll drown.” Shigaraki lets one hand fall from his neck, then the other. “Swim me over. Now.”

You take a second to pack up your first-aid kit, then lead Shigaraki out into the water. You give the headland a wide berth, even though it means swimming more than a hundred yards out from the shore, but unlike last time, Shigaraki doesn’t question you. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all, except once. “Is that a –”

“Still a dolphin,” you say. The fin protruding from the water is rounded, and the snout that bumps against your hip is smooth and blunt. “Nothing to worry about.”

The entry to the other beach is smooth and easy. You can see why the League chose this one to hang out on – white sands, gentle waves, picturesque to the max. You hope they didn’t kill anyone to claim this beach for themselves. It looks familiar to you, but you can’t quite remember why, and you realize all at once that you don’t know where you are. Where is this place? How far away did they take you?

It doesn’t matter. You can swim to wherever you need to go, as soon as you dump Shigaraki off on the beach. And you don’t even have to take him all the way in – when they see him, Spinner and Twice come out to help. Shigaraki shrugs them off. “I’m fine.”

“Can you swim yet?” Twice asks. Shigaraki scoffs, and Twice turns on you. “You were supposed to teach him to swim!”

“I will,” you lie. “After I find the hands.”

“Ew,” Toga remarks from the beach, where she’s building a sandcastle. “You don’t need those, Tomura-kun. You feel better without them.”

Shigaraki ignores her and looks back to you. “You’ll find them.”

“Yeah.” You dive back into the water and swim for the other side of the headland. Maybe while you’re over there, you can come up with a plan.

There’s no way to get out of gathering up the hands. If you don’t, Shigaraki will go in to get them himself and drown, and you can’t call yourself a rescue hero if you’re willing to let someone die. You’ll find the hands, removing any incentive Shigaraki has to go back into the water, and then you’ll clear out. You can swim as far as you need to in order to find a populated beach, and once you do, you’ll be able to direct them back here to arrest the League. You track the current around the headland, noting that it forms a small vortex in a recessed area in the rocks. That’s where you’ll find Shigaraki’s hands. He said they were his family’s. What does that mean?

You figure out what it means, the second you find the first one. You pick it up out of the jagged rocks underwater and recoil, dropping it instantly. It’s not a model hand, like you thought when you saw him on TV. It’s a real, embalmed human hand, smaller than yours. It looks like it belonged to a little kid, and a surge of guilt travels through you, mixed in with frustration. You’re not the crazy one. Shigaraki’s the crazy one, for wearing his family’s embalmed hands all over himself all the time. It’s not weird at all for you to not want to touch a little kid’s embalmed hand.

But there’s something sad amidst the awfulness of it all, and whoever’s hand this was, it deserves better from you than just being pitched into the water because you got the ick. You retrieve it again, grimacing. Diving for embalmed hands is one thing, but the longer you stay underwater, the harder it becomes to resist your quirk’s transformation. The sooner you finish this, the better.

It takes you two trips to collect all the hands. Shigaraki wades out into the water to take them from you, but rather than putting them back on, he carries them past the high-tide line and dumps them in the sand. “You found all of them,” he says to you, and you nod. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

That’s neither a thank-you or a compliment, but you expect exactly none of that from a villain. And now’s your moment – Shigaraki’s up on the sand, the others are distracted, and nobody will be able to catch you once you cross the drop-off. “Stay out of the water,” you say, and as Shigaraki’s opening his mouth to respond, you turn and dive back in, swimming hard for the open sea.

This time, you let the transformation kick in, and it’s a relief. Each kick propels you through the water at speed, and you watch the seafloor fall away beneath you. You’ll swim a circuit of the island, figure out where you are, and take off. With luck, you’ll reach land way before the League decides to call cut on their beach episode.

In the water, with your transformation mostly complete, you can see everything, and although sound is muffled underwater, your dorsal and flank fins can pick up vibrations, giving you a heads-up for any sound or movement. But you don’t need your fins to pick up the flailing and thrashing that’s going on behind you. Someone’s in distress, and you have a bad feeling about who. You’re right. When you glance reluctantly over your shoulder, you find Shigaraki, just past the drop-off and sinking fast.

It’s not a question of what you’ll do next, no matter how frustrated you are. You breach the surface, suck down a new lungful of air, and swim back to shore.

The salt water must be stinging Shigaraki’s eyes, but he’s got them open, and when he sees you, they widen even further in shock. You know what he’s looking at, know that the natural response is to flinch back – but he doesn’t. Instead he reaches up for you. there’s nothing you can do but dodge his hands, wrap your arms around him, and pull him back to the surface for the third time today.

He’s gasping, coughing, but you don’t have the patience to wait for him to catch his breath. “Are you crazy? What was that about?” The answer occurs to you, and your frustration explodes. “Did you seriously try to drown yourself so I’d have to come back?”

“It worked,” Shigaraki says. You count to ten and remind yourself that you’re a rescue hero, just so you won’t drop him back in the water and let him sink. “You’re a rescue hero. You have to save people who need help. And I need help, so –”

“You’re going to keep drowning yourself so I can’t leave.”

“Or,” Shigaraki says, “you can teach me to swim.”

“I thought you didn’t want a swim lesson,” you say. “What changed your mind?”

“Seems like something I should know,” Shigaraki says. He shrugs. “And I’d be a dumbass to turn down swim lessons from a mermaid.”

You don’t like being called a mermaid, but at the same time, you know you’re not beating the allegations. When your quirk is fully activated, it transforms your legs into a long tail, complete with multiple sets of fins. It sprouts webbing between your fingers, lengthens your ears, changes the structure of your eyes. If you stayed under long enough, you’d probably sprout gills. You don’t look like a Disney mermaid, but mermaid is still what people see when they look at you when your quirk is on full blast. You’d never have let it get this far if you thought you might have to come back.

Shigaraki’s legs brush against one of your pectoral fins, and you clamp down on a shiver. This is why you never transform fully at work. Worse, you’re breaking protocol – you’re never supposed to hold victims face to face, and you’re definitely not supposed to let them wrap their arms around you like Shigaraki is doing right now. He’s getting weirdly familiar for somebody who’s so against being touched. “I’ll teach you to swim, and then what? You’ll let me go?”

“Maybe.” Shigaraki shrugs. “If you help me out, I won’t have a good reason to kill you.”

That might be the best you’ll get. For now. Once he knows how to float, you’re bailing out. “Fine. I’ll teach you.”

Shigaraki looks pleased. Not smug, like you’d expect – just pleased. “Okay. What do I do first?”

“Get back on land,” you say, “and find a swimsuit. I’m not teaching you in your clothes.”

Shigaraki’s suspicious at first, enough to remind you that he’ll just go over the drop-off if you try to escape again, and you react the same way he does when you remind him not to grab you. He heads up the beach, towards the surf shack Mr. Compress – the brown-haired guy you couldn’t place before – must have stolen. Meanwhile, you work on getting yourself out of the surf. Your quirk won’t start to deactivate until you’re clear of the water, and to teach a normal person to swim, it helps to be working with the same equipment as they are.

You use the waves as much as you can, but eventually it’s just you and the wet sand, and your tail is so heavy that you’re reduced to hauling out on the beach like a seal. It looks stupid. You look stupid, and all you can do is hope that the League of Villains is looking the other way. They aren’t. Shigaraki might be off looking for a swimsuit, but the other five are all staring your way.

It doesn’t take long for you to lose patience. “What?”

They ignore you. “I knew we grabbed the right one,” Toga says, gleeful. “We got Tomura-kun a mermaid!”

Dabi is nodding, a smirk on his face. “This is perfect. She’s gonna keep him busy all day long.”

“I’d be busy forever. Look how pretty her tail is –”

You flop back in the sand, staring up at the sky. Not only are you going to have to teach Shigaraki to swim, you’re going to have to do it while being stared at like you’re an animal in a zoo – and if you try to escape, Shigaraki will try to drown himself just to make you come back. This is going to be the worst beach episode ever. At least for you.

Hana doesn’t argue, probably because she’s been there for every single one of Tenko’s shitty birthdays. This year was supposed to be different. Tenko’s friends promised, and now they’re sick, and she can’t even help take care of them because she might get it, too. At least if she was sick they’d all be hanging out together. Tenko would rather fight over the toilet with Spinner and Dabi and Toga than spend her birthday alone.

There must be something wrong with her. “I don’t want to cry all night,” Tenko says, and Hana hums in sympathy. “What should I do?”

“If I could get back in time, I’d be right there with you,” Hana says. Now Tenko’s definitely going to cry. Fuck. “When I get back, we’re going to have the best make-up birthday party ever. We’re going to go all out. And your friends will be feeling better by then — it’ll be great. So you’ve got something to look forward to, yeah?”

“Yeah, but tonight —”

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Hana says. “You’re going to take a selfie. A cute selfie, like I taught you. Then you’re going to put it on your dating profile and ask who wants to take you out for your birthday.”

Tenko cringes. “That won’t work.”

“Yes it will. You’re really cute! People will be lining up,” Hana says. “You’ll have your pick. A lot of them will be weird, but I bet you’ll get at least one normal one. Then you can have a nice night and make a new friend!”

That sounds way too simple. “Maybe that would work for you — or somebody else —”

“It’ll work for you. Try it. I’ll even help you pick, once you get some messages back,” Hana says. “What’s it going to hurt?”

“Me, if nobody answers.”

“Somebody will answer,” Hana says. “Text me screenshots once you hear from people. Go take that picture!”

She tells Tenko she loves her and hangs up. Tenko looks dismally down at her phone. She needs to take a selfie. She looks — not good. Bedhead, eyebags, pajama shirt — sure, people will just be lining up to take her on a birthday date. But Tenko told Hana she’d try. She fusses with her hair for a second, trying to make it look on purpose instead of messy, then tries taking a selfie.

It’s bad. All of Tenko’s selfies are bad. Her friends can nail a selfie in a single take, but Tenko’s never taken a good one, and she rolled low on luck for this birthday in particular. After twenty tries or so she gives up and just uses the most recent one. She sets it as her first photo, clears her bio, and writes in something new. It’s my birthday. Take me out?

It sounds stupid. Also sort of like she’s looking for a hit man to kill her, which would maybe be the best result at this point. Tenko can’t stand to workshop it anymore. She hits publish, switches on notifications, and jams her phone into the pocket of her pajama pants. It’s cold out here, and she doesn’t have a bra on. She goes back inside to make some tea and wait for however much nothing is going to happen.

Her phone gets a message notification while she’s waiting for her tea to steep. Then another one. And another one after that, until her phone is buzzing so constantly that she could practically use it as a vibrator. Tenko pours her tea, then opens her phone, steeling herself. Hana was right. She’s got messages. Lots of them.

Hana was also right about who’s sending them. A lot of creepy older guys, including one who’s offering to give her one orgasm for every year of her life, and sent a photo of his dick as proof that he can make it happen. Tenko cringes and deletes him. She deletes most of the others with pictures attached, and all the ones that just say ‘hey’ or ‘hey babe’ or ‘hey beautiful’. She keeps the ones with no photos where the person said happy birthday, then opens them one at a time. First she takes a screenshot to send to Hana. Then she reads them and takes a look at the profile. If they seem okay, she screenshots the profile too.

Hana was right. It’s a ton of guys. At least some of them are in Tenko’s age range, which is nice. For some reason Tenko’s a magnet for creepy older guys, so it’s a relief when one her own age is interested. She scrolls through the messages, deleting a few where the guy in question shot himself in the foot, and then she hits a message she likes the sound of. But it’s not a guy who sent it.

Huh. Tenko skims your profile, then rereads your message. I’m free tonight and I won’t make it weird. What can I do that would make you feel special today? That seems — sweet. Tenko likes that you promised to not make it weird. Acknowledging the weirdness of the situation makes her feel a little better about it. She sends your message and profile to Hana, too.

Hana gets back to Tenko right away, rejecting almost everybody except two — a message from a guy a few years older than her, and the message from you. Pick the guy if you want to get laid. Pick the other one if you want to have a nice day.

Does Tenko want to get laid on her birthday? Maybe. The guy is sort of hot. And older guys are maybe better in bed? The longer Tenko thinks about it, the more uncertain she gets. Maybe she’d want to get laid on her birthday if she knew it would be good sex, but she doesn’t know that. The only thing she’d know for sure is that she was fucking a stranger. And when the other option is having a nice day — Tenko picks up her phone and messages you back. hi

hi! happy birthday :) You respond right away, and you don’t call Tenko “birthday girl” the way some of the creepy guys have. That feels like a good sign. based on your post, I get the vibe that you had plans and they fell through. what kind of stuff were you going to do?

my friends and I were going to do an escape room. I don’t know if it would be fun with just two. Tenko can always reschedule that. and go to the arcade. and then that animal shelter cafe.

Tenko’s making herself sound spoiled. sorry. I know that’s a lot.

that sounds really fun, you say. let’s do those things, and then I’ll come up with a surprise or two. sound good?

Tenko’s not sure how she feels about surprises, but you seem normal. Maybe the surprises you’d come up with would be okay. She gives your message a thumbs-up instead of saying yes, and you send her a few more questions — favorite flavor, favorite color, favorite flower — before suggesting a meeting spot and a time. Your meeting spot is in public, and you want to meet up two hours from now. Tenko screenshots your messages and sends them to Hana.

Hana texts back with two thumbs up. And the 100% emoji. that sounds good. see you then

see you then :)

Two hours, and then Tenko will meet you. And you’ll celebrate her birthday. As far as makeshift birthday plans go, Tenko could do a lot worse. Even if it only goes sort of well, it’ll beat being here. Tenko feels better for a second, until she realizes that there’s not a single full bathroom in the house that isn’t occupied and contaminated. How is she supposed to get ready?

She’s got two hours to figure it out. Tenko drinks what’s left of her tea and heads upstairs.

You don’t understand why you’re nervous. You’re not late or anything. You’re in exactly the spot you said you’d be, exactly on time, and you talked yourself out of doing anything stupid like getting a ton of balloons. What you did get is equally stupid, but easier to hide. Not for the first time, you think about throwing it away.

But you don’t know Tenko well enough to get her an actual present. She doesn’t have to keep it if she doesn’t want to. Maybe it’s the thought that counts.

You decide to hold onto it — for now, anyway. You can always chuck it if you lose your nerve. Or if Tenko no-shows. That wouldn’t surprise you. If your birthday plans uncanceled themselves, you’d definitely pick them over a birthday date with a stranger.

You’ve seen posts like Tenko’s before. On Valentine’s Day and New Year’s, usually — and sometimes on birthdays. You’ve never responded to one, mainly because you’re awkward, and as much as you’d like to help someone have a good day, you know deep in your heart that you’re more likely to ruin it than anything else. When you saw Tenko’s profile, though, something clicked. Or snapped. Possibly your brain. You messaged her way before you could think about whether it was a good idea.

The rest of her profile was cute, but you were hooked by just the selfie. She’s striking as hell, and she looked sad even though she was trying to smile. You’ve done birthdays on your own before, and it sucks. You wanted to make her smile for real, and if you couldn’t, you could at least come up with an activity, so she wouldn’t be home all day with nothing to do. So here you are, out in public, wishing you’d dressed better or dressed different or had a better idea of what you’re doing. You’re not sorry for this. But there’s a nonzero chance that it’ll be a disaster.

Someone says your name from behind you, and you turn around. Your heart skips about twenty beats in a row, making it hard to breathe. Tenko’s standing there, and she’s even more striking in person than she was in her pictures.

“Hi,” she says, her voice carrying a soft rasp. “I — um —”

She looks nervous. Awkward. Like she’s thinking this was a mistake, or like you think it was a mistake, and you can’t let that happen. “Happy birthday,” you say. “I got you something. Since we’re out doing stuff, I thought it would be awkward to have a bouquet or balloons — so I got this —”

You hold out the box, and Tenko opens it. She looks at it, then up at you, puzzled. “It’s a corsage,” you explain. “You told me what flowers you like, so — this way you can have them with you without them getting in the way. I’m sorry they’re not real.”

“It’s good they’re not real,” Tenko says at once. “I’m allergic to, like — everything. I should have said that. Not to food, but plants. And mold. And bees. And cats —”

Now you know why her friends were planning to take her to the animal shelter cafe. That cafe has dogs in addition to cats. “Fake is better,” Tenko concludes. “What do I do with it?”

“Put it around your wrist,” you say. You hold the box while she lifts it out, slides it over her left wrist. She must be right-handed. “Like that. What do you think?”

“It’s nice,” Tenko says. She smiles slightly, and your heart skips another twenty beats or so. “Thank you.”

You nod. You need to pull it together and quit acting like this is a date. You’re celebrating her birthday. She probably just forgot to uncheck the box on her profile that says she’s into more than just guys. You said you wouldn’t make it weird. “Should we go to the arcade? Which one were you and your friends going to go to?”

Tenko names one. “We wanted to go to the new one with the retro section — and the laser tag — but it was expensive for all of us.”

“It’s your birthday,” you say. “Let’s go to the new one. It’ll probably be cheaper for just two than — however many you were going with before.”

“Are you sure?” Tenko hesitates. “It’s expensive.”

“I just got paid,” you say, like an asshole. Then you facepalm. “It’s not too expensive. Since your real plans fell through, I want to go all-out to make sure you have a good time.”

“Okay,” Tenko says after a moment. “Let’s go to the new one.”

“Sounds good,” you say. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

She laughs quietly. “Thanks.”

On the train to the new arcade, you learn that Tenko’s best friends are her roommates, and they didn’t ditch her — they all got food poisoning, or stomach flu, or something, and they’ve been sick since two am. “If they’re still that sick when I get home, I’m making them go to the urgent care,” she says, grimacing. “I’m worried they’ll get worse while I’m gone.”

“Don’t worry about that yet,” you suggest. “You still have a lot of birthday left. I bet they’ll call you if they need help, right?”

“I told them to.” Tenko scratches the side of her neck with the hand her corsage is attached to. “They might not. They said they don’t want to ruin my plans again.”

Oh. “I told them about you,” Tenko continues. “They liked your profile. But they wanted to know if it was a friend date or a date-date.”

“Oh.” You don’t really know what to say to that. “What did you tell them?”

“I said I didn’t know yet,” Tenko says. She glances sideways at you, from beneath eyelashes that are a lot longer and thicker than you first thought. “What do you think?”

“It’s your birthday,” you say. Your heart is beating a little faster. “Your choice.”

You hope that’s enough of an indication that you’re into her, that you’d absolutely make this a date if you thought you could get away with it. But you swore not to make it weird. “I’m still thinking about it,” Tenko says, and you nod. “This is already a better birthday than usual.”

You want to ask her more about that — no way her friends get stomach flu every year — but you’ve reached the stop for the arcade, and the two of you get off the train. The crowd is thick on the platform. You grab Tenko’s hand so you won’t lose track of her, and she holds on tight. By the time you’re off the platform and down the stairs to street level, her fingers are laced through yours. You loosen your grip tightly, in case she wants to let go. She doesn’t.

You pay your way into the arcade, and it turns out to be less expensive than you thought — since it’s Tenko’s birthday, her admission fee is half price. You’re not very good at games, and say so, but she doesn’t look worried. “My friends aren’t, either. The whole point is having fun. Let’s do that one first.”

It’s Jurassic Park-themed, and it’s two player. One of you has to shoot at attacking dinosaurs and the other one has to drive the getaway car, and you opt for driving. Your driving’s not much better than your shooting, and you keep getting jump-scared every time a dinosaur pops out of the bushes. The game gets a little easier when you figure out that you can run the smaller ones over.

You make it through a couple levels before a dinosaur eats you, and when Tenko lowers the fake gun, she’s grinning. “Not bad. I thought you said you weren’t good at these.”

“I guess I could be worse,” you say. “Where do you want to go next?”

You play games separately for a little while, since a lot of the retro games are single-player, and when you meet back up again, Tenko’s trailing actual armfuls of tickets. “How did you win those?” you ask. “You must be amazing at them.”

“Some of them. Others have a trick. I’ll show you.” Tenko leads you further into the retro section, to a game that looks familiar. “Did you have internet access growing up?”

“Not for a while,” you say. “I mainly played —”

You realize what you’re looking at. “Is this pinball?”

“It’s not that different from the one on the computer,” Tenko says. “Here. I’ll show you.”

She’s really cute when she’s excited about something. You make your way over to the machine and stand in front of it, dropping in your tokens to wake it up and setting your hands on the controls. The controls look like the ones from the computer games, at least. And you’ll admit it’s easier to control them directly than it is to control them with the arrow keys.

You’re still not very good at it, but it spits out a few tickets for you anyway. “I wish I was better at these,” you admit. “I wanted to get you a present.”

“You got me a present,” Tenko says. She gestures slightly, showing off the corsage. “Want me to help you?”

“Only if it would be fun for you,” you say. “It’s your birthday.”

You can’t tell if she’s having fun or not. More fun than she’d have been having at home, probably, but you want her to feel special. You don’t know if you’ve nailed that just yet. You stand at the pinball machine, feeding in a few tokens for another turn, and get the shock of your life when Tenko’s hands come up to cover yours on the controls.

She’s not standing next to you; she’s behind you, arms reaching around you, just taller than you enough to peer over your shoulder. “Relax your hands,” she says, and yours go limp. “Not that much. Otherwise you won’t be able to react as fast. And if you want the ball to go anywhere, you have to flip the paddle at the last minute.”

“Okay,” you say. “Do you want me to, um —”

“When I press on your hands, just do what I tell you to.” Tenko’s voice is soft in your ear. Your face heats up. “It’s easy.”

You’re easy, apparently. You didn’t realize how into her you’d gotten until just now, when her hands are guiding yours to the highest score you’ve ever gotten on a pinball machine, computerized or in real life. The machine spits out a string of tickets, which you collect and add to the heap of them that Tenko’s already amassed. “What should we do with these?” you ask. Without the warmth of her hands over yours, you feel weirdly cold. “Cash out?”

You see Tenko fold her hands together, then unfold them, then finally tuck them behind her back. “How do you feel about laser tag?”

“I love it,” you say, and your heart skips a beat when you see her smile.

This might be Tenko’s best birthday ever. She’s at the arcade with tickets to burn. She’s playing laser tag with somebody who gets at least as into it as she does. She gets to go to the shelter cafe later, and she doesn’t have to go alone, and you’re a dog person, too. She got flowers, which isn’t something she thought she wanted, but is nicer to have that she thought it would be, too. She can’t remember the last time she had this much fun with someone who wasn’t Hana or one of her friends that she’s known since high school.

Tenko decided to go out with you on her birthday so she wouldn’t have to be alone. She didn’t think she’d like you so much.

The two of you are huddled up behind an obstacle in the laser tag arena, weapons at the ready. You peer out around the obstacle, then duck back down, face grim. “They’re out there.”

“How many?”

“All of them,” you say. “Those are the scariest nine-year-olds I’ve ever seen.”

Tenko’s out of breath from running around, but she still manages to laugh. “You shouldn’t have shot the birthday kid.”

“I didn’t know they were the birthday kid,” you protest. “They didn’t have on a sign or something. What are we going to do?”

“We’re pretty stuck.” If Tenko’s being honest, she doesn’t care if both of you get shot. She likes this too much — being back here with you, sort of alone, her shoulder pressed against yours. “Maybe wait it out. This Star Wars music has to run out at some point.”

“Soon,” you say. One of the kids yells at you and Tenko to come out and fight like real men, which cracks Tenko up again. You shout back at them. “If you want revenge, come and get us! I — oops —”

They took you up on it. Tenko takes two shots at the first kid who sticks their head around the obstacle, then gets up and runs, pulling you after her. The kids aren’t very good shots, but Tenko still hears a few of the pings that means someone’s landed a hit. Her gun isn’t vibrating the way it does when she’s hit, though. Either they’re friendly-firing each other or they’re hitting you.

When the round of tag ends and you each get your scores, Tenko realizes that she wasn’t just pulling you after her — she was using you as a human shield. Your score is pretty low, but Tenko’s is high. The highest. “You won,” you say, smiling. “Nice work.”

“I used you as a meat shield.”

“I’ve had worse days,” you say, and Tenko snorts. She laughs a lot when she’s with you. “Happy birthday.”

The two of you cash out on tickets. Tenko picks up some prizes for her friends, and something for Hana, and you use your share of the tickets to get a pair of goofy sunglasses shaped like stars, which you wear out of the arcade and all the way to the shelter cafe. Tenko likes that about you. She likes a lot about you.

There’s cake at the cafe, and you pay extra so Tenko can feed a cup of dog-safe ice cream to a litter of puppies that are waiting for their vaccines before they can get adopted. “Can I take a picture?” you ask, and Tenko looks up at you. “I’ll send it to you and delete it afterward.“

“Why would you delete it?”

“So I wouldn’t make it weird,” you say. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d feel weird about being on some stranger’s phone.”

“You’re not a stranger anymore,” Tenko says. “It’s not weird.”

“Okay.” You take the picture, then send it. “We’re not strangers. Are we friends?”

“Friends,” Tenko agrees. She’s still trying to decide if she wants to level up.

The shelter cafe was going to be the last stop on Tenko’s day out with her friends — after that they were going to head home and play games — but you added one more stop. You won’t tell Tenko what it is, and Tenko decides she doesn’t mind the suspense. In this case. Maybe that will help her decide, whatever the surprise is. If it’s a surprise she likes, maybe that’ll be a sign.

“This was my sister’s idea,” she tells you as the two of you climb the stairs to the roof of a building a few blocks away from the shelter cafe. “Changing my profile. So I wouldn’t have to spend my birthday alone.”

“Has that happened before?”

“I don’t usually have good birthdays,” Tenko says, and you nod. “I think Hana thought it would be better to spend my birthday with someone.”

“Did you get a lot of offers?” you ask.

“Lots. But most of them were weird,” Tenko says. You nod. “My sister helped me pick.”

“So she’s the one who picked me?”

“She narrowed it down to you or one other person,” Tenko says. “She, uh —”

Maybe Tenko shouldn’t say that. “What?” you ask. “We’re friends now. You can tell me.”

“She said I should pick the guy if I wanted to get laid,” Tenko says. She can’t tell what you think by the look on your face. “And I should pick you if I wanted to have a nice day.”

“Have you?” you ask. You push open the door of the roof and hold it open for Tenko. “I’m not going to be weird if you say no. I did promise a nice day with no weirdness involved.”

“It’s been a really nice day,” Tenko says. She steps out onto the roof and gets hit with a blast of crisp spring air. The sun’s just set, and the sky is clear. “Are we stargazing or something?”

“There’s too much light pollution,” you say. You set your hands lightly on Tenko’s shoulders and turn her so she’s facing the other way. “I didn’t have a lot of time to plan, but I’ve got this friend who owes me a favor. I thought this might be a good time to use it.”

“What kind of favor?” Tenko asks.

“Something special,” you say. “At least, I hope it will be. It should be starting – now.”

A burst of light appears in the sky, followed by another. Fireworks. Tenko turns to stare at you, and you point back towards the display. The flush on your face is so intense that it’s visible even in the dark. Tenko looks away before she blushes, too. She thought you’d just asked her favorite color because of the flowers. She’d never have expected fireworks. If she had a friend who was into fireworks who owed her a favor, she’s not sure she’d have used it for a stranger’s birthday.

But maybe that’s the kind of person you are. The kind of person who’d do something nice for someone you hadn’t met yet, just because you could. Tenko keeps her eyes on the fireworks as she reaches out, finding your wrist, then your hand. She laces her fingers with yours. “I made up my mind.”

“Hmm?”

“About what kind of date this is,” Tenko says. You turn to look at her, your eyes widening, and Tenko leans in to kiss you.

She’s only ever kissed guys before you, but as far as first kisses go, this is the best one she’s ever had. The best kiss, at the end of the best date she’s ever been on, with a few hours left in the best birthday she’s ever had. You kiss Tenko back, your free hand cradling her face in a way that makes her heart race, but when you draw away, you’re apologetic. “I hope you didn’t think you had to do that,” you say. “I promised I wouldn’t make it weird.”

“I never promised I wouldn’t.” Tenko leans in again, and this time, you close the space yourself and kiss her first. This time, Tenko’s the one who draws back. Even breathing through her nose, she’s finding it hard to catch her breath. “When’s your birthday?”

“It already happened this year,” you say. “Why? Did you want to take me on a birthday date?”

“Yeah.” Tenko needs to breathe, but she can’t help leaning closer a third time, hoping you’ll kiss her. “That’s okay, though. I need some practice dates to get on your level.”

“How many were you thinking about?”

“Oh,” you say. You knew Tenko was maybe seeing someone, but you didn’t realize it had gotten that far. Thinking about it makes you feel weird. “Uh — congratulations?”

“No. It’s bad,” Tenko says. “She’s been sending me pictures — look —”

“No.” You cover your eyes with one hand and push the phone away with the other. “Don’t show me some girl’s nudes. She sent those for you, not for you to show your friends.”

“They’re good pictures,” Tenko says. He looks pretty miserable for a guy who’s getting nudes from a real live girl. “I don’t have anything to send back.”

“Oh,” you say again. Something is dawning on you. “Are you trying to take a dick pic?”

“I tried taking photos of the rest of me. She said they were nice but she wants to see everything. She thinks I’m being shy.” Tenko takes a few steps backwards and flops down on the couch. “I’ve been trying to take a picture. I can’t.”

“Is it really that hard?” you ask. “Unzip pants. Take out dick. Take picture of dick. Hit send. Am I missing a step or something?”

“Would you want to get that kind of dick pic?” Tenko asks. His phone is sitting on the coffee table. His face is buried in his hands. “I mean, if you weren’t gay.”

“I’m ninety-nine percent gay,” you say. Your attraction to men is mostly theoretical. “I mean, with any nude it’s nice to see that effort went into it. How long have you been trying to take a decent pic?”

“Two hours,” Tenko mumbles, and you almost choke. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing. Tell me you didn’t leave this girl on read.”

“I’m not. I’ve been texting her while I’ve been trying to take the photo,” Tenko says. “It’s not working. And, uh — you’re my best friend, and I know you’re not into dicks —”

“You want me to help you take a dick pic,” you say, and Tenko nods. “How?”

“Just take the picture. I’ve been trying to do it one-handed and I keep dropping it,” Tenko says. He grabs his phone and passes it to you. “This is what I have so far.”

You take it hesitantly. “Are you sure you want me to see these?”

“You’re going to see my actual dick. It’s probably better if you see the photos first. So you won’t be surprised.”

You haven’t technically agreed yet, but you look in Tenko’s gallery anyway. When he said he was trying, he wasn’t joking. There are probably twenty or thirty photos — different angles, different filters, different backgrounds, every variable he could possibly alter. Except for who’s taking the picture.

“They’re bad, right?” Tenko says. “Maybe I just want to think it’s the photos that are bad.”

“As opposed to your dick? I’m not an expert or anything, but — it looks fine to me.” Your face heats up slightly. You need to get off the subject, fast. “What don’t you like about them?”

“The angle’s weird,” Tenko says. Maybe. You’re not an expert. “And, like — how am I supposed to crop it? Just so my dick is in it? Or more of me?”

“Maybe your torso?” you suggest. “Navel to thighs.”

“Great. So I can show off all the abs I don’t have.” Tenko looks at you. “I know this is weird. You don’t have to.”

“I mean, I already saw your dick,” you say. “Might as well.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tenko sucks down a breath, then unzips his pants.

Your best friend’s dick isn’t something you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. You don’t think a lot about dicks in general, so you’re not sure whether your impression of Tenko’s is accurate. It’s not gigantic or anything, which would have been offputting. It’s also not tiny. It’s pale pink, slightly pinker at the tip, surrounded by pale blue hair. You don’t see anything weird about it, except Tenko clearly feels weird about it. You feel like you should say something, except you feel weird telling your best friend that he has a perfectly average dick.

“What?” Tenko asks. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry. I just — sorry.” You look away before you can say anything stupid. “Okay. Picture time.”

You take a couple photos, including one with flash, which turns out to be a mistake. “It looks like found footage,” Tenko says. “Like a cryptid or something.”

“The Blair Dick Project,” you say, and Tenko snickers. “Paranormal Dick-tivity.”

He laughs at that. You’ve always liked the way Tenko laughs. His laughter always invites people in. And you like the fact that he can laugh right now, when he’s sitting here with his dick out and his best ninety-nine percent gay friend holding the camera. You’re still laughing together when his phone buzzes. “It’s the girl,” you report, and Tenko cringes. “You should say something.”

“Like what? Hang on, I’m trying to take the world’s best dick pic for you?”

“My straight friends always complain about getting low-effort dick pics. She might be into it,” you say. Tenko groans. “Maybe don’t tell her how you’re getting the pictures.”

“She knows about you,” Tenko says. He’s texting back. “She actually got kind of weird about it until I told her you were gay.”

“Ninety-nine percent gay.”

“So why don’t you just say bi?” Tenko asks. He sends the text and hands you back the phone. “If you still like guys.”

“I probably like one guy out of a hundred,” you say. “It’s possible in theory. Not probable. Saying I’m gay and then clarifying if necessary is easier than saying I’m bi and having guys think I’m into them.”

You catch a glimpse of Tenko’s text conversation, just long enough to see that he’s gotten another nude. This one’s about as explicit as it gets — straight between her legs, her folds spread open, her fingers slick. You force-shut the message, your stomach clenching, and as you navigate back to the camera roll, you realize that there’s a problem. Tenko has a problem, and since you’re supposed to be taking the picture, you have a problem, too. “Aren’t you supposed to be hard?”

“Huh?”

“Dick pics. You forgot to close your message, so I saw what she sent you —” You aren’t jealous of him getting that picture. That’s not why you feel like this. “You’re supposed to be into this. It’s supposed to be turning you on. These are good pictures, but if we send her one where you’re — floppy —“

Tenko snorts. “Floppy?”

“Is that not the word?” The word’s not the point. “She’ll know you’re not into it. You need to get into it.”

“Yeah.” Tenko sobers up. “Okay. Uh —”

“I can leave,” you say. “Read what she sent you.”

You avert your eyes, scrolling on your own phone while Tenko goes back to reading his messages. You need to get your shit together. However weird you’re feeling, it’s time to shake it off and help Tenko take his dick pic. You can process whatever this is at home.

On the couch next to you, Tenko mumbles a curse. You glance over at him. “You okay?”

“It’s not working.”

“Probably because I’m here killing the vibe,” you say. Tenko shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll go hang out in your room or something and come back when it’s time to take the picture.”

“It’s not that,” Tenko says. “I just — what am I supposed to tell her? She sent me a photo of her fingerfucking herself and I can’t even get it up for that?”

“Sexting is kind of weird,” you admit. “It’s not for everybody. You could tell her that.”

“Would you want to hear that?” Tenko asks. You’ve heard worse. Queer women can be just as rude as men, when it comes down to it. “Yeah. This sucks.”

He sounds so sad. He’s your best friend, and you hate to see him like this. Your voice, when you speak up, sounds like it’s coming from someone else’s mouth. “Maybe you need help.”

“Huh?”

“Like — you know how on porn sets, they used to have people who’d help the actors keep it up between takes?” You can’t quite believe you’re saying this. What you’re suggesting feels crazy. Because it is. “Maybe you need some help. Getting going.”

“From you?” Tenko stares, his face flushing instantly. “But — you don’t like guys.”

“That’s why it’s okay,” you say. “Since I’m not into it and you’re not into me, it won’t be weird. Right?”

“Right,” Tenko says after a second. The color hasn’t come down in his face yet. “Okay. Are you sure?”

“We’re best friends,” you say. “I’m just helping out. Can I —”

Where do you even start? Do you just grab his dick? That’s basically what he’s been doing, and it hasn’t worked. “Yeah,” Tenko says. “Go ahead.”

You reach out and touch Tenko’s cheek, finding it almost burning hot. Then you lean in, brushing your lips across Tenko’s jaw. Tenko shivers. You’ve been this close to him before — more than once — but not this way. You’ve never caught the smell of his skin quite like this. As you kiss his neck, kiss the birthmark below the corner of his mouth, one of Tenko’s hands brushes against your waist. You startle, and so does he. “Sorry,” Tenko mumbles almost breathlessly. “You didn’t say I could touch.”

“You can,” you say. “If it’ll help.”

“Yeah.” Tenko’s phone buzzes. He ignores it. “A lot.”

You aren’t kissing him on the mouth, and he’s not touching you anywhere he shouldn’t. Still, your skin is heating up, too, just like Tenko’s. Your breathing is picking up, as your lips move along the side of Tenko’s neck, as Tenko shifts closer to you and tilts his head to one side for more. You reach down to hike up his shirt, dragging your fingers across Tenko’s stomach. A sharp sound leaves his mouth and he squirms slightly. “Stop looking for abs. You know I don’t have any.”

“You don’t need any.” Your lips are tingling slightly. You run your fingers over his stomach again, wishing you could lean down and kiss it. If he was someone else, someone you were really hooking up with, you wouldn’t hesitate, but that’s not what this is. “You’re perfect.”

“Don’t be weird.”

“I mean it.” You glance down at his crotch, to see if you’ve made any progress, and get a shock. You’re not a dick expert or anything, but — “Give me the camera. Hold on.”

You take a few pictures of Tenko’s half-hard cock, from a couple different angles, then hold out the phone for him to inspect. He nods, but he doesn’t move to take the phone back from you, and his hands don’t fall away from your waist. “Maybe a little more,” he says. “Just to have them.”

“Okay,” you say. You set the phone aside. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah.” Tenko doesn’t hesitate. “Spit on your hand first.”

You do it, but you’re not sure it’s necessary. Tenko’s dick is already oozing precum. “Don’t hold on too tight,” Tenko says, as you wrap your hand around his shaft. “Loose, like that. Like — that —”

His hips lift minutely, pressing upwards into your hand. You might not be familiar with touching dicks, but you know when someone likes how you’re touching them. You stroke Tenko the same way again, and again. “Hold on tighter now,” he says. “On the tip, your thumb —”

You brush your thumb over the tip of Tenko’s cock and he moans audibly. Your face goes up in flames at the sound. You lean in closer to him, head against his shoulder, and look down between his legs. His cock’s fully hard in your hand. “Pretty,” you say without thinking, and Tenko gasps like you’ve punched the air out of his lungs. “You can trust me. I don’t even like these, and I even I can tell how pretty you are. We need a picture —”

“Don’t stop,” Tenko says desperately. When your hand comes to a stop anyway, he squirms beneath it. “Just a little more.”

You pick up your strokes, always stopping to caress his tip, and fighting down a sense of unease. Not with what you’re doing. Not with why you’re doing it. The thing that’s throwing you is how much you like it.

But who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t like seeing Tenko like this, with his shirt hiked up and his dick twitching, oozing so much precum that your knuckles are dripping with it. His head falls back against the couch, exposing his throat, so you kiss him there, hearing and feeling the sharper groan that exits his mouth. Heat floods down your spine, pooling in the pit of your stomach. It’s not supposed to do that. Not for guys. Not for your best friend.

“Fuck, just like that,” Tenko pants as your grip tightens slightly out of nerves. “More. Please —”

“If you kiss me,” you say without thinking. Tenko looks shocked. “Sorry. That was weird. I —”

Tenko’s lips crash against yours, almost hard enough to make you bite your lip, but you barely notice, because nobody’s ever kissed you like Tenko does. This kind of desperation is something else, something you’ve only felt from your side. It’s never this strong, though. This is something new, and when Tenko comes all over your hands, you realize you have a problem.

Tenko knows, too. You’ve still got your hand around his cock when he speaks up. “I thought you didn’t like dicks.”

“I don’t,” you say, aware of how stupid it sound when you’re holding one, still running your fingers lightly over his tip to draw out any last spurts of cum. “But I like you. So I like yours.”

Ninety-nine percent gay. One guy out of a hundred is who you’d be into, and you’re sitting next to him. Still holding his cock as his phone buzzes. “Did you get a picture?” Tenko asks.

You shake your head miserably, and somewhere in the silence, Tenko gets a text message. He looks at it, respondsx then sets the phone aside. “She says she can tell I’m not comfortable with sexting. And we should call.”

“What did you say?”

“Not right now,” Tenko says. He’s looking at you now, straight-on. That gaze didn’t used to make you blush. Now it does. “I have something to figure out here.

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But you like taking off people’s clothes, or at least you used to, when you fooled around with people because you wanted to instead of because you were getting paid. It used to feel like you were unwrapping a present, and you used to like to take your time. Not anymore. She’s gorgeous, and you’re pretty wasted, and you want to get as much of her as you can before it catches up to you. Before it catches up and before she’s your boss. If she was serious about that.

Shigaraki’s hands stay glued to your waist as you peel her suit jacket down from her shoulders. She’s got a tie on, the collar of her shirt hiding her throat, and you undo it, impatience making you clumsy. “Do you always dress like this when you come to a club?”

“I dress like this for business,” Shigaraki says. She lets go of you long enough to shrug the rest of the way out of her jacket, letting it fall to the floor. You toss her tie down on top of it and pull the top buttons of her shirt apart. “This is still business.”

“You’re not my boss yet.” You were planning to take her shirt all the way off, but now you’re distracted by the scars on the sides of her neck, the exposed lines of her collarbones. All of that demands immediate attention, and you speak with your mouth lowered to her neck. “Do you want to be?”

“No.” Shigaraki exhales slowly, almost through clenched teeth. “Not right now.”

Her hands slide down from your waist to your hips, but whatever she’s doing to you is at the outer edge of your awareness. You’re locked in on the strange texture of her scars, fixated on the way the marks left by your lipstick are the same color as the ones you leave with your teeth. You feel crazy, twice as aggressive as you’d be under ordinary circumstances, but Shigaraki’s not telling you no. She’s angling her head to expose her neck, looking for more, as her hands knead roughly at your hips. You might have bruises in the morning. You’ve had them before, from customers who got handsy during a private dance, and seeing them always makes you feel sick. But if they’re from Shigaraki — you catch your breath, your spine bowing to press you against her even closer than before.

“What?” Shigaraki asks. Her hands go still. “Change your mind?”

“No.” Even if you were hesitating, you’re turned on to an unsustainable degree, one you couldn’t fix by rubbing one out before your next dance. “This is just really hot. You can touch me more if you want. I want you to touch me.”

“Yeah?” One of Shigaraki’s hands drifts down, over the curve of your ass. The other stays where it is, gripping even tighter than before. “Show me how.”

You know an invitation when you hear one. You pull reluctantly away from Shigaraki’s neck, already missing the way her pulse hammered beneath your lips, only to realize that you still get to unbutton her shirt. Her bra isn’t as nice as the suit is. It’s old, flesh-tone but too dark for her pale skin. You trace one edge, frowning. “What?” Shigaraki asks again. “I thought you liked my tits.”

“I do. They’re great. Your bra sucks.”

“So take it off, then.” Shigaraki’s pale face is flushed as your hands crawl across her back, looking for the hooks. You lean in to kiss her, and she kisses you back hungrily, keeping you pressed against her tightly. She only pulls away to speak once. “It’s front-fasten.”

“You could have said that.”

“I wanted you to touch me.” Shigaraki sighs as you unhook her bra and her breasts spill free. “That’s better.”

No kidding. You take a second just to look. Looking turns into staring, which turns into cupping them in both hands, feeling the way Shigaraki tenses as you run your thumbnail along the undersides. Her nipples were stiffening before you took her bra off. Now they’re hard, and she twitches when your hand brushes past them. “Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to touch me?”

“I am touching you.” You draw a wide circle around one of her nipples with your thumb. Her skin is warm, and when you look up as you repeat the motion, you see Shigaraki’s eyes averted, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “You’re really sensitive.”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki snaps at you. You do it again, with both hands this time, and she swears. “Quit fucking around and touch me.”

“I am,” you say. You draw a closer circle this time, slow and light. “You have the best tits I’ve ever seen. I want to appreciate them.”

“I used to be flat,” Shigaraki says. You give her a skeptical look. “Didn’t eat enough. I finally started and then — fuck, what are you doing to me —”

“Touching you,” you say. You roll one of her nipples between your thumb and forefinger and she moans. “Like you asked.”

Whatever they put in your drink, it’s shattered your attention span. You can’t focus on anything for longer than a few seconds, and no matter what grabs your attention, there’s always something else waiting to pull it away. You want to kiss Shigaraki, but you can’t decide between her mouth or her neck. You don’t want to muffle the sounds she’s making as you play with her tits, but you can’t keep your mouth off her. You want to look at her, because as gorgeous as she already is, she looks even better with her hands in her hair and her back arched, her face flushed almost as crimson as her eyes. She’s not touching you anymore, but it’s hard to care about that when there’s so much else you need from her. Kiss her, listen to her, watch her. You can’t choose.

It occurs to you dimly that you can get two out of the three. You leave one hand where it is, pinching lightly at Shigaraki’s nipple, and bend into a position that would be awkward for someone who’s not a dancer like you. “What are you doing?” Shigaraki asks. You press your lips against her sternum and she freezes. She’s breathing hard. If you turned your head, pressed your ear to her chest, you could probably hear her heartbeat. Part of you wants to. Part of you wants to slow this down. “What are you waiting for? Touch me.”

She’s bossy. Or needy. You can’t decide which, but either way, it’s hot. You kiss her sternum again, slower this time, then drag your lips over her skin until your mouth is just shy of her nipple. Shigaraki shifts impatiently, irritably, and you exhale slowly, feeling her shiver. If this was different, if this wasn’t a one-time thing, you’d make her wait. Make her beg. But this is all you get, so you’d better make the most of it. You flick your tongue out against her nipple and Shigaraki jolts. So she is sensitive. How sensitive? You close your lips around her nipple and suck lightly, and the filthiest moan you’ve ever heard slips through Shigaraki’s clenched teeth.

You wish you could say something to her, something about how she has the most incredible tits you’ve ever seen and getting to second base with her is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you, but your mouth is busy. Really busy. You toy with her, trying to figure out what she likes. Your lips, your tongue, your teeth — how rough she wants you to be, how much she can handle before she shoves you away and tells you to eat her out. You hadn’t even thought about that. She’s having a good time, if the moaning and squirming are anything to go by, but if you actually want to get her off —

“Don’t stop,” Shigaraki says suddenly, like there was any chance you’d pull away. “Like that, fuck, don’t stop —“

Her hand presses against the back of your head, holding you there. It’s a move you associate with giving head, not with this, and a thought flashes across your mind. Maybe the hottest thought you’ve ever had about anything in your life. You refocus with an effort, but it’s too late. You have to know. You have to know if you can make Shigaraki come just by playing with her tits.

You have one hand free. You wrap your arm around her, holding tight, so she couldn’t pull away without effort. Shigaraki’s back arches, pressing her tits against your face, and while half of you mulls over the thought of happily suffocating to death, the rest of you is fixated on her. The taste of her skin, the texture of her nipple between your fingers. The way her body seizes against you, tense and shaky and hot, until she slumps back, moaning and gasping for air.

You have to know. Her hand falls from the back of your head and you pull away, scraping your teeth over her nipple on the way. “Did you just come?”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki mumbles. That means yes. You feel a goofy grin break across your face. “Stop smiling like that. What are you smiling about?”

“You’re lucky this is a one-time thing,” you say, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Otherwise you couldn’t keep me off of you. That was so hot.”

Shigaraki’s looking at you suspiciously, like you’ve lost your mind or something. “You’re just saying that because you’re on drugs.”

“I could be dead sober and you’d still have great tits.” It’s hard to keep your eyes off them long enough to look at Shigaraki’s face, but you don’t regret it. She’s so pretty. You wonder if she’d let you brush her hair. “I like the rest of you, too.”

“Careful,” Shigaraki says. Huh? “Remember what I told you?”

“You’re not my boss right now?”

“No.” Shigaraki’s hands close around your waist. “You said you wanted me to touch you, and I told you —”

“To show you how,” you remember, and your stomach flips. “Shigaraki —”

your breasts have been collecting milk faster, and much more than usual, recently.

even for cow hybrids, milk should only be produced when the female is pregnant, and for only a year or two at most after giving birth. for some unknown reason, you produce it all year round, even without needing to have children. doctor after doctor you've visited, and all they've told you is that you're a strange anomaly. there is nothing you can do about it except extract it every now and then, to relieve the pain and swelling.

tonight, that is what you're planning on busying yourself with, once you get home from your shitty office job.

walking towards your porch with a deep sigh, you hear a deep voice call out to you.

"bad day at work, dollface?" your terrible neighbour-- sukuna, he's called, asks you with a cigarette in his hand dressed in jeans and a black tanktop. his tail swishes playfully behind him.

dollface. one of the few nicknames he uses condescendingly to refer to you. it's either dollface, doll, or sweetheart, and you don't recall ever hearing him actually use your name.

"um, work was alright... thank you for asking. have a good evening."

you like to make things short and stop any further conversation from happening, even though it might come off as a little awkward. one of sukuna's ears flick at your dry response, but he doesn't seem to bother you any further as you hurriedly unlock your front door and head inside.

sukuna drops his cigarette bud on the ground, and puts out the flame by stepping on it. you're not very sociable, as per usual...

but your sweet, passing scent makes for a little growl to rise in the back of his throat. sweet milk. that's what you always smell like. how curious. how tempting.

once you're home, you immediately grab your breastmilk pump that sits beside your sink. it hasn't been too long since you last cleaned it. you unhook your bra, and grimace at the wet stains on it, from leaking bit by bit throughout the day.

you press the pump up against one of your breasts and press the on button. it starts doing it's job. you sigh from relief, and watch as it fills up quite quickly. you wonder what you should do with all of it...

you stop the pump to empty it out into a glass bottle. it's a tedious process. sometimes... sometimes you wish you had a partner who could help you with it. sometimes, you wish someone would latch their mouth on and extract you directly-

what if he-- sukuna- did that for you? forcefully held you down and-

your eyes widen and your tail droops with shock at your own intrusive thoughts. heavens, no! you need to get yourself a partner. it's been too long. you hope you're not heading into heat already? it's not time for that yet, at least not according to your usual cycle. shaking your head as you extract the remnants of the milk from your breasts, you finish up quickly.

at least tomorrow, it will be saturday.

you'd forgotten about how overgrown the grass in your front yard had gotten. so, even though it's a saturday, and despite how you'd love to stay inside with all the curtains shut and doors locked tight... an unpleasant duty calls outside.

but despite the meticulous preparation of lathering enough sunscreen over yourself in protection against the sun's rays - the lawn mower suddenly doesn't want to heed to your calling.

your face scrunches up into a frown. darn thing.

the useless machine splutters and makes an obnoxious noise only in the beginning before giving out, no matter how many times you try to rev it back up again.

"goddamn it. you stupid thing," you mutter under your breath, crouching down to inspect it.

"need help?"

sukuna leans against the fence that is shorter than his own height, watching you with amusement. he'd been observing you for quite a few minutes by now.

"no thank you. i'm quite alright..." you respond without turning back. you know damn well whose voice that belongs to.

but does he listen? of course not! you hear the noise of the man easily bypassing the fence by elegantly hopping over it, before walking over towards you. how funny, even the fence fails to serve it's purpose in this moment.

"like that's believable. you think verbally degrading it will make it work?" sukuna snorts, coming around and shooing you away from the lawn mower.

he gives it a nice big rev, but not much happens. you smile slightly, wondering if he was going to make a fool of himself, after all that big attitude.

sukuna brings his foot against the side of the machine and gives it a hard kick. the sound startles you.

and now it's starting up nicely, and beginning to do it's job.

the man begins to mow your lawn for you, without another word. you stand around, not knowing what to do... your ears flicker as you stare at him doing your job for you. it feels odd. what is he up to?

well... no matter the hidden motive, it's true that he's doing you a huge favour. perhaps you should at least make a cold beverage for him, once he finishes with your yard. after observing him for a while, you head back inside to search for what would serve as an appropriate iced drink.

by the time you've stepped back outside, the yard is cut neatly and sukuna is in the midst of returning your lawn mower to your garage.

you silently hand him over his drink, and he takes it with a smirk.

"it's gone..." he suddenly comments.

"what's gone?" you question, with a raised eyebrow.

"that sweet smell that always surrounds you."

he proceeds to down his drink very quickly, not breaking eye contact with you. then, he starts chewing on the ice, tail swishing mischievously behind him.

"i... don't know what you mean." you cross your arms.

"hmm. playing dumb, i see. that's fine, i suppose."

you stand awkwardly with him in silence, simply listening to him crunching away on the ice. the heat from the sunlight gets more and more unbearable.

"if you're done with your drink... i think i'll start heading back inside now. thank you for your help today," you tell him politely, carefully taking your cup back from his hands.

he makes it seem like he's handing it over to you obediently, but then he tightens his grip against it when you're holding onto the glass, making you stare up at him in confusion. he pulls it back, so that you stumble closer to him.

"just letting you know. if you need any help, you can always ask me."

you're a bit nervous, but you try not to show it. does he know something? how much does he know? you feel your tail cowardly fall in between your legs. sukuna's ears give a light flick, but you don't know what that means.

"...we're neighbours, after all."

you look at him with distrust, holding onto your cup tighter. your gaze is unwavering as you meet his eyes.

"sure. i'll keep that in mind," you respond slowly.

seemingly satisfied, he lets go of your glass.

"thanks for the drink. see you."

it's a short backhanded wave he gives you, before he hops over the fence again. you narrow your eyes. just what kind of fence is this useless? can't even keep away one bad, bad man. you're not sure how much he's caught onto, but you sure hope he stops being interested in you with enough time. he easily sends odd tingles down your spine, and you don't like that one bit.

not at all...

the working part of an office job isn't actually that bad.

it's the people involved around you that makes it a living hell. nothing gets your blood pressure higher than your collusive colleagues and snobby superiors - especially the lazy ones who do everything to shove their workload onto other people.

such people are yet also, annoyingly obsessed with get-togethers and teamwork, which makes you laugh.

today is such an unlucky day, that you've been dragged off to an after-work gathering at some cheap restaurant with your shitty coworkers, all because one of them decided that they needed one.

nothing like being surrounded by a bunch of people that you hate, on a wednesday evening. you have to put on a fake smile, and remain the passive, agreeable coworker in this environment. they coerce you to drink more alcohol. you want to decline, but you feel as though you'll ruin the mood if you turn them down. you down a few pints of beer.

you can feel your breasts leaking again.

just let me go home, you think to yourself, for the fifth time in a row.

your wish is only granted after an hour or two later. you're still sober, maybe a little tipsy, seeing as you can feel the heat in your face from the alcohol. your body is probably not taking it very well today.

the first thing you do when you get home is washing your hands and settling down with your little trusty pump. when you undo your bra, you sigh in relief as your chest feels free. and also...

it's probably the alcohol acting as an aphrodisiac - you're a bit more sensitive tonight. you caress the swell of your breast and groan, your horniness overriding how tired you are. your other hand wanders down your panties, and your ears droop down.

you purse your lips together and let your fingers work against your clit for an orgasm that you know will be unsatisfactory, but you chase after such pleasure regardless. your breaths quicken, and you tilt your head back, closing your eyes. nearly there...

just when you were about to reach your first high of the night, a firm knock is heard from your door. just your luck. a ruined orgasm.

who can it be, at this time of the evening? you throw on a cardigan that just barely covers you up, and boldly stomp towards the door, irritated. you could give this person just about any piece of your mind.

but when you open the door, you're met with your most cunning and bothersome of a neighbour, sukuna. maybe it's because you're hornier than ever right now - you feel as though he looks even...hotter, tonight. his scent makes you dizzy.

sukuna had come by because he needed an ingredient for his dinner.

he wasn't expecting to be met with the eye candy that is your slightly disheveled self, with one hand keeping your loose cardigan together, while you're very obviously braless, judging by your nipples jutting out against the fabric. that, and the thick smell of your arousal that hit him right when the door had opened.

"wh-what do you want?" you ask, a little breathless, trying to keep it together.

sukuna looks down at you, trying to keep himself calm. this seems amusing. he doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from tenting his pants soon, if he stays around you longer...

"you look like you were busy with something... sorry to interrupt," he voices slyly, his fangs showing when he smiles.

"just... get on with it, please," you frown, your legs squeezing together. you can never tell what he's thinking - whether he knows everything or if he's pretending to know everything.

"nothing much, just ran out of salt at home. could i get some of yours?" sukuna shrugs innocently, holding up his empty salt jar.

"hold on a second."

you turn around to button your cardigan up with a sigh of annoyance, and you tell him to come in while you grab your salt from the kitchen.

once sukuna steps inside, he observes a million details at once. the very first thing he sees is your little pump that you'd forgotten to put away there. there's no way that puny thing is enough for you, is it?

in your kitchen, you grab your jar of salt, and attempt to open the thing - but your arms feel like jelly at the moment. you grit your teeth and try harder, cursing at yourself for shutting it so tight the last time you used it. you begin to strain your arms further. sukuna marvels at this excellent opportunity he is granted.

your feelings of irritation are whisked away when a pair of hands gently land on top of yours, against the jar. his fingertips reach the lid through the gaps between your own fingers. you feel the bigger man's body warmth, when he comes around from behind. it makes you feel so weak. your tail is hanging off to the side, raised high.

sukuna applies a bit of pressure, and the jar comes off easily. you note how warm his large hands feel.

"i came here for the salt, but now i'm thinking maybe i won't need it anymore..." he whispers down at you. your ears can't help but flicker from his voice.

"what... do you mean by that?" you ask, not knowing what to think.

he guides your hands to put the salt down on the counter. and then his body presses up against yours a little harder. you can feel his growing boner against your behind, and you feel lightheaded. sukuna peers down longingly at the exposed side of your neck.

your pheromones mix with his, and his fluffy tail curls around your leg, almost possessively. sukuna's hands are still holding onto yours, and you feel your breaths get more laboured by the tension.

"i promised to lend my help, didn't i? c'mon..." he coaxes, speaking closely so that his breath grazes against the skin of your neck.

you feel yourself starting to sweat a little more - his body heat is just too much. your chest is uncomfortably full, and the thought of someone sucking on your sensitive nipples is enough for you to finally cave in, and play the fool for the night.

you break free from his grasp for a moment, and hesitatingly point to your couch.

"...sit. it's probably easier on the couch," you tell him, not looking his way. and now you're even shoving him towards it, impatiently.

"my, how demanding," he comments teasingly. he knows you purposefully broke the tension - to prevent him from taking the lead. but he obediently takes a seat on your couch. following that, you awkwardly mount him and sit on his lap.

sukuna watches with a softer smirk as you unbutton yourself again, revealing your leaky breasts with a flustered look on your face. sukuna's hit with that familiar sweet scent that's always been floating around you all this time - but now, it's right in front of him, in full force. it makes his mouth water. he was right about you lactating.

"....go ahead," you tell him shamelessly, yet still sorely embarrassed, cheeks feeling so warm that you're concerned you might pass out. "just be gentle," you warn him, looking at him with a little hesitation and pursed lips.

sukuna feels his cock twitch against you, and he wonders if you can feel it too, from the way you're sitting right on it. his own face feels quite flushed - any man would be the same if they were in his position. such a pretty thing in his lap, willingly undoing her buttons for him. he's never seen tits more beautiful than yours.

"hurry-" you breathe out, impatient, and moreover, shy from the way he's shamelessly admiring your face and chest with a dumb smirk plastered on his face.

not even a millisecond after you say it, he puts his searing hot mouth around one of your nipples. your brain ceases to function as a zap runs through your body, and you whine without meaning to, your back arching against the couch. though you grab at his shoulder, your other hand claps over your own mouth to muffle your moans.

the suction of his mouth does wonders for pleasure, nothing like the dull feeling that your mechanic pump gives. you hear his throaty growls as he sucks on your nipple, getting a mouthful of the taste of your sweet milk. you shudder under him, becoming pliant with his touch.

sukuna bathes in your warmth and the softness of your breasts, enjoying how he is able to breathe in your scent from this close. your milk isn't like anything he's ever had before. not too sweet and yet not bland - a taste that is unique to you...

his other hand squeezes your other nipple, making sure it isn't too lonely from his touch. you jerk your hips against him, whole body twitching from the pleasure, the joy of having your tits milked by someone else rather than yourself. you can't hold your moans back any longer.

"fuck... oh please..." you mumble, feeling your breast being drained of it's milk.

he stops sucking for a moment, and you see the beautiful but subtle blush on his cheeks, as he looks up at you like he's intoxicated. he lets his tongue out and flicks it up and down your erect nipple, rolling it around the areola. it makes you whimper and tremble in his lap.

"don't... tease me..." you say through gritted teeth, frowning at him while he merely chuckles at your reaction.

sukuna attaches his mouth to your other breast, as it's leaking so much - as if to beg him to drain it next.

your cunt is pulsing so bad, and you feel yourself drenching your panties already. you subconsciously grind down against him and his obvious boner, trying to relieve yourself, desperate to reach a proper orgasm this time. both of you are in a lusty haze, unconcentrated eyes, you're lost in pleasure and he's lost in the taste of you, your breast milk dripping down his chin as he messily gulps down with greed.

sukuna also bucks his hips up against you, cock straining in his pants - god, he's so hard that it hurts. when was the last time he's felt such a way? he breathlessly sucks and slurps everything out of you, feeling the milk pass down his throat and into his stomach. he could drink this shit forever.

he wants to cum. he's gonna fucking cum. into his pants no less, like a damn virgin. with the way you're rolling your hips around and grinding down on him like a whore, its only a matter of time.

"haah... sukuna... more- do it more," you plead, relishing in the pleasure of having your tits taken care of, while you get yourself off on his very obvious erection - rubbing your clothed cunt against him. it feels so good on your sensitive clit, you're gonna lose your damn mind.

sukuna doesn't pry his lips away from your nipple, but his hands come off your breasts - you feel his arms wrap around your waist instead, holding you down against him tightly, guiding your hips and helping himself dry hump you harder while his face is still all up in your tits.

your breathing quickens even further, and you grab fistfuls of his shirt on his back, shutting your eyes in anticipation-- before letting your orgasm crash over you completely. you gasp as your clit throbs intensely, and you feel slick leaking all over in your panties as you ride your climax out against sukuna's hard cock, shuddering as you do so.

sukuna groans with his mouth still on your breast, his orgasm coming a little later than yours, dick twitching as rope after rope of his cum soils his boxers, hips bucking up into you without control - it feels so restricted in his shorts, and he desperately wants to take it out. his lips finally leave your swollen nipple with a little pop sound. his large hands come to grope the soft flesh as he comes off his high, a dull throb ringing in his cock, one orgasm being far from enough.

"look at you, rubbing your cunt all over my cock to get yourself off, like a proper slut. aren't you a little too eager?" he teases breathlessly, with a weak smirk on his face.

"you're the one... that came onto me so strongly..." you pant, drunk from the waves of pleasure you just received, and from the endless twitching of sukuna's giant cock... he's still hard.

"just admit that you're perverted. arguably, even worse than what i am," sukuna mocks, pinching at your nipples, making you wince.

"shut up, you."

in the spur of the moment, you lift your hips up slightly to shove your hand down his pants to take his dick out due to irritation. sukuna gives the slightest flinch from the sensation of your hand, grabbing onto his now bare erection.

you begin to fiercely jerk him off with a frown on your face, wanting to punish him for his comments a few seconds ago, knowing he's still sensitive from his recent orgasm.

"fuck-! what're you-" he cuts his own voice off with a choked off gasp due to the tight grip of your hand against his twitching cock. he's back to bucking his hips again as you pump up and down with both hands, his dick already being lathered with his own cum making it easier for you. the noises that come out of him almost fills you with pride - and also surprise. you'd never thought that someone like him would ever moan in this way... you jerk him off faster, and a little harder, being fixated on his pretty looking cock that keeps jumping in your hands.

"shit! that's- enough-" sukuna gasps again, chest heaving and whole body jerking, but oddly, not attempting to stop you at all.

you watch in awe, as his cock spurts out several strings of white cum once again, his head tilted back with deep groans, dick pulsing - your hands keep away from it for the first few seconds just to observe, but then you help to milk it dry, grabbing his base and slowly stroking up and down. he shudders from your touch, and the sight of him being so sorely sensitive makes you feel your heartbeat in your pussy again.

he really does cum a shit ton. it goes for what seems to be like ages, never ending pulses of his cock and rope after rope tainting your hands, and his own stomach. the way he shivers before you, how captivating his groans sound, it all makes you want to do it all over again.

you slowly rub his tip against your palm, playing with his dick as if it were a toy - but this time, he grabs your wrist to stop you.

"enough..." he says with a low voice - and the look that he gives you sends a shiver down your spine.

he's beginning to smell a bit different. its not like before. and it's getting thicker by the second...

"ah, fuck.... i'm in rut," sukuna admits with a scowl, and a flushed face.

the realisation hits you like a truck.

"look at what you've done," sukuna growls as he grabs your hips and pushes you closer towards him, his cock impossibly harder. he's breathing heavily, and you see the precum that's gathering on his tip. he won't be able to hold himself back much longer, and you know it.

and curse the omega in you - you're unable to resist him, and you can feel yourself syncing with his rut, a strange swoop occurring in your stomach. his strong pheromones make you lightheaded and feverish, instigating your submissive side as you become obedient - sitting on his lap with an eager shine in your eyes, breathing heavy from his strong scent and your desire to be dominated.

you want to have your brains fucked out. you can't take it anymore.

as if reading your mind, sukuna lunges forward and practically throws you onto your back on your couch - you let out a yelp and watch as he pulls your shorts and panties down and casts them aside, stripping you completely. you feel so vulnerable, but his intense strength and desperation is only adding to your arousal.

he pushes your knees up and rubs his cock up against your clit, and puckering hole.

"look at all this slick. you want me that bad huh?" sukuna remarks darkly, sweat gathering on his temples.

you grit your teeth, fighting the urge to give him a meek response - having the strange desire to provoke and set him off until the end.

"you're the desperate one here..." you tell him breathlessly, sensing how his dick is practically begging to be inside you, with the way it twitches on your cunt.

your blood runs cold for a second, when you see the way he looks down at you, with a vein popping out on his forehead.

"...maybe i am," he relents, with a low voice, grabbing your face.

and then he leans down to shove his lips against yours, while thrusting his cock into you at the same time.

you whimper into the kiss as his tip hits your womb like nothing. you'd ignored how massive he was at the start, but now it's impossible to brush off.

"t-too big..." you mumble when he breaks away from your lips.

sukuna groans as he drags his cock in and out of your sopping cunt, practically holding him in an iron grip from the suction. your endless amount of slick coats his dick with plenty of lubricant to fuck you more easily.

"you can take it, doll. i'll make you take it..."

his eyes dilate as he begins to piston his hips at a fast but uneven pace, groaning shamelessly as his cock ravishes your pussy by hitting all the right places, heavy balls smacking against your ass with every thrust. the pleasure runs through your veins like electricity, and you feel high off the feeling of someone so big and strong using you like you were his fleshlight - to relieve his rut.

you can barely breathe from the way he pounds you, relentlessly pushing you to the limit, tears forming in your eyes and high pitched moans coming from your throat.

"ohh-! sukuna... oh, please please please..." you plead, almost sobbing.

he responds by leaning down to lather his tongue against your scent glands, sucking on them and rest of the skin on your neck. you shudder and let out another set of whimpers - and sukuna's fangs feel antsy, wanting to sink them into your flesh.

sukuna aims for the sweetness from your breasts, to distract himself. you cry out as he roughly latches onto your nipple and begins to suck as he squeezes your soft flesh. his cock feels like it's about to burst.

when he stimulates your nipples a certain way and his tip grazes your g-spot at the same time, you're hit with an orgasm that makes you squeal and has your cunt fluttering uncontrollably.

his dick gives in to the sudden milkings of your pussy and sukuna pushes his hips to settle himself into you as deep as he can - giving a choked off groan from the sudden climax as his cock swells up inside of you, anchoring itself.

the knowledge of him knotting you doesn't seem to matter as you enjoy the feeling of the warm gush of his cum pouring into your womb, his balls clenching with every rope that spurts out, messily coating your walls with white.

sukuna pants so heavily above you, abs flexing as he continues to orgasm in your warm cunt that still has a dull pulse from your previous climax. he nuzzles into the crook of your neck with a soft growl, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

your breathing relaxes as you lay still on the couch while sukuna weighs you down and breeds you properly, consequences be damned. you could try and fight him off, but it's been so long since you've been so sexually satisfied that your logical thinking has turned itself off. all you want to do is enjoy bathing in the pheromones of your alpha and let the heaviness of his large body drape over yours as he pumps you full of his babies.

sukuna is usually very careful about who he's around when he's in a rut - and he's always made sure either he or his partner had some sort of protection on before doing anything. he wouldn't want to go around having kids with the wrong people. it's hard to say whether you're wrong or right for him - he doesn't know much about you to judge yet...

but you make him feel so right.

and he's still fighting off the urge to mark you to make you officially his, with drool beginning to run down his chin. his fangs are making it unbearable; he needs to bite something right now.

"you look restless..." you tell him, getting him to tear his gaze away from your neck, to your face instead.

you pull him in for a messy kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth. he feels the way you brush over his fangs, paying extra attention to them as you make out with him, and it makes him groan. you must have done this with someone else before. sukuna nips at your tongue and lower lip, doing his best not to break skin - trying to relieve himself of the urge to bite.

the swell of his knot is gradually subsiding, but you know that the night is far from over.

"which way to your bedroom?" sukuna asks after breaking away from your kiss, breathlessly.

"farthest down the corridor, past the kitchen.." you respond, feeling a little needy after he abruptly stopped the kiss like that.

"hold onto me."

he lifts you up easily with his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist, arms over his shoulders. the display of strength makes your heartbeat quicken.

when you're laid upon the soft mattress of your bed, his lips come crashing down again - while his hips begin to give shallow thrusts, cock still hard and throbbing. sukuna kisses you like he's a man starved, and you feel as though he might actually swallow you up at this rate.

the strong grip on your hips tighten as his pace gets rougher. you have to break away to gasp and moan. every time he jostles your body, you feel his previous heavy load sloshing inside you, and it's getting too much. sukuna doesn't look like he's even entirely here, hips moving mindlessly and drool dripping down his chin - it's a terrifyingly arousing sight.

he tries to come down and kiss you again, but you have to push his face away - you're so out of breath that you're afraid you might pass out if he does that again. it's overwhelming, how his thick cock bullies itself against your walls over and over again.

sukuna doesn't seem too pleased that you're pushing him away; he holds you tighter and he adjusts his hips to fuck you deeper. you mewl loudly, but keep your hand weakly against his face - he doesn't force it away, but lets his tongue droop out, caressing your fingers with it. you feel him bite and suck on your hand as his sharp thrusts produce small bulges in your stomach.

you witness his eyes dilating again, and you swear you see hearts in them this time, your fingers still in his mouth.

his dick feels so, so good in your pussy. your intoxicating smell now surrounds him after coming into your bedroom, and it's driving him insane. he grunts above you, balls feeling heavy, dick pulsing as his tip finds its way knocking on your cervix. there's a thick ring of cream foaming on the base of his cock now, a mixed concoction of both his cum and your slick.

his thrusting gets sloppy and his hips stutter, meaning that he's going to orgasm again. sukuna's eyes roll back, as he messily "kisses" your hand, pushing himself balls deep into you at the final moment.

you arch your back at the sensation of his knot swelling up once again, cumming at this moment. sukuna almost topples over from the tightness, as the walls of your cunt flutter around his knot, effectively squeezing everything out of him.

"f-fu-uuck..." he drones out, his voice dragging the curse word out.

you feel him dumping every drop into your poor womb, emptying his balls. you're afraid that you'll get addicted to this "full" feeling, the warmth of his seed filling you up, the way your insides can feel his cock twitch violently with every thick string of cum he shoots out. you never imagined being held down and inseminated would feel this good.

sukuna's eyes are half-lidded, pleasure continuing to run up and down his spine. he pins your wrist down against the bed suddenly, and latches his mouth to one of your breasts - beginning to suck immediately, like he's trying to rehydrate himself with your milk. you shudder. it seems as though he's doing nothing but take, take, and take from your body... not that you'll stop him from doing so.

you run your fingers through his soft hair, catching your breath, slightly trembling each time he sucks a little too hard. shortly after he is seemingly content, he completely collapses his body over yours, face all up in your breasts, purring while his knot still sits inside of you.

you sense that it's only the beginning of a long, long night.

once the sun has rolled into the sky, you finally remember the fact that the weekdays haven't finished yet - and that you're supposed to be getting ready for work right now.

problem is, there's a certain someone clinging to your whole body from behind, still purring against the nape of your neck with a hand lazily groping the flesh of your tit. you can feel his fluffy tail curling around yours, possessively. you're sleepy, and his stupid purring keeps coaxing you to take a nap. he's a lot more docile and softhearted than you imagined. you supposed he'd be out of your house by now.

you reach out and feel around to grab your phone, to give your workplace a call to take the day off. while you're on the phone, sukuna places soft kisses down your back. you hope your boss can't hear the excessive vibration in the background. once you're done with that, you shove your phone under your pillow.

"i need a nap... you can use my shower, or go home, whichever you prefer," you tell him sleepily, shutting your eyes.

"is sleeping next to you also an option?" he asks from behind you, snuggling up closer.

"mm," you reply mindlessly, already dozing off. he slips his arm under your head. admittedly, his arm pillow does feel comfortable.

when you next wake up in a few hours time, you don't know what to feel when you notice that he's still next to you in bed.

"finally awake?"

"yeah... i'm surprised you haven't left," you mumble, following that with a yawn.

"i'm surprised you're not chasing me out," he shoots back.

"what would be the point? i'll see you again the moment i step outside the house."

"i bet you love that. being able to see me all the time," sukuna teases, twirling a strand of your hair with his finger.

"ugh, think what you will," you roll your eyes, trying not to be flustered.

you suddenly realise how thirsty and hungry you are.

"i'm starving... i don't remember what's in the fridge," you mumble to yourself.

"hop in the shower with me and i'll take care of all your meals today," he offers, smirking.

you don't really trust his intentions - especially something as intimate as showering together - but you are famished, and you don't think you will be bothered to cook at all today.

"what meals are we thinking?" you ask, curious.

"hm. well, how about steak?"

"... is that a threat?"

sukuna bursts into laughter.

he informs you that the salt he had originally wanted from you was supposed to be for the steak he was cooking last night. who knew that he'd be having a different kind of steak that evening? you look unamused as he makes the joke between chuckles.

unsurprisingly, you do end up in the shower with him, and again, unsurprisingly, he does pay extra attention to soaping up your tits in particular, and making out with you a little here and there. but as promised, you are rewarded with possibly the best meals you've ever had since you moved to this neighbourhood.

after a bit of conversation, turns out the man is a freelance chef, which is something you would've never guessed. from first glance, he seemed like he could've been part of some gang or a shady underground business.

when you sheepishly apologise for misjudging him based on his looks, sukuna laughs once again, and tells you that he'll forgive you if you let him continue to "help you out" from here onwards...

the rest is in dot points bc im lazy!

originally, i had wanted to make this a bit more toxic but i turned it more wholesome bc i felt like ive already posted toxic stuff before this so haha...

btw you do a few pregnancy checks while sukuna is still there after that night, and it turns out negative. it's a big sigh of relief for you and while it should be the case for sukuna too, since he's never really liked the idea of having kids, for some reason there's the tiniest twinge of disappointment...

anyway - after this, their relationship turns into a weird mix between friends with benefits and ?lovers, semi slow burn

often crashing in each others beds and sharing meals, but also having periods where you won't see one another for a week or so when life gets busy

thing is, you always try and tell yourself that you'll only use him to relieve the swell in your breasts, but it's never the case. things always go out of control and you end up bouncing on his cock without thinking of the consequences.

and he can't stop himself from teasing you everytime, those tits of yours could kill a man, he swears. sukuna gets extremely touchy with them, grazing his fingertips over your nipples, groping you with your shirt still on like a lewd old man, life just feels better when he has your tit in his mouth or hands. it hardly feels like he's actually bullying you when he gets hard like a mf while doing it.

and there are moments where he blurs the line between FWB and becoming something a little more, like when he scents you before you leave his place. "...why're you scenting me?" "why not?"

there is an incident that happens in your house one time, where a huge water leak had happened while you were away at work, drenching the floorboards and things requiring a lot of fixing. you had nowhere else to stay that wasn't either a motel or some cheap sauna so sukuna offered you to sleep at his place for the time being.

"but there's nowhere for you to sleep except for my bed. i'm not bothered to clean out any of the spare rooms and i don't suppose you want to sleep on the sofa for weeks straight?" a sly method of getting you to sleep next to him.

it really made things between you two feel a lot more intimate and romantic, a lot of tension, especially when sleeping together without the sex and doing all the chores. both of you felt a little empty when the house maintenance was all done and you had to go back to your own place.

also, this man is quite loaded with money. freelance chef popular in demand, but he only takes up jobs that he feels like doing. sometimes he'll leave his house empty for longer times because he's busy, which makes you quite lonely and confused, since he doesn't really explain to you where he's going and why a lot of the time.

when he eventually is back again, he is met with you, holding the scent of some other alpha. he finds himself feeling incredibly upset and possessive, even though he's always deemed relationships to be superficial in his life, because it limits his freedom. but he just feels so deeply unhappy about it that he ends up arguing with you

he knows it shouldn't be something he is entitled to feel angry about when he's not even properly committed to you but it's not like he's ever mingled with other omegas ever since he's met you? it just felt so unfair to him in the moment.

shortly after the argument, you end up confessing you didn't even do anything with the alpha anyway, just a boring date and one quick hug. and sukuna also explains that it was his fault in the first place, leaving and coming back without saying anything. turns out that he sometimes works as a chef in places like hotels and when he's preparing food for companies or people who live a distance away, he just spends the nights somewhere nearby for convenience.

the tension is high after both of you are finished clearing things up, and it eventually leads to sex again. he wants to get rid of that scent ASAP, whether it was from just a hug or not, he needs it GONE. and this time, he properly marks you, sinking his fangs into your scent glands like he's always ached to do.

the night ends with you two officially becoming a couple, finally haha, happy days

the end

today, you've been reluctantly given the job of wiping down the floorboards of the engawa before the courtyard. you quite like this, because it's nice and sunny outside, and so you'll get to admire the butterflies while you work.

theres a pretty little pond with koi fish here as well, and you've been permitted to feed them some vegetable and seafood scraps, so you'll be doing that afterwards.

you've run up and down against the wooden flooring a couple of times with a rag, and soon enough, you get catch eye of a bright blue butterfly that flutters around the garden. you stand on the edge of the engawa, absorbed with the view. it's not everyday that you get to be here, after all. allegedly, this is lord sukuna's favourite spot to lounge about when he's home.

you get so distracted that you don't notice the intimidating presence behind you, even though he's a man whose aura bleeds all over the place, wherever he may be. sukuna looms over you and is silent as he ponders taking your head for annoying him by standing about in front of him like an airhead with an incredibly lacking sense of survival.

no, he shouldn't. he'd get more annoyed if your blood spilled over the floorboards, and he'd have to wait until the stench of your blood flees the area. however, before he can say a word of 'get lost', you manage to notice the shadow of the figure behind you.

you turn around and see him close up for the first time. a strange noise escapes your throat. you get so startled, your feet loses its balance, and you go backwards off the edge of the engawa. the dirty rag is thrown up in the air in a frenzy by accident as you try not to fall over.

thud! you're on your back on the garden floor. making haste, you frantically get into the position you were taught to get into by uraume, if you ever happened to come across lord sukuna by any chance. you kneel and lower your head until your forehead hits the ground.

and with such nice comedic timing, the dirty rag you'd thrown into the air falls directly onto the back of your head. you shut your eyes tightly and bite your lip in sheer embarrassment. you then realise that your humiliation is not what's really important right now. you might lose your life here.

perhaps you should apologise? are you even allowed to speak to him? what would you be apologising for, anyway? for breathing in the same direction as him? for not noticing him right away?

when uraume runs into the scene, what they witness is rather... unique. the useless servant girl on her knees and with a dirty rag on her head, trembling frantically. and lord sukuna, who seems to be viewing her with what seems to be mild amusement, and not annoyance.

"sukuna-sama... i apologise for any tardiness displayed by the servant. i didn't realise you would be coming here as soon as you came back."

usually, he enjoys a full meal before going out to the courtyard.

amongst your frantic thoughts, you almost tear up at the sound of that familiar voice. uraume-san! can they save you? i mean, sure, they only care about lord sukuna and him only, but surely they wouldn't want your blood to taint this perfect courtyard, right? especially when it's his favourite view!

"we shall accept any form of punishment you see fit for us."

we!? who's we?! you internally sob.

"it's fine."

a deeper voice responds. it's the first thing he's said since you noticed him.

"you can take her away. i'm going to stay here a while."

you hear the large man sit himself down.

"you. stand up and head back to your quarters."

you get up as quickly as you went down. the rag drops to the floor and you have to bend down to pick it up again with speed. you bow deeply again before following uraume out of the area. you can finally breathe again.

"consider yourself lucky. it seems sukuna-sama is in a pleasant mood today."

you later get scolded by uraume after you tearfully explained how you managed to get dirt all over your back and ended up with rag over your head.

meanwhile back in the courtyard, sukuna replays that scene of you in his head--of you turning around with eyes as wide as saucepans, something about you left an impression on him, and its not just because of way you made an absolute fool of yourself.

later, he comments to uraume about how you seemed a little different than the usual ones they pick to have as servants.

"shall i get rid of her? servants can always be replaced if you desire it, sukuna-sama."

"no, leave her. i was only curious."

uraume is left a little stunned. curious? over a mere servant girl? they are in no place to judge, but goodness, it's a rare thing for lord sukuna to be curious about somebody.

uraume has absolutely no qualms of disposing a person if they end up being no use to the lord. however, they never step out of line and act upon their own judgements alone. if there is someone who has piqued his interest, then uraume shall make sure that nothing interferes with their master's source of entertainment.

it's been a while again since you last saw lord sukuna. and you're quite thankful for it, after that humiliating first impression you gave him.

the days have been somewhat peaceful, with only the occasional grumbling from uraume, upset by your helplessness in preparing and cooking food, as usual. after multiple cuts and burns, they decided that you were not to come even a metre into the kitchen area.

that's fine by you, anyway. cleaning and sweeping while you hum your silly tunes is what you prefer.

night arrives with the moon hanging up brightly, like it always does. you think it's going to be another uneventful closure to the evening, but uraume soon appears at the servant's quarters, looking for you. they look a little uneasy. the very few other female servants whisper amongst themselves.

"sukuna-sama has requested for you. come with me."

oh...

you feeling like crying.

there is nothing that you can do. 'requested' so they may say, but everyone knows rejection means possible death. so you follow uraume outside.

walking with them in the corridor, every step feels like it's bringing you closer to disaster.

"uraume-san... what exactly is sukuna-sama requesting me for...?" you ask cautiously.

"i'm unaware know the details myself. but he's in the middle of a bath. perhaps there's a splatter of blood he can't reach on his back."

yes, but why has he chosen me out of all people?!

but you know better than to question such orders. your hands become clammy with sweat.

you reach the bath area too quickly for your liking, and uraume ushers you inside without further concern for your wellbeing. their only concern is hoping that you don't do anything to displease the lord.

lord sukuna sometimes has a tendency to act upon his own whims, but even uraume was surprised when he suddenly asked for the servant girl he met in the courtyard...

the warmth of the misty steam inside caresses your face gently and also makes your kimono stick to you uncomfortably... making you sweat even more.

lord sukuna is sitting in his oversized, wooden bathtub wordlessly, his back turned to you. splashes of crimson against his skin, just as uraume had said. you take a quiet, deep breath.

kneeling before him as per protocol, you bow your head, despite the floors being soggy with water.

"sukuna-sama. how may i assist you this evening?"

the eyes on the side of his distorted face dart down to look at you.

"it's fairly obvious, isn't it? wash the blood away."

"right away."

you stand up straight, and it was apparently too fast for your poor blood pressure, getting you dizzy momentarily. foolishly so, you still decide to take a few steps with haste on the wet, slippery floor. with a loud yelp, you slip and land on your bottom. you want to scream.

"i-i apologise..." you say tearfully, getting back up.

"...not a dull moment with you, as i figured." he uses a tone of mockery.

there's a hint of a chuckle in his voice, and you're only glad he's amused rather than annoyed at your stupidity. your backside hurts again. it hasn't even been that long since the bruises stopped hurting from the last time you fell over!

you grab a cloth to start scrubbing the man down, holding back your tears. the metallic scent is prominent, and your mind begins to wander about exactly whose blood you were currently wiping away into the bathwater. you try not to think about it too much.

it's not new information that lord sukuna kills mercilessly, and even feasts on humans should he feel like it. you've seen the types of "ingredients" uraume has used in the kitchen at times, and the blood that paints the bottom of the sink. these were all things you needed to get used to seeing and knowing as a servant at this estate.

you keep your face stern as you clean him down delicately, thoroughly. the damp, warm cloth runs along the muscles on his back, neck and shoulders. you squeeze out the blood and dip it back in clean water, before wiping again. he has a delightfully toned body, with many tattoos. and more muscles than you could ever count. you take note of the neck tattoos that resemble the lines on a butterfly's wings. it draws you in, but you have to make sure you don't get too distracted.

you notice there's some blood on his hand as well. you move towards it and clean it down, gentle in the way you go over each finger. you're holding hands with him inevitably as you have to lift it up, and this makes you realise how large this man is. your hand seems almost like a child's in comparison to his. there's something rather exhilarating, yet also terrifying about this size difference.

the hairs on the back of your head rise, for some reason. you notice how his big red eyes are boring into you from the edge of your vision. you feign ignorance and focus on cleaning.

time passes in haste as you finish wiping down the last spot of visible blood from the lord's body.

"all the blood has been cleaned away, sukuna-sama," you tell him.

"is that so?" he asks, looking down at his own body. "but there's a spot left over here," he objects, pointing to the side of his neck, vaguely.

"i- i'm sorry, i must have missed that area. i shall clean it immediately-"

you crane your neck to look towards where he was pointing, your face getting closer to his. the place he mentioned is clean. no blood in sight. you meet his eyes. his lips curl upwards, seemingly pleased.

"finally, you look this way," he says, capturing your gaze.

you freeze on the spot, face heating up.

"your... your neck seems clean... sukuna-sama," you respond quietly, unable to think of anything else to say.

"i was only teasing. was it not apparent?" he smirks at you, and you feel that your heart may burst any second now. from either fear or excitement. or both.

"pardon me. i should have noticed sooner," you say, moving your face away from his.

"...i digress. where's the fun in that? just remain gullible for me."

he flicks your forehead, making you whisper 'ouch!' under your breath.

"understood?"

"yes, my lord."

without further conversation, he stands up to his full height, the water droplets racing down against his skin. you hurriedly grab some towels for him... doing your best to avoid looking at his... ahem. when you hand over the towels, your eyes are shut tight. sukuna gives a deep chuckle.

"silly girl."

since the bath, lord sukuna has developed a tendency to call you over during unpredictable moments, and for unpredictable errands. then, he disappears again for a while. and merely moments before you get too comfortable without his presence around you, he returns to repeat it all over again.

recently, he's taken towards looking for you himself, rather than asking uraume about your whereabouts. it scares the other servants when he barges into their spaces, but he pays them little mind.

this afternoon, he finds you sweeping down the leaves away at the front of the estate, humming to your heart's content.

"i come to check what's making all that noisy ruckus... only to find out that it's you."

your whole body goes stiff at the voice, and you reflexively try to get on your knees, but he stops you.

"keep your head up," he commands you.

"your face is worth gazing at, after all," he adds, albeit under his breath.

the compliment doesn't even register into your head as you immediately stand back up, broom in hand. you thank him for the pardon.

"are you done with the sweeping, yet?" sukuna suddenly asks, looking around with his arms crossed. well-- one pair of them, at least.

"not yet, sukuna-sama. but only a little bit to go," you respond with honesty.

"come to my chambers with a plate of fruits and a knife with you, once you're done. don't take too long."

after that, he promptly takes his leave without further explanation. you stand still for a moment, as you always do. every interaction you have with him leaves you in a bit of a daze. often, you wonder if he's a part of your daydreams.

you shake your head and continue to sweep, silently, this time around. don't take too long, he had ordered.

after you're done with that, you make your way into the kitchen on your tiptoes. you wonder if uraume would believe you, if you were to tell them that you're entering upon sukuna's own request.

but once you make your appearance to the entrance of the kitchen, uraume is already there, ready with a tray with a plate of assorted fruits on it. and a knife sitting next to the plate. the sight of the sharp utensil makes you feel nervous, somewhat.

you take the tray without a word, and head towards the lord's chambers.

three sharp knocks.

"sukuna-sama. i've come with the items you sought for. may i come in?"

"you may."

you slide the door open, and sukuna is there, waiting on the tatami mat while holding a kiseru in his hand. once you enter, he sets it aside after one more puff.

"put it here," he points towards the empty space in front of him.

you place the tray down where he gestured towards, and then sit yourself in front of him. there's a moment of silence as you flicker your gaze from looking at him, to the fruit before you.

"well? what are you waiting for? prepare it for me."

oh, no. you had prayed with every ounce in your body, that he wouldn't request for such a thing, but of course it didn't work. now, you have to display your terrible cutting skills to the very head of this estate.

hands trembling, you reach out for the knife and pick up a peach from the plate. you make a cut towards the seed in the middle. then, you cut diagonally to get one slice out. sukuna opens up his hand, waiting for you to place it in the middle of his palm. you do so, and the piece looks so pathetically tiny that you almost feel ashamed.

"faster," he demands, with a small smile on his face.

you swallow thickly, and try to speed up your cutting. the pieces get more and more jagged and unsightly. but sukuna doesn't display any signs of anger or annoyance.

"such poor knife skills. no wonder uraume left you to do the cleaning only. is that really the best you can do?" he taunts you, laughing through his nose.

"i'm afraid so... i apologise for my lack of skills, sukuna-sama," you confess, trying not to make your lower lip wobble from the anxiety and dejection. did he bring you here just to mock the way you cut fruits?! your brows furrow in determination and you try harder.

after the peaches, you grab a persimmon. they're trickier to prepare, since you have to carefully peel the skin off them as well. you purse your lips.

things go somewhat smoothly at first, but then you start to slip up again. it's slippery, and the blade of the knife slices through your thumb.

"ah-" a small noise leaves your lips and you watch as a drop of your blood runs down your palm. sukuna matches your gaze and narrows his eyes at the same scene.

"such a helpless, troublesome woman."

he grabs your wrist and slowly brings your thumb to his mouth. your eyes widen, and you're speechless as you watch him run his tongue up the trail of your blood and then suck on the small incision on your thumb.

you're like a steaming kettle, with the way your blood rushes through your veins, temperature rising with how flustered you are. sukuna looks at you with your finger still in his mouth.

"su-sukuna-sama... you needn't do such a thing-"

a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his tongue swirl around your wound. he then releases it from his mouth, with a smirk, still holding onto your wrist.

you retract your hand suddenly, due to an indescribable feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. you then begin to fear that snatching your hand away like that might've offended him.

"my apologies, sukuna-sama! if you will excuse me-!"

you stand up and run, and he lets you scurry away, with the same sweet, arrogant grin on his face. down the hallway, he hears you trip over yourself before exiting. it makes him chuckle.

you're a fun way to pass time, when he's not slaughtering millions on the battlefield.

back in your own quarters, you lean yourself against a wall and pant, being out of breath. what had just happened? he... he licked the wound on your finger. and that did something to you. your insides feel all squirmy.

you look down at your thumb, only to realise that the cut has mysteriously disappeared.

after running away from sukuna abruptly like that, you had expected to uraume to chase you up and drag you to him, where you'd be executed for fleeing. but it never happens.

in fact, you haven't seen him again for a while. however this time around, his absence does nothing to keep you relaxed, as you're always on your toes, not knowing when he'd next make an appearance before you. you wonder what he will do to you next, when he does come back sooner or later.

before you can drown in those concerns of yours, uraume sends you outside to hang some laundry out in the sun. some white sheets, freshly washed. you struggle a bit, to carry the large bucket of sheets out to the yard.

the laundry line is a bit high, so you need to grab a small stool as well to successfully get the sheets over it. the wind is gentle, and the sunlight pours endlessly from the skies. truly a perfect day to dry the laundry outside.

the sheets are large, so you find it difficult to squeeze the moisture out by yourself, but you suppose they will eventually dry anyway, thanks to the nice weather. you smile as the cool breeze runs through you, making you feel pleasant.

from afar, sukuna observes this scenic view of you, surrounded by the pure white of the swaying sheets around you, smiling as the wind jostles your hair slightly and the sun accentuates your features rather beautifully.

he walks towards your light.

you're busy trying to hang another sheet on the second line this time. you wish the stool was a tad bit taller. this is rather challenging. even standing on top of it, you need to get on your tippy toes to reach properly. and it doesn't help that the water-weight makes the cloth heavier...

a large hand brushes aside the sheet that covers you from view, startling you. you nearly topple over, but a pair of strong arms catch you, keeping you standing upright.

"how ridiculous. don't you get tired of doing that every time?" he sighs. his second pair of arms are crossed, while the first pair hold you so warmly.

"i'm sorry..." you mumble, staring at him with wide eyes. it's like he appeared out of your thoughts. could this perhaps be a daydream of yours? he fixes your stance so that you can stand on the stool properly again. despite your height boost from this stool, sukuna is still a bit taller than you.

"it feels strange, having you meet me eye-to-eye like this..." sukuna comments, while staring down at you curiously.

and it does feel strange, being almost at his height. how close you feel to him now. maybe this offends him.

"i shall get down immediately," you tell him respectfully, trying to get off the stool. his arms come around again to keep you still.

"ack-!"

"tch. don't overreact. i didn't mean it that way," sukuna mutters, tutting at you.

you stand stiffly with your hands by your sides as he inspects you, anxious yet also excited to find out what his intentions are this time around. every touch he lands on you makes you skin jump, in an intoxicating way.

you focus your vision particularly on the odd looking side of his face. it looks like it has a strange texture. would it still be skin? you want to try and touch it. and... his extra eyes look cute. you gasp at yourself for having such disrespectful thoughts about him. all four of his eyes then focus on your face, as if to notice your gaze, and you feel as though your heart may leap out of your throat. there's a part of sukuna that makes you question whether he can read your mind or not.

"you're curious about this face of mine, are you?" he asks, while smiling.

your jaw hangs open in shock, and you don't know whether to tell him that he's correct or to apologise for your insolence.

"what a strange expression you're making," he chuckles, "so easy to read."

it's not that he can read minds, it's only because you're openly letting yourself known to him, whether you're aware of it or not. transparent, like a perfectly pristine and delicate glass cup. shall he leave his fingerprints on you? shall he leave some cracks in that fragile vessel of yours?

his hands come off your body, and you have to concentrate to keep your balance on the stool, no longer being able to rely on his hold to stand still.

"continue with your duties. i shall call for you later," sukuna states sternly, looking off at the sheets that still wave gently in the wind.

"you didn't squeeze out enough water. it's dripping," he points out the soaking wet ends of the sheets.

you practically jump off of the stool and get to work. in the meantime, the lord has disappeared again. you look into the distance to catch a glimpse of him if you can, but he's nowhere to be seen.

and he never got around to clarifying about what happened to his face. perhaps that's a clear sign to mean that he's not interested in talking about his past.

upon finishing the laundry in completion, you make your way to the kitchen, due to the time being close to serving the lord's evening meal.

the other servants and uraume included, are running around to prepare his dinner to perfection, as usual. for the most part, you're left with nothing to do at these times since none of them trust you with handling the food.

lord sukuna did say he was going to call for you later. you wonder if you'll be able to help bathe him again. or if this time, he'll make you do something different. you're plagued with such daydreams as the servants bustle about behind you.

by the time the busy period finalises, the moon hangs high up amongst the stars, and the darkness of night consumes all. and yet, he still hasn't requested for you at all. you suppose when he said he'd call for you later, he perhaps meant tomorrow or the day after. you never know with the lord. trying to navigate him is like trying to look through the murky depths of the ocean at night.

right when you were about to return to your quarters with everyone else, uraume suddenly approaches you.

"sukuna-sama wishes to see you. make your way to the courtyard now."

your stomach starts stirring once again.

the courtyard is beautiful, even at night. sukuna sits in the now moonlit area, drinking from a sake cup in a languid manner.

it takes courage to speak up behind him.

"did you wish to see me, my lord?"

sukuna turns slightly to the side to look at you, before facing the front again.

"...come. pour me another glass, will you?"

"certainly."

as you pour him more of the crystal clear wine, you have to stay vigilant in order to not accidentally splash any of the expensive liquid outside of the cup from your shaky hands.

tonight, the lord's gaze rests not on you, but on the moon above. you watch along with him. there is nothing but silence in the first few moments you have with him together.

"the moon is beautiful tonight," he finally says, while taking another sip of his sake.

is it normal for one to be envious of the moon? even so, thanks to the moon, you are able to see him bathed in its light, making him look almost ethereal.

"yes it is, sukuna-sama," you agree with him.

there's another momentary silence between the two of you, before you bring up a sudden question.

"...do you enjoy watching the moon often?"

"not often, but at times. it would get boring if i did it everyday."

like almost everything else in life.

"i see. that is most understandable."

the chirping of crickets is audible within the garden, and you pour him another glass of his sake after he finishes his previous cup.

you look up at the black canvas of a sky, littered with specks of white all across it. it's easy to get lost in the sight. and much more comfortable than looking at something like the sun, which could burn the delicate areas of your eyes. you begin to get immersed in the view, and your previous train of thoughts ebb away.

you don't notice the way sukuna has stopped gazing at the sky. he's watching you, instead.

"you must know by now... that i favour you more than the other servants," sukuna brings up carefully.

you stop staring up, and turn around slowly to blink at the man.

"...is- is that true, my lord?" you ask, wondering if he really means that. you don't want to get ahead of yourself.

his brows furrow. how dim-witted can you be?

"perhaps actions will speak better than words."

that phrase alone makes your heart feel like it could leap out of your throat.

"sit closer to me."

you swallow dryly, and shuffle closer to the larger man. he sets his cup down beside him, and brings you even closer to him. his hand holding your waist. sitting with him, hip to hip.

sukuna begins to lean his face down closer to yours. your hands grab your own kimono in tight fists, questioning the reality of this scene, feeling skittish yet also giddy, all at the same time.

"don't run away, this time. i won't allow it."

the way his breath ghosts over the skin of your face, how close his voice is to your ears, sends goosebumps all the way down to your legs. is he going to kiss you? can you handle that?

his lips reach yours, and the softness of them is unreal. this must be a dream. he tastes of the rice wine was sipping on before, and he's doused in the same moonlight as you are, and he's now kissing you. a mere servant.

your ears pound with your own heartbeat, and your hands grip onto your kimono so tightly that it's bound to leave wrinkles behind. they shake slightly. sukuna's large hand comes over one of them, and grabs your wrist delicately.

"relax", he's telling you.

and so, you share your first kiss with him, under the moonlight.

quite a bit of time has passed since that day.

you could say that nothing much has changed - you still have your duties as a servant, and the lord still leaves his home vacant for periods of time.

however, on days when he has returned...

you gently sway your legs that hang off the edge of the engawa, on the very same courtyard as that fateful night. sukuna lays his head on your lap, eyes closed and completely at rest, both sets of his arms relaxed as the breaths he takes are slow.

your hand is unable to stray far from the soft bed of his hair, fingers combing through the peach-coloured strands, nails raking against his scalp with the right amount of strength, the way he loves. he gives the occasional purr when you go over his favourite spots.

it's odd, when merely a few weeks ago, you had trouble initiating these harmless touches without explicitly asking for permission beforehand.

"sukuna-sama, may i touch your hair?"

"would it be alright if i could hold your hand, sukuna-sama?"

"may i press a kiss against your cheek, my lord?"

you giggle to yourself as you remember his response to your endless series of questions and requests.

"tch... quit asking me about every little thing. just do it. i'll let you know if i don't like it."

and from then on, you've been bravely placing your hands on him whenever you wanted. and he hasn't been displeased by you, as of yet.

you freely caress the side of his face that you would describe as... unique. you're always curious about the nature of it, even now. but you don't invasively ask questions. you wonder if you'll ever feel brave enough to, one day.

his larger eyes open up narrowly in an abrupt manner, and they squint at you. it makes you nervous, in the way that heart fluttering way. you never get used to the feeling of being under his intense gaze.

red, with ringed irises. you've started to enjoy this colour more ever since you started to meet his eyes more often. you stare back at him but, oh- he's closed them up again.

your hand continues to softly caress him.

sukuna remains mellow, not really falling asleep, but also not in a state of full alertness. your lap serves as a great pillow.

this continues, until suddenly your touches become slower and more distracted. and he can tell your attention has been divided to something else.

the dismayed lord cracks open one eye to check what might have served as a distraction to you.

a butterfly...?

your eyes follow the pretty blue creature, landing on the flora of the garden, in it's carefree nature. a small smile blooms on your face and your hand's movements dwindle, which should displease him. he could cleave the thing into little bits, and let its remains scatter the lush garden.

but, he doesn't. sukuna lets you indulge in these small moments of joy, simply because he's gotten rather softhearted. he doesn't enjoy seeing you get upset at him. though he has control over you as your lord, his hand can't extend all the way to your heart and mind.

(and may the world burst into flames if you ever end up disliking him.)

he recalls... you were also staring at a butterfly the day he first met you, weren't you? so distracted that you didn't notice his presence. he doesn't understand your affection for such a fragile creature.

but...he supposes that he's the same.

what came over him, that he wound up caring for a silly woman like you?

as if to reaffirm your concept of being 'silly', you suddenly give a small sneeze, facing away from the front. his head gets jostled in your lap, which makes him frown and sigh.

"my apologies, sukuna-sama... perhaps it was due to the pollen from the garden..." you give your excuse sheepishly.

well, no matter. he'll keep you with him for as long as he desires. perhaps he can use your butterfly-infatuation to his advantage.

not long after, once the sun dips over the horizon and the area becomes a little chilly, sukuna decides he wants to take a bath before the day comes to an end. and you'll be coming along, of course.

...by now, you've been with him in the bath area at least a dozen times before.

nevertheless, you never seem to get used to seeing him in his naked glory.

sukuna is sitting in his tub, and you're running a warm, wet cloth over his shoulders, scrubbing lazily. he was already quite clean enough today, in your opinion.

a feeling of deja vu hits when your gaze falls onto the tattoo on the back of his neck. you remember having such a thought before. though it's not the strongest resemblance, you see it regardless.

without much resistance, you give in to the desire, and bring your lips to the area to give him a small kiss. it takes him by slight surprise.

"the tattoo on your neck resembles the lines on a butterfly's wings, sukuna-sama. it looks elegant, and wonderful," you tell him.

...he is not displeased with that comparison, strangely enough.

"is that so? no wonder i've felt your stare on it multiple times before," sukuna responds.

you never realised that he'd caught onto that. were you always staring that prominently? you continue wiping him down with the warm cloth, feeling a bit shy all of a sudden.

sukuna thinks for a moment.

"how about you join me in here, tonight?" he asks, out of the blue.

"p-pardon?!"

"quit acting so timid. go on, get yourself cleaned. i'm waiting."

you feel your face heat up at the thought of being... naked with him. anxiousness starts running through your body. you wonder if he really means it, or if he's trying to fluster you again. your lack of action causes him to raise an eyebrow.

"what, you don't want to?"

"no, no! i do, my lord! i'm just... a bit taken aback."

you spring into action. heart pounding as you shed your clothes. he doesn't turn his head or peek at you from where he sits, but your eyes dart to him to check anyways. you clean and rinse yourself adequately, with shaky hands.

"shall i lend a hand in scrubbing your back?" sukuna suddenly calls out. there is sarcasm in his tone.

"that wouldn't be necessary, my lord... i can do it myself..." you respond bashfully.

you only pray that you don't slip over on the way to the tub.

when you do eventually finish up, you walk carefully towards him. walking past where he sits, you reach the other side of the tub. you avoid his eyes as you enter at a slow pace, arms making an effort to cover your breasts. you're finally seated in the same tub as him. the water is steaming, and it's quite deep. still, you hang on to the edge and keep yourself a little distanced from sukuna.

"aw come on. it was mere moments ago that you kissed the back of my neck. so shy all of a sudden?"

"that- that was a different situation, sukuna-sama..."

"the only difference now is that we're both nude," he shrugs.

"nevermind that...the water looks a little deep for you," he says, almost mockingly so- "come. i'll let you on my lap."

you cannot tell whether he is only teasing, or if he actually wants you on his lap.

"quickly- don't run my patience thin."

you make your way towards him without further hesitation.

sitting on his lap, you find that he's oddly comfortable. an arm of his loops around your waist, holding you tight against him, as if to prevent you from running away.

the lord takes your hand and caresses it between his thick fingers. your back leans against his bare chest and abs as you relax yourself more. you wonder if the mouth on his stomach doesn't feel uncomfortable when you sit against it like this.

sukuna's extra arms begin to get more and more handsy with you. you feel his large palms on your breasts, squeezing the flesh gently. not that you find it unpleasant, but it makes you feel all squirmy and restless and hot. when he touches your chest like that, you can't help but turn your head slightly to give him a needy look. it makes him lean down and kiss you warmly.

his tongue explores your mouth in a thorough manner, encouraging a growing heat inside of you. you start gripping his hand harder, though you doubt he feels a thing from it.

when lord sukuna kisses you, you can't tell whether time is passing too quickly, or too slowly. you lose the ability to think of anything else, other than his soft lips and his rough tongue. and you believe that he's aware of this fact himself. why else could he be smiling against your lips like he is right now?

you don't know how long you'd kissed him for in that bathtub. but by the time you stepped out of it, your hands were wrinkly from the prolonged moisture.

and you came out with... feelings of unsatisfaction. rather than getting a little further than kissing, sukuna had stopped abruptly and told you with a smirk that he was ready to get back to his chambers now.

upon getting dressed again, you linger awkwardly around the man, wanting more but not knowing how to inform him of it. the lord looks at you keenly.

"well? aren't you going back to your chambers?" he asks with a sly undertone.

"...i would like to escort you to your room... my lord," you tell him, averting his gaze.

"oh? i don't recall needing an escort, when my room's right around the corner. but if you insist." you can't see what kind of expression he's wearing right now, but you imagine he's smiling at you teasingly. like he always does.

you trail behind him as he walks over to his chambers.

for sure, it doesn't take long until he reaches his room. sukuna slides open the door and makes his way to his large futon in the middle of the tatami floor. he makes himself comfortable, and lays on his side while you watch him from outside his room.

"you're still here. well? are you planning on tucking me into bed next?" he asks with his usual mockery, chuckling through his nose.

you frown cutely, feeling a deep sense of unfairness in the pit of your stomach.

"i was just about to leave, sukuna-sama," you respond a bit haughtily, getting bold with him.

"is that so. then run along," he ushers you, following that with a big yawn. your frown gets deeper.

you begin to slowly close his door, but then stop when it's only cracked open slightly. you brace yourself for the request you are about to make.

"sukuna-sama... could i sleep beside you, tonight?" you ask meekly.

his lips curl up similarly to that of a cheshire cat. finally, you're getting honest with him. he loves the feeling of having you run about in the palm of his hand.

"i thought you said you were going to leave?"

"please...?" you muster your best puppy eyes.

the lord smirks again, and eventually beckons you in with his index finger. you perk up, and step into his room with excitement, running into his futon like a dog, tail wagging from the happiness of being with its owner.

"you're like a silly mutt. foolish, but cute. i like the way you beg for my affection."

you're not sure on how to feel about being compared to a mutt, but you suppose it's not the worst comparison in the world.

"woof," you say quietly, shuffling closer to him. he laughs deeply at you. from your tight embrace with him, you feel the vibrations from his chuckling against his chest.

...there's always something hot or warm about sukuna.

his whole presence feels like a roaring fire at times, burning with his strength and charisma - the flames and temperature threatening to scald anyone around him.

but,

right here, when you're in his arms, the fire becomes tame. still an unrelenting and strong flame, but something more controlled and comfortable to be around.

you close your eyes with a smile, satisfied with this outcome.

"oi. i don't recall saying you could sleep yet."

that makes your eyes bolt open with confusion. sukuna furrows his brows and grabs your face, squishing your cheeks together.

"you're in my futon, and all you can think about is sleeping? i don't know how to feel about that."

"oh... was there something else you wanted from me, sukuna-sama?"

he looks further displeased by your question and suddenly grabs both your wrists, pinning them above your head. you gasp, surprised by his sudden shift in mood.

"we should continue with where we left off, shouldn't we?"

another hand comes up to hold your neck gently for a moment, before he slides it down slowly to your chest, the warmth from his palm trailing with it, reaching your clothed breasts, making your head spin with arousal.

"were you not anticipating something like this? when you asked to stay the night beside me."

he leans down and presses his lips against the space just below your ear, making you shudder. he likes this reaction, and continues kissing down your neck.

"s-sukuna-sama..."

"what a lewd tone you're using with my name. i hope you're prepared for the consequences of that."

he overtakes your senses with another searing hot kiss. hands clawing away at your kimono. teasing touches to your chest. his flames are threatening to envelop you, producing yet another unique kind of heat.

but you've never welcomed anything else more in your life. you'd gladly burn to ashes if it means being so close to your lord, your light.

...it's safe to say that you woke up the next morning with more bruises and bite marks than the number of fingers you have on your hands. and the lord lays beside your exhausted frame, aimlessly curling a lock of your hair around his finger with a satisfied grin on his face.

during one quiet afternoon, uraume beckons you towards them.

"i've been ordered to dress you lavishly. come with me."

you follow them without question, wondering what the sudden occasion could be. lord sukuna has left for the battlefield once again, so he's been missing for a couple of days. is he due to come back this evening?

such hopes fill your mind.

you stand awkwardly as uraume fits a rather elegant and expensive, but beautiful looking kimono onto you. it feels odd. you could even say you feel a bit guilty; in what world would someone dress a servant so extravagantly? nonetheless, you accept the treatment with silence. you get lost in your own daydreams, while uraume prepares you for whatever's been arranged for you.

by the end of it all, they angle you to face the mirror properly, their hands placed on your shoulders.

"it's complete. feel free to take a look at yourself."

you turn your face to one side, and then the other, all while keeping your eyes on the mirror. you look... stunning.

"th-thank you..." you tell uraume, quite speechless.

"please withhold that gratitude for lord sukuna. he was the one that arranged for this, after all."

you're then told to wait at the courtyard, for the lord's return. tingles of excitement run through your veins, and reaches the tips of your fingers, at having your hopes confirmed. he's due to return tonight.

quite a bit of time passes. yet, no signs of him coming back yet. you swing your legs back and forth languidly over the engawa, looking up at the sky aimlessly. though you shouldn't be doing such a thing when you've been fitted with a lovely kimono, there's no one around to scold or stop you from your usual habits.

you sigh, wondering when he'll be back. your eyes wander around the garden, this time. under the moonlight, there's a singular butterfly that flutters about, appearing in good timing as if to help cure your boredom.

you step out onto the grass and approach it, lending out a finger towards it to see if it decides to land on your hand. it takes a bit of effort, but after some gentle movements and patience, it eventually stops to linger on your index finger for a while. it allows you to admire every ridge, and all the patterns on the wings in better detail. you wonder whether you'll ever get another opportunity to observe a butterfly so closely again in the future.

a few footsteps resound behind you, getting you startled. when your body moves slightly from the scare, the butterfly flees and seemingly disappears out of sight.

yet, right now, you have no room to feel disappointed by a mere butterfly.

sukuna is smirking at you from a distance, looking very pleased with the way you're dressed for him. he steps down and walks into the garden as well, approaching you languidly, one arm concealed under the sleeve of his kimono.

"welcome back, sukuna-sama. i've been awaiting for your return," you greet him, smiling.

"were you now? missed me that bad?" he asks, reaching out to caress your cheek.

"yes, my lord. i missed you so much. not a day goes by where i don't think about you."

"why, how sweet...perhaps you deserve a reward for your honesty."

"a reward...?" your eyes grow wide and you start getting embarrassingly overjoyed at the idea of a reward given to you by the lord himself.

"so eager. you seem like you're truly getting committed to playing the role of a mutt."

you try to change your expression in haste, but you end up looking more bashful than anything. sukuna laughs at another one of your strange expressions.

"i'm only teasing."

he then pulls his arm out of his sleeve, revealing something you never thought you'd see in his hands.

a hairpin... specifically, one with a large blue butterfly on it. embedded with pretty jewels, and shaped to perfection. it would've been something difficult to obtain. for someone who's always busy creating chaos, when would he have had the time to find such a thing amongst everything else?

"i thought you would enjoy having something like this. do you like it?"

"oh... like would be an understatement, sukuna-sama. i adore it. is it really for me?"

"who else could have it? don't ask foolish questions."

it could only ever belong to you.

he places the pin into your hair, graceful and elegant with his hands. it makes you feel overjoyed. heat rises to your cheeks and they hurt from how much you're smiling.

"not bad at all. it was worth obtaining."

your hand rises to where the hairpin is, and you touch it gently, letting your fingertips feel the texture of the pin and it's butterfly pattern.

"am i... am i pretty, my lord?" you ask sheepishly, looking up at him with your doe eyes.

he's smiling at you rather gently, his eyes mirroring your reflection within them as he gazes down at you in silence. his lack of a verbal response almost makes you nervous, however.

sukuna reaches out to hold your hand, and pulls you closer towards him. he's glad that nobody else is around, for he's certain they would've also felt so drawn to you, like he is right now.

he palms your cheek again, before letting his thumb brush over your lips delicately.

you never sever your gaze from him, continuing to await his reply.

"... you're beautiful,"

he finally relents.

sukuna then presses his lips against yours, underneath the moon's blessing. once again, and forevermore.

fin.

"Red it is!" he quips, moving with haste as he rushes to get them. He reaches for a fist full of the bunch, promptly placing them on the counter before him.

He catches you staring at the other flowers as he works, your drenched appearance only seemed to amplify how pretty you seem to look.

He smiles, as he talks again, breaking the silence, “So who are these roses for? Parents? Sister? Grandmother — Aw, she's not sick, is she?” He frowns, with a look of pity and you stare back with your eye brows raised — concerned and cautious.

As your silence persisted, he made another attempt. “Um, or are they for a friend?”

An internal chant commenced — Please don’t say boyfriend. Please don’t say girlfriend. Please don’t mention a partner. Please. Please. Please — but he knows he’ll do nothing of it. It’s odd, really. This senseless chase of his.

"Actually," you say, your tone finding a precarious balance as you quint in response. "They're for my boyfriend."

“I hope he dies,” the mutter that leaves his mouth is immediate, and shocking even to him.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What?" you questioned.

Acting swiftly, he retraced his words with fluidity, “I hope he likes... the flowers,” he recants, like the liar he is.

A pregnant pause ensues, a silence ripe with tension.

"Right. Thanks," you managed, your mask of politeness only slightly marred by the odd exchange.

"For valentine's day, ah? Perfect choice," he quips again, with a smile as fake as his enthusiasm.

You don't know what it is that prompts you to speak up but you do. "More of an apology, actually," your tone softening as the confession escaped your mouth.

He responded with a mere hum, as his attention resumed its focus on the flowers before him.

A few beats pass.

"Should you really be working here this late?" you ask casually, your gaze assessing the store for another person, a mentor perhaps. "You seem young."

"Well, you're young too," he retorted. "Should you be out here at this hour?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. "Nah, Mom's going to kill me, but young love and all that. Sacrifices must be made."

Something twinges inside him — will he ever experience this? Young love? Does he even want to?

"Well, I hope this guy appreciates the gesture if you're going through all this trouble," he adds.

"Yeah, fingers crossed." Your chuckles fluttered after your words nervously.

His fingers reached for satin ribbons, his hands moving deftly, crafting delicate arcs to bind the bouquet tightly.

He held his hand out to you with the bouquet now, wrapped in a simple gossamer wrap, "Well, here you go. I hope they do the trick."

"Thank you," you responded, reaching for your purse. "How much do I owe you?"

"Just a moment," he finally says, disappearing into the back of the shop. He returns with a small card, slipping it into the bouquet with practiced ease. "Here you go."

"Thanks again," your smile was a touch more authentic than the first time.

He smiles, and waves you a little goodbye as you make your way out after paying him. The rain seems to be cleared out and you start making the trek down to your boyfriend's place. And as you walk, there's something within you that nags and nags and urges you to do it.

You pick up the card placed inside the bouquet by the peculiar man you just encountered.

You turn it over, and you notice flowery calligraphy presenting a number, alongside a message: "In case your boyfriend doesn't appreciate the roses. Call me :P"

You could only laugh out loud, like a madman on the street. The sheer audacity of it all.

However, you don't seem to realise how you end up pocketing the card instead of throwing it out at the nearest bin.

Din glances down at the blade and then back at the man. “It will be sufficient.” 

He hopes so, at least. 

The man is correct that it isn’t beskar, and so not as good of a gift as he could have hoped. But you are precariously and curiously weapon deficient for a person who’d spent years traveling the galaxy alone before joining him on the Crest. 

Probably because you’re disarmingly charming. You can talk your way out of practically anything.

Din sticks the blade into its holster and then tucks it against his back, the cloak falling forward to conceal it. “Thank you.” 

“Good luck,” his contact says, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands against his stomach.

The sun emerges from behind the clouds again as he searches the market for you and the child. It’s not a particularly dangerous planet, but you have a knack for trouble, not that you don’t also have a particular way of wriggling out of it. 

He sighs when he rounds a corner and finds you chatting with two people at a stall selling food. You’re focused on the woman in front of you, actively listening even as your hand sneaks food to the little green hand that pops out of the woven bag at your hip every few seconds. 

Din approaches and stops a few paces away, leaning against the corner of a wall and folding his hands in front of him to wait until you’re done. 

He’s content enough to indulge you in this, to wait until you’re done chatting. Though, as he’s come to realize recently, he’s content to indulge you in most things. He sometimes feels guilty that you’re often trapped with only him and the child in the Crest for days on end when you so clearly enjoy talking with people. You’re outgoing and talkative to his stoic and reserved. 

Your eyes flick to him, the grin on your face tugging a bit wider before you glance back to the people next to you. Though he would have waited there for you all day if that was what you required, he’ll be glad to have you back by his side. 

As Din watches you say your goodbyes to your temporary friends, that word flits through his mind again. 

Riduur.

Dangerous, hope laden. 

He tramps the thought down as he always does, buries the possessive twinge that the word works through his heart. 

You wave and turn away to approach him, your hand pushing back the blanket you’d layered over the top of the bag on your hip. To keep the sun off the baby, and keep prying eyes away from him. 

Long green ears poke up above the rim of the bag, suspicious chewing sounds echoing from within. 

“Find what you need?” You ask as Grogu finally pokes his head out, cooing up at him. Din settles a hand on the kid’s head for a moment before nodding at you. 

You tip your head to the side. “Well, I think we’re all done. The baby might be hungry-,” 

Grogu burps then, before he makes a sound that Din supposes must be a giggle. “I saw you feeding him,” he shares. 

You huff, “Well, he’s always hungry. Besides, that was just a snack.”

Din doesn’t respond. A smile tugs at his mouth as you pass another neon blue cracker down to the little waiting hand from the sleeve of them inside the shopping bag on your shoulder. He waits until the cracker has been taken from your fingers before subtly offering his arm to you as you begin your trek back to the ship. 

As always, a peel of anxiety settles in the pit of his gut as he waits for you to take it. And, as always, you take it without hesitation. 

Your hand settles firm and warm in the crook of his elbow. You tighten your grip and lean into him and he’s left to  wonder if it's conscious on your part, if you might be as drawn to him as he is to you. 

Either way, your weight is comfortable against him, your hand warm. The scent of you drifts up to him, your soap mixed with market scents, ash from cookfires, sun warmed leather, the breath of this humid world’s sweet air. 

There’s a curious hope that’s beginning to take shape in his chest. One that feels wrong almost, in its intensity. 

This is not something he could have ever hoped for, should have ever hoped for. 

And yet - 

First, the kid. 

Then you, tempering his initial meeting with Peli on Tatooine, protecting the child in his stead. He remembers Peli’s assurance when you accepted his offer to travel with him, of your penchant for job hopping. Never stays anywhere more than a couple months, had been her exact words, only been here a couple weeks. He had been assured that you’d be off on another adventure, with another person, on another world, within weeks. 

And, at the time, he hadn’t needed anything more than that. Temporary help. 

But years have passed, and you’re still by his side. 

Or, rather, he’s still by your side. If you decided to suddenly remove yourself from the Crest, he’s not sure what he’d do. He’s not sure how they’d fill the hole you would leave behind. 

You wouldn’t though. You are a part of the tiny clan he calls home. 

It’s unthinkable, the prospect, the notion, of you leaving him, them. 

What he intends to do next, then, is harder. 

Offering you the blade is only the first step of many. It’s an overdue one. He should have presented you with a weapon of your own long ago. He should have given you a courting gift long ago. Before he kissed you, shared a bed with you, let your fingers trace over the planes of his face, even if your eyes remained firmly shut. 

“So what did you need so urgently to pick up?” You ask as you emerge from the market and take a turn out of the center of the small town, still feeding pieces of the crackers to the child with your free hand. 

The world is a lush one, verdant with green undergrowth and prone to bouts of driving rain and humidity. The sun is still working its way through the sky as you cross out of the village and into the surrounding forest. 

“I never said it was urgent,” Din replies dryly, steadying you when you nearly trip over an exposed root. 

You smile and squeeze his elbow in thanks. “And that did not answer my question.” 

Din doesn’t answer immediately, instead watching the curve of your cheek, the way the sunlight catches in the feathering of your lashes. 

Din is always glad of the helmet. It provides safety. It lets him uphold his creed. But he’s none more grateful for it than recently. It allows him to watch you without fear of being caught, with the knowledge that you can’t see the way you make him blush and smile. 

“No,” he agrees. 

You roll your eyes at him, nudging your shoulder into his. “Cryptic,” you hum, your voice amused. 

When the ship comes into view, you release his arm and pull ahead of him. He automatically lowers the ship's ramp with the vambrace. You disappear inside the ship where he can hear you cooing to the child, banging around the hull as you settle in again and sort out whatever purchases you had made. 

It’s an oddly domestic moment, considering everything about your circumstances together. He has no doubt you’re indulging Grogu in something else. 

The dagger he means to give you weighs heavily against his spine, along with the pressure of the task he needs to complete, the offer he needs to make to you, officially. 

His relationship with you is a strange one. It’s one that seems to have started at the end and gone backwards, one that circles itself and eats its own tail. 

There are times he can’t imagine you not knowing that he intends you as his, and that he hopes that you feel the same. Like when he lies with you in the dark, helmet discarded somewhere near his feet, your careful hands tracing features you’ve never once asked to see. 

Seeing your face with his naked eyes for the first time, your features for the first time not distorted by the visor, had nearly upended everything inside him. How trustingly you’d tipped your head into his hands, waiting patiently for him to tell you what to do, or make a move. 

He could tell you felt no urge to open your eyes, no urge to take something from him he could never give you, not without making serious and lasting vows. 

Riduurok. Marriage. More literally: a love bond. 

Din longs to tell you to open your eyes in those moments, to let you see him as clearly as he sees you. Without any barriers. 

He shouldn’t have been able to see you like that, shouldn’t have been able to kiss you, shouldn’t have been able to touch you, sleep with you in his arms. 

He’s been lax, bending rules to the point of near breaking. 

Which is both dishonorable and unfair to you. You’re worth more than broken rules and fumblings in the dark. 

Still, he has to do something properly. And this is the thing he will do correctly, as is your right. As is his duty to you. 

It’s what you deserve. A proper offer, proper courting. Not whatever he’s been playing at so far. 

You are not Mandalorian, and you should also be afforded the chance to learn of his culture. To make a complete decision about him. Though he’s been teaching you some Mando’a phrases, you should see it all. Traditions and language and myths. To understand what you would be a part of. 

You and Grogu both, if he’s honest with himself. 

All he can do is lie everything at your feet and hope that he’s not found wanting. 

Something seizes in his heart, because you could reject it. You could easily reject the formality of it, tell him it had never been that serious to begin with. 

Din follows you into the Crest to find you patiently listening to the unintelligible chatter of the child. Wide brown eyes shift from you to him, tiny arms lifting. You smile and laugh, fidgeting with Grogu’s collar as Din shifts to lift him into his arms. 

He should give you the blade now, make promises to prove himself to you as an ally and partner, as worthy of you, capable of protecting you and the clan. But you’re already turning away, chattering about a bolt of cloth you’d seen in the market that you want to go back for before you have to leave the planet. 

“You should eat,” you remind him lightly, like he would forget if you didn’t tell him. Which, he supposes, is sometimes true. He forgets there’s more than ration packs to eat. “I’m going to shower.” You point to your bag, “Food for you.” 

“Yes,” he agrees. Then hastily says, “Wait.” He steps forward and snags your wrist in his hand before you can go any further.  

He shifts Grogu to the cradle of his other arm, nerves running up the inside of his skin. Cold sweat prickles at the back of his neck. 

You turn and lift a questioning brow. Whatever he meant to say sticks in his throat and he can’t find the words to say what he needs to. 

A smile plays around your lips. “You okay?” 

His hand is still on your wrist and he hastily releases you. “Yes.” 

“Okay,” you laugh. “So, what is it?” 

Din swallows, unsure if he’s going about this the right way. He knows what he should do, but he’d never seen it done before. There were few couples among the covert, and there had been periods without any couples at all.

He’s never had to do it before, never had to declare himself quite like this. “Nothing, cyare. It can wait.” 

You tilt your head. He can tell you’re amused. 

Instead of teasing him, you lean forward and tug at the lip of his helm. “Cyare,” you coo back at him before releasing him and turning into the fresher. 

There’s heat in his cheeks when the door slides closed.

“Mesh’la,” he hears you sing to yourself from within.

“It’s not really the same, is it?” 

Din is only pretending to look at the stars that are scattered in the darkened sky above the Razor Crest. The faintest rays of sunlight can still be seen on the horizon. The sun never quite sets on this world, perpetually lit with just the barest brushes of light. Purple spills into midnight blue, the sun a smear of tangerine and honey.

He’s watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re lounging in the co-pilot’s chair, one hand braced on Grogu’s floating pod. 

“You can’t see the stars properly with that light,” you grouse. “I always miss sleeping in hyperspace anyway.”

Din still doesn’t answer, watching the line of your throat, the shape of your curled legs, the shine of your eyes in the relative darkness. It's an imitation of the routine you have in hyperspace, watching the stars until you fall asleep, or until you’re ready to go to bed. 

Your gaze shifts from the sky to him, your eyes abruptly meeting his. “Are you alright?” When he just tilts his head at you, you roll your eyes. “You’re quieter than usual. Which means you’ve been very, very silent all day. Since we got back from the market.” 

“I enjoy listening to you,” he hedges. 

“Is that so? What was I just talking about?” 

“The stars,” he answers easily, not really entirely sure that’s true. 

Your gaze narrows. “An easy guess.” 

He chuckles lowly. “Then you should have picked a more difficult question, cyare.” 

Your mouth pulls up into a smile. “So, what’s wrong?”

The worry that’s been gnawing a slow hole through his stomach all day beats back to life. It clenches his lungs in a tight fist that doesn’t compute. 

Of all the things to give him pause. Of all the things to frighten him. 

It had to be this. 

This thing he has no experience of, no knowledge of, no one that he could have watched when he was younger to at least imitate. 

His mind slides past the covert, all the way back to his mother and father. He remembers the gentle moments between them, the easy love, even in hard times, that should have lasted for decades. 

That's how he feels with you. Like everything is easy.

Din swallows the image down, courage returning to him. 

“Cyar’ika,” he answers, turning to face you directly. “I have something I’d like to give you.”

You perk up at that, straightening in your seat. “Oh? Is that what you were being mysterious about earlier?” 

You’re smiling, the words a joke. 

Din just nods, too nervous to attempt teasing you back, though it doesn’t show. He’s as still and silent as he always is. Instead he holds out a hand. 

You readily stand, placing yourself between his legs, your fingers still on his. 

He stares up at you, admiring the way those last dregs of light you complained of wash your skin in a low orange and pink haze. He must look at you for too long, because you suddenly jut out an impatient hip and fist your free hand on your waist, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

Despite himself, he huffs out a laugh. 

Din takes a steadying breath and reaches behind himself for the sheathed weapon at his back from beneath his cloak.

When he presents it to you, there isn’t a single word he can think to say. All those crashing thoughts of proving himself, of making vows to you someday and everyday in between, falls away, and he’s left adrift with nothing but the blade in his gloved hand.

He really isn’t even sure if he should say something. He’s not sure if it's normally done. 

He looks from your face, down to the knife and back again. 

A small frown has embedded itself on your face. You release his hand and reach out for it with both. Din hands it over carefully, watching you closely. 

You pull the blade from the sheath slowly, eyes roving over the dark metal, the polished handle. You align your fingers over the grip before your lips part softly, brow scrunching. Din opens his mouth, but you shake your head, peering at the lettering along the side of the blade. 

The language and script is foreign to you, he knows, etched in Mando’a. 

“It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept this.” His heart plummets, the air around him seeming thicker than before, hard to breathe. It all seems like a terrible miscalculation all of a sudden. His fear had been that you might reject it, but a much worse worry swims to the front of his mind. 

You could leave. If it offends you. 

“Din, this must have cost so much - you have so many weapons I can borrow. I’m not a fighter. I don’t even carry-,” you break off and shake your head again. “It’s too much.” 

Some of the tension in his chest releases. 

Din covers your hand, stopping the motion of you sliding the dagger back into the leather. His shoulders loosen by a fraction more, his heart not galloping quite so hard. “Please accept this.” A note of desperation slips into his voice, which he makes no effort to clear away. 

“I’m not a fighter, Din,” you repeat as your mouth pulls into a small smile. “It’s too much. It’s better with you, really.” 

He frowns at you, tilting his head. “That is not the point, cyare.” Din cups his hand around yours and guides it to the grip of the knife. “The point is that it’s yours. That I am offering it to you.” 

There are other things he should say to you, other promises he should make, he knows that, but he can’t bring himself to speak them. “It is yours,” he repeats. “As you are owed”  

You tilt your head and consider the blade again, pulling it slowly from the holster. “Owed,” you echo, a thread of confusion still laced in your voice, a question mark perched on the tip of your tongue. “But it is beautiful,” you say again, more confidently this time, turning it in your grip. 

He relaxes a little more when you seem to understand its meaning. 

“But the cost-,” 

He almost scoffs. He’s offering you his heart and you are worried about the cost. 

“It’s nothing. The smith owed me a favor,” Din says, watching as the smile on your face grows into something genuine. 

Unlike yourself, almost shyly, you ask, “It’s really mine?” 

He gives a simple nod of his head. “You’re proficient with knives,” he attempts to explain his choice. In a perfect world, he would have gifted you something cast from beskar. A piece of armor. But, the world wouldn’t be perfect then, you would be a very different person if you were one to wear armor as he does. 

“I had a good teacher,” you tease. “Thank you. You…didn’t have to go through all this though.” You peer at him from beneath your lashes. 

Din doesn’t answer, a smile easing onto his own face. He feels lighter, now. “What is this?” You point to the letters engraved on the blade. “I’ve never seen this script before.” 

“Take a guess, cyare.” 

You blink at him. “It’s not Mando’a is it?” You ask excitedly.

“It is.” 

“Well,” you say impatiently, lifting the metal closer to your face. “What does it say?”

He huffs a small laugh at your demanding tone. 

“Kar'taylir darasuum,” he says, taking your hand to lower the blade a fraction, pointing to each word as he speaks it. “To hold in the heart.” 

To hold in the heart forever, he should say. He should tell you that its literal equivalent in Basic is essentially to love. 

He doesn’t, his coward’s heart in this thing alone rising up again. 

You blink at him, a strange expression pulling over your features before you seem to shake the thought away. 

“Say it again,” you request. 

He repeats the words slowly, and you sound them out after him. You smile widely when he says, “Your accent is good.” 

“Thank you, Din,” you say, finally sliding the blade back into its sheath. His eyes flash up to yours when you press your free hand to the slide of his helmet. He doesn't blink, can't even draw a breath as you tilt his head up and bring your forehead to his in a gentle tap.

You rest like that for a moment, eyes fluttering closed, before you abruptly pull away.

He's done so much with you, seen more of you than he should have, but nothing rivals that moment, the kiss of your forehead to his.

“We should probably take the little one to bed, don’t you think?” You straighten and drop your hand. “I won’t sleep up here tonight,” you point to the sun. 

Din stands, presses a hand to your back. He’s more than happy to follow you down into the dark hull. Once the baby is settled and you’re pressed together, he removes his helmet and kisses you, first your closed eyelids, a thank you for something he isn’t sure he deserves. 

He wonders for just a moment, when you grin against his mouth, if you understand what just happened. 

But he pushes the thought away. 

There’s no way such a gift could be interpreted any other way. 

This is the beginning of him doing something right. He’ll teach you more Mando’a, he’ll share the myths held sacred by his people, he’ll remove his armor before you. 

He would lie all at your feet and hope that it might be enough. 

One day, he might actually be able to call you what he has trouble reminding himself you aren’t already. 

Riduur. 

You’re molded to him in the dark, and the promise is more than enough for now. 

There's no way you don't know what it all means.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!

Translations:

Riduur - spouse, partner, wife, husband

Cyare - beloved