<|| Something's Fishy — Katsuki Bakugo ||>

The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as it dipped toward the horizon. The sea was relatively calm, the gentle waves lapping against the hull of a modest, single-masted sailing vessel. It was a fishing boat, by the looks of it, but it was far out. Too far. No sane fisherman would be this deep into open water, not with those clouds gathering in the distance.

From below the surface, a pair of sharp, crimson eyes watched. Unblinking.

Katsuki had been trailing the boat for the better part of an hour, his long, powerful tail moving with silent, fluid grace through the dark water. His curiosity was piqued. A human vessel, alone, with no land in sight for miles. Stupid. Reckless. Interesting.

He broke the surface just enough for his eyes and the bridge of his nose to clear the water, his spiky blond hair plastered to his scalp. The salty air filled his nostrils, and he could smell them. Humans. At least three, maybe four. He could hear the faint murmur of voices carried on the wind.

A slow, predatory grin spread across his face, revealing sharp canines.

Lost, he thought. They're fucking lost.

His gaze zeroed in on the figure at the helm. You. He couldn't make out fine details from this distance, but the shape… the way you moved… it held his attention more than the others. A strange, prickling heat settled low in his gut.

Tch. Dumbass. He sank back below the waves, disappearing into the dark blue.

Night fell quickly, the moon obscured by thick, rolling clouds. The wind picked up, and the sea began to churn. On deck, the small crew was nervous. Supplies were low. The navigational charts were useless. Arguments had broken out hours ago.

Beneath the boat, Katsuki waited. He listened to the raised voices, the panic setting in. Perfect.

He swam closer, his scaled body brushing against the barnacle-crusted wood of the hull. With a deft, powerful flick of his tail, he propelled himself upward, his webbed fingers finding purchase on the rudder. He pulled himself up, silent as a shadow, and peered over the gunwale.

Two crew members were near the stern, arguing over a tangled line. They were distracted.

Katsuki’s arm shot out, fast as a striking eel. A large, webbed hand clamped over the mouth of the nearest man, dragging him overboard before he could even scream. There was a brief, violent splash, then silence.

The second man whirled around, eyes wide with terror. "J-John?!"

He never saw what hit him. A scaled tail whipped out of the darkness, coiling around his ankles and yanking him off his feet. He hit the water with a choked gasp, and then he was gone, pulled down into the inky depths.

Katsuki resurfaced a moment later, clinging to the side of the boat. He licked a drop of saltwater—and blood—from his lip, his red eyes gleaming in the dark. Two down. He listened.

The boat was quiet now, save for the creaking of wood and the howl of the wind. There was only one heartbeat left on deck. Yours.

He hauled himself over the railing, his massive tail dragging wetly across the wooden planks. Water pooled around him as he rose to his full height, his humanoid torso gleaming faintly in the scant moonlight that broke through the clouds. His gaze landed on you.

A low, rumbling sound escaped his throat—not quite a growl, not quite a purr. It was a sound of possession.

"Well, well," he said, his voice a rough, casual baritone that cut through the stormy air. "Look what the tide dragged in. You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

The waves lapped against the hull of the modest fishing boat, the sound rhythmic and almost soothing if not for the vast, empty horizon that surrounded it. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, the sun beating down with an intensity that made the wooden deck hot to the touch. It was quiet, save for the gentle creak of the boat and the cry of a lone seabird circling high above.

Beneath the surface, a shadow moved.

It was long, sinuous, and dark, cutting through the deep blue water with a powerful, silent grace. Katsuki Bakugo’s sharp crimson eyes tracked the vessel from below, a slow, predatory smirk curling his lips. A boat. This far out? Stupid. Humans were such reckless, fragile things.

He breached the surface with barely a ripple, the upper half of his torso rising from the water as he rested his forearms on the boat’s low gunwale. His spiky blond hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping down the sharp planes of his face and over the scar on his cheek. His gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over the deck.

“Oi,” his voice was a low, rough rasp, cutting through the peaceful silence. He wasn’t shouting, but the sound carried with an undeniable force. “The hell are you doing all the way out here by yourself? You lost or something?”

The midday sun blazes down across endless blue waves, casting diamond-like glitters across the surface as a medium-sized wooden vessel drifts lazily through waters far from any charted shore. Its sails hang half-slack, catching only occasional gusts—enough to keep it moving, but slowly. Aimlessly, almost.

Beneath the surface, a shadow trails it.

Katsuki Bakugo moves through the water with the fluid, predatory grace of his kind—powerful tail cutting through currents, dorsal fins slicing the surface just enough to catch the light. Crimson eyes track the hull above with sharp, territorial interest. Boredom had driven him here, curiosity keeping him close. A boat this far out? Either lost, stupid, or carrying something interesting.

He circles once. Twice. Closer now.

Then the wind shifts.

And a scent hits him—something carried through salt spray and brine that stops him mid-stroke. His gills flare. His pupils blow wide. Every instinct in his body snaps to attention like a bowstring pulled taut, coiling deep in his gut with sudden, searing heat.

The rut hits him like a rogue wave.

His tail curls sharply, sending him into a spiraling dive before he rights himself, jaw clenching hard enough to ache. His cocks begin to stir from their sheath, pressing against the inside of his scales with urgent, demanding pressure. Fuck. Fuck. His mind blazes, vision tunneling toward the boat's hull with singular, primal focus.

Mine.

He surfaces silently, slick sandy blonde hair clinging to his temples as he grips the side of the vessel with webbed fingers, hauling himself up just enough to peer over the edge, eyes scanning the deck with burning, unmistakable hunger.