Gift for: @doshi-sukiru and @chrysiskowot
Where The Tide Meets Us — Ink Beach
Summary: A simple beach day turns into something softer, warmer, and harder to ignore than expected, between failed surfing attempts, chaotic volleyball matches, and a quiet bonfire under the stars, small moments begin to mean more than they should.
And somewhere between the waves and the silence — something changes.
Pairing: Ink Beach! Mugman x Reader
Genre: Romance (Primary), Slice of Life, Comedy / Light Humor and Fluff
Trope: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, He Falls First (Subtle), Soft Confession, "Beach Episode" / Vacation, Found Family / Group Dynamics, Bonfire Confession Scene, Clumsy Affection, Physical Near-Misses (Almost Touching), Teasing Friends as Wingmen and Comfort Through Presence (Not Words)
Ink Beach belongs to: @thekaeru2 hiii twin hiii waves hello
Her au blog: @theinkbeach go check it out right now !!!
Ink Beach smelled like salt, sunscreen, and warm sand.
The scent clung to everything—your clothes, your body, even the wooden railings along the boardwalk that stretched beside the shoreline.
It lingered stubbornly, woven into the air so deeply it felt impossible to escape, like the beach itself had decided you belonged to it now.
The breeze rolling in from the ocean carried it gently through the air, threading it between the distant sounds of laughter, seagulls crying overhead, and waves breaking in soft, rhythmic crashes against the shore.
It was the kind of sound that didn’t demand your attention, but somehow never let it go either.
It had only been a few weeks since you arrived with Bendy and Boris, but the place already felt different from anywhere you’d ever been.
The ocean itself never stopped moving, even when you tried to focus on something else, you could always hear it — rolling endlessly toward the sand like a living thing breathing in and out.
You sat cross-legged on a striped beach towel, absentmindedly dragging your fingers through the sand beside you. The grains slipped between them easily, warm from the sun, sticking faintly to your skin.
Mostly watched one specific person.
Far out past the shallows, Mugman rode the crest of a rising wave, his surfboard slicing cleanly across the water as he leaned into the turn.
The sunlight reflected off the surface of the ocean, scattering silver light across the shifting waves, making everything shimmer like glass.
He looked completely at ease.
Like the ocean simply belonged to him.
Every movement he made seemed instinctive, small adjustments of his stance, the subtle shift of his weight, the way he leaned just slightly before the wave curled and broke behind him.
It was honestly mesmerizing.
The voice beside you made you jump slightly, your attention snapping away from the water.
You turned your head and found Cuphead sprawled lazily across the sand beside you, one arm tucked behind his head while the other lazily traced patterns into the sand. His red-striped straw tilted just enough to match the smirk pulling at his expression.
A bright red volleyball rested beside him, half buried in the sand like it had been abandoned mid-game hours ago.
“I’m not staring,” you said quickly, defensively.
Cuphead didn’t even bother pretending to believe you.
“I’m watching the waves.”
He didn’t even look at the ocean, his grin widened slowly, like he was savoring this.
“Because the waves definitely look like Mugman.”
You opened your mouth but immediately realized you had nothing to say.
Because unfortunately, he wasn’t really wrong.
Your gaze flickered back toward the water for half a second before you caught yourself.
“I just — he’s — surfing!” you said weakly, making desperate gestures with your hands, both towards where Mugman is surfing and towards the ocean as a whole.
“Yeah,” Cuphead nodded. “He tends to do that.”
Before you could attempt a better defense, a soft thwip sound came from the shade nearby, catching yours and Cuphead's attention away from the discussion you were having, both looking toward the source of the sound.
Boris sat beneath a large striped beach umbrella a few feet away, tossing a bright orange frisbee into the air and catching it again with quiet, effortless precision.
Like he was operating on a completely different pace than the rest of the world.
He caught it again, turning it slowly in his hands before glancing over at you.
Your entire body jerked slightly, and for a horrifying second you thought you might actually choke.
Cuphead burst into laughter so suddenly he had to sit up, one hand pressing against his side.
“Boris!” he wheezed. “You can’t just — drop that like it’s nothing!” he continued laughing, at you and at what Boris just said without any filter whatsoever.
“They keep looking at him.”
“You do,” Cuphead interrupted immediately, while still giggling to himself.
“Repeatedly,” Boris added, face still with a calm expression, but his gaze suggested he knew more than you let him know.
Your face felt hotter than the sun overhead.
“Yeah, observing him specifically.”
Before you could dig yourself any deeper into this increasingly embarrassing hole, a cheerful voice drifted in from behind.
“Well well well… Are we discussing romance without inviting me?”
Bendy dropped down beside the group like a mischievous shadow, landing in the sand with exaggerated flair like he had been waiting for the perfect dramatic entrance.
He was holding a bright blue frozen drink with a tiny umbrella sticking out of the top.
Cuphead immediately squinted at it.
Bendy took a slow sip, eyes closing like he was savoring something rare and expensive.
“I prefer the term borrowed indefinitely.”
Bendy gestured vaguely toward the boardwalk without even turning around.
“Technically… the smoothie stand.”
“You are going to get us banned," Cuphead groaned loudly while facepalming his face.
“They have more,” Bendy said simply, shrugging his shoulders like it's nothing and he definitely didn't just steal the drink, when he could've easily buy it with his own money.
Cuphead argued back, the drink inside his head starting to boil with stress, as he's already imagining all of the chaos and drama this could cause to all of you.
Boris tossed the frisbee again.
Meanwhile, out in the ocean, Mugman rode another wave toward shore.
The water curved beneath him like a wall of blue glass, lifting him higher, higher, and for a moment, it looked like he wasn’t even touching it, like he was suspended there.
Balanced between sky and sea.
He carved down the side of the wave in a sweeping motion, the board cutting cleanly through the water like it belonged there.
Then the wave broke, white foam rushed forward.
He rode it all the way into the shallows before stepping off, lifting the board under one arm like it weighed nothing.
Water dripped from his arms, his shoulders, his entire porcelain body glistening under the natural light, catching the light in small, shifting reflections.
His gaze drifted across the beach.
And stopped on you, just for a second.
He lifted a hand casually.
You waved back before your brain could intervene, still staring at him and admiring how the sun shines on his now wet muscles.
Just for you to immediately regretting it.
Behind you, Bendy leaned forward slowly, eyes narrowing with absolute delight, a smug smile on his face that from miles away anyone could see that it could only mean danger.
“Oh this is going to be fun.” Cuphead snorted, observing with a smirk the way that you admired his brother. “I give it two days," he says, selling a new deal.
Boris didn’t comment but he didn’t disagree either.
Mugman reached the sand a minute later.
Droplets of seawater still sliding down his arms as he leaned his board against a wooden rack near the beach entrance.
The wood creaked faintly under the weight as he settled it into place, the nose of the board tapping lightly against one of the posts before going still.
His fingers lingered briefly on the edge of it, thumb brushing absently along a faint scratch in the surface, almost like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
Like part of him was still out there, somewhere between the waves and the open water, caught in that steady rhythm of rise and fall.
But maybe you're just reading too much into this.
“You’re back already?” Cuphead called, not even bothering to sit up from where he was sprawled across the sand, one leg bent and the other stretched out lazily.
He lifted a hand just enough to shield his eyes from the sun, squinting in Mugman’s direction without moving anything else.
Mugman glanced over, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead to clear the saltwater from his head.
“Been out there for two hours.”
Cuphead lifted his head just enough to squint at him more dramatically, his expression slowly flattening into unimpressed disbelief.
A long, unimpressed pause.
“You’ve been lying on the sand,” he said flatly, one eyebrow raising just slightly as he crossed his arms loosely.
“Training,” Cuphead replied immediately, not missing a beat as he dropped his head back down onto the sand with exaggerated relaxation, arms spreading out like he was demonstrating a technique.
Cuphead shifted just enough to point vaguely at the sky, like the answer was obvious.
A seagull cried somewhere overhead.
Bendy snorted loudly from where he was sitting cross-legged, nearly choking on his drink as he turned away to cough into his elbow.
“That’s not a real skill,” he said once he recovered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin already creeping back.
“It absolutely is,” Cuphead shot back, lifting his head just enough to glare in Bendy’s direction before flopping back again. “You just lack discipline.”
Bendy leaned back onto his hands, tilting his head with mock offense.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize lying face-down in the sand counted as training.”
“You wouldn’t get it,” Cuphead said, waving him off lazily. “It’s advanced.”
“You lack shame,” Bendy replied, raising an eyebrow.
Cuphead paused for exactly one second.
Then shrugged, with a smirk.
Boris tossed a frisbee, the bright orange disc spinning lazily in the sunlight before dropping neatly back into his hand.
Mugman huffed quietly under his breath, shaking his head as a small, almost reluctant smile flickered across his face before disappearing again.
He wiped the remaining saltwater from his hands, brushing them against his shorts before finally looking toward you.
And something in his expression softened, just slightly.
Not enough to be obvious but it was there, a small shift in his eyes.
A quiet warmth that hadn’t been there a second ago.
“You still want to try surfing?” he asked.
His voice wasn’t loud, it didn’t really need to be.
Your stomach flipped immediately.
“…Do I really have to?” you asked, instinctively drawing your arms a little closer to yourself as if that might somehow protect you from the ocean.
Cuphead snorted from the ground, turning his head just enough to glance between the two of you.
Mugman ignored him completely, stepping a little closer to you instead, his attention steady and entirely focused.
“That was before I realized the ocean was terrifying,” you shot back, gesturing vaguely toward the water like it was personally responsible.
Bendy leaned in from the side, lowering his voice dramatically as he rested his chin in his hand, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“The ocean is full of mysteries.”
You didn’t even look at him.
“Some of which,” he continued anyway, lifting one finger like he was about to give a lecture, “have teeth—”
“And some of them are probably watching us right now—”
Then slowly broke into a grin.
Boris tossed the frisbee again.
Mugman shook his head, exhaling softly through his nose, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it faded again as he looked back at you.
“…I’ll stay close,” he added.
His voice dropped just slightly, softer, less teasing, more real and certain, like he truly he meant it.
That did not help your heart.
Your gaze flickered up to him again, just for a second too long — long enough to catch the steadiness in his expression, the quiet sincerity there — before you looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the sand instead.
“…That’s not fair,” you muttered.
“What?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, confusion flickering across his face.
“You can’t just say that like it’s reassuring.”
“It is reassuring,” he said, a little more firmly this time, brows knitting slightly like he didn’t understand the problem.
“It is—” you started, then stopped, exhaling slowly as you rubbed the back of your neck. “It is, but that’s not the point.”
He watched you for a second longer than necessary.
Trying to figure something out, like he almost understood, but still not quite.
Behind you, Cuphead suddenly pushed himself up onto his elbows, nudging Bendy with a grin that was way too knowing.
“They’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Bendy whispered back immediately, leaning closer like this was important.
Bendy’s eyes widened slightly.
Then he nodded, completely serious.
Boris didn’t look up from the frisbee.
“Yeah,” Cuphead said, settling back down with a satisfied smirk. “They always do.”
Meanwhile, Mugman had already turned back to the rack, grabbing another surfboard and pulling it free with an easy, practiced motion. The board slid loose with a soft scrape of wood, and he adjusted his grip without even thinking about it.
He glanced back at you over his shoulder.
Simple and completely casual, like it wasn’t a big deal, almost like he hadn’t just completely thrown your entire emotional balance off.
At the board tucked under his arm.
At the ocean stretching endlessly behind him.
At the waves rolling in like they had something personal against you.
At your rapidly declining sense of self-preservation.
Then you looked back at him.
Still waiting, still calm.
You sighed, long and dramatic enough.
“…If I die, I’m blaming all of you.”
“You won’t die,” Cuphead said immediately, not even opening his eyes.
“Statistically unlikely,” Boris added, catching the frisbee again with a soft thwap.
“Emotionally possible,” Bendy chimed in, a big smile on his face, raising his drink like he was making a toast.
You hesitated for half a second longer, then stood anyway.
Brushing sand from your hands.
From all your dignity left.
“…I hate all of you,” you muttered.
“Love you too!” Cuphead called lazily.
Mugman didn’t say anything.
But as you stepped closer to him, he shifted slightly, just enough to match your pace when you started walking.
Like he had already decided he really was going to stay close.
The sand grew cooler beneath your feet as you walked closer to the water.
It shifted softly with each step, warm and loose at first, grains slipping and sliding under your weight, before gradually giving way to damp, packed sand near the shoreline that held your steps more firmly.
Your pace slowed without you meaning it to, each step a little more deliberate than the last, like your body was trying to stall for time.
Your footprints became clearer there, more defined, pressed deeper into the sand before the tide crept in just enough to blur their edges away again.
Like they had never been there at all.
You glanced back at them for a second too long.
“…That’s unsettling,” you muttered under your breath.
Mugman glanced over his shoulder briefly.
“My footprints just disappearing like that.”
He followed your gaze, then shrugged lightly.
“That’s exactly what makes it unsettling.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly.
Small waves curled across the shore, sliding over your toes before retreating back into the ocean, leaving thin trails of foam behind that clung briefly to your skin before dissolving.
The first touch of water made you tense instinctively, your toes curling slightly into the sand.
Cold, not freezing but colder than expected.
You pulled your foot back automatically.
Then forced yourself forward again.
The water looked calm from a distance.
But up close it felt much bigger.
The horizon stretched endlessly, blending into the sky in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Alive in a way that made your chest tighten slightly, like it was breathing, like it was aware.
“You’re thinking too much,” Mugman said, stepping into the water without hesitation.
The surfboard rested easily against his side, his grip loose and familiar as the waves brushed against him like it was nothing, showing it was something he’d done a thousand times before.
“I’m thinking about survival,” you replied, stepping in after him with much less confidence, your shoulders tensing slightly as another small wave rolled in.
The water climbed slowly up your ankles, then your calves, cool and shifting, tugging faintly at your legs as it moved past.
“You’re not going to drown.”
“You sound very confident about that,” you said, glancing at him with narrowed eyes as you carefully took another step forward.
“I’ve been surfing since I was a kid,” he said, glancing back at you, one eyebrow lifting slightly like that should settle the matter.
He huffed a quiet laugh, turning a little more toward you as he continued walking backward through the water now, watching you instead of where he was going.
“Well, it’s not working.”
“You’re still walking forward,” he pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward your legs with the hand not holding the board.
“…I don’t like that you noticed that.”
“Too late,” he said lightly, a small grin slipping through before he looked ahead again.
The water rose slowly around your legs as you followed him farther into the surf, each step a little more hesitant than the last.
It pressed against you differently now.
Stronger, not enough to knock you over but enough to make you aware of it.
Aware of how easily it actually could.
The temperature dropped just enough to make you tense, your shoulders pulling in slightly as another wave rolled past, brushing higher this time.
The movement of the ocean tugged gently at you with each passing wave.
It wasn’t strong, but it was constant.
A steady pull that made you very aware of how easily it could knock you off balance if it wanted to.
You wobbled slightly as your foot shifted in the sand beneath you.
Mugman slowed immediately.
Matching your pace without pointing it out, without making it obvious.
When you wobbled again — just a little more noticeably this time — his hand hovered near your arm for a second.
Not touching, just there.
Close enough that you could feel the warmth of it, ready, just in case.
And somehow that made you both more and less nervous at the same time.
He stopped when the water reached his waist and lowered the board into the water with practiced ease, guiding it down so it settled flat against the surface.
The board bobbed gently, rising and falling with the rhythm of the ocean.
“Alright,” he said, steadying it with one hand.
The board drifted slightly closer to you, nudging lightly against your leg before settling again.
You stared at it like it had personally offended you.
Your expression didn’t change.
But of course, your silence said everything.
“…You’re NOT going to bite it.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to do.”
“If I drown, I’m going to haunt you.”
There was a very long pause.
You didn’t move and he didn’t either.
The board bobbed between you.
“…Probably,” he added after a second, quieter, like he couldn’t help himself.
You flinched and stared at him.
Then carefully — very carefully — climbed onto the board.
It rocked immediately beneath you, the sudden shift making your entire body tense as your hands shot out to grip the sides instinctively.
“Okay, nope, I hate this,” you said immediately, fingers tightening around the edges.
“You’re too tense,” Mugman said, stepping closer, one hand already reaching out toward the board.
“I’m on a floating plank in the middle of the ocean.”
“You’re ten feet from shore.”
“That is a lot of ocean.”
He laughed quietly under his breath, the sound softer this time, less teasing — more fond, if anything — as he reached out and steadied the board with one hand.
The motion was firm, the wobbling eased just slightly.
“Lift your chest,” he said, adjusting his stance to keep the board stable as another small wave passed beneath it.
His other hand hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object.
Then gently adjusted your posture, careful and eliberate.
His fingers pressed lightly against your side, guiding you into position, then shifted to your shoulder — steady, warm, reassuring.
His touch lingered just a second longer than necessary and that was more than enough to make your brain immediately stop functioning.
You forgot how to breathe for half a second.
The board drifted forward slightly.
You dipped your arms into the water, pulling awkwardly at first, your movements uneven and hesitant as you tried to coordinate everything at once.
The board wobbled beneath you again.
You made a noise somewhere between a complaint and a threat.
“This feels illegal,” you muttered.
He laughed again, quieter this time, watching you more closely now.
Then, a shift in the water behind you.
The board lifted slightly.
“Keep paddling,” Mugman called, his tone shifting just a little — more focused now.
You paddled faster immediately, your movements suddenly much less coordinated.
“Why does that sound urgent?” you asked, voice rising slightly.
The wave lifted the board beneath you, higher this time.
You pushed yourself upright, legs shaking slightly as you tried to find your balance
And for a moment, it clicked.
The board steadied beneath your feet.
Wind rushed past your ears.
The ocean moved beneath you instead of against you.
The shoreline got closer.
You felt it, that brief, impossible moment of control.
And you crashed into the water with a loud splash.
Cold rushed around you instantly, sharp and overwhelming, disorienting and loud and everywhere all at once.
You surfaced a second later, sputtering and soaked, pushing wet hair out of your face with both hands as you tried to catch your breath.
“Okay!” you coughed. “I hate everything!”
Mugman was laughing, not teasing or mocking.
Head tilted back slightly, shoulders shaking, completely unguarded in a way you hadn’t really seen before.
The kind of laugh that made your chest feel warm instead of embarrassed.
“You lasted four seconds,” he said, still grinning.
You wiped water from your eyes, trying very hard not to smile.
“That’s four seconds of greatness.”
“That’s four seconds of improvement.”
“I’m retiring while I’m ahead.”
“You’re not allowed to retire after one attempt,” he said, stepping closer as the board drifted back toward him.
He shook his head, still smiling faintly as he reached out instinctively when another small wave rocked the board again.
His hand found yours without hesitation, his grip firm enough to ground you without pulling, helping you balance again as your feet found the sand beneath you.
“That sounds like a threat,” you said, glancing up at him, your voice softer now, less frantic.
“It sounds like a death trap.”
“You’ll get it,” he said, more quietly this time.
“…Eventually,” you added.
The water shifted gently around you both.
The board bobbed between you.
His hand was still holding yours.
Neither of you said anything about it.
Neither of you moved away.
The noise of the beach faded slightly.
The teasing voices from shore blurred into the background.
The steady push and pull of the waves.
The warmth of his hand wrapped around yours.
The way his thumb shifted slightly, almost absentmindedly against your knuckles.
“ROUND TWO!” Cuphead shouted.
Bendy’s voice followed immediately after.
You exhaled, looking away slightly, your grip loosening just a fraction before tightening again without thinking.
“…I’m going to pretend they don't exist,” you said.
“Good plan,” Mugman replied, though there was still a hint of a smile in his voice.
But neither of you let go right away.
That felt more important than anything else.
When you returned to shore, the volleyball net had appeared like it had always been there.
You slowed slightly as you stepped out of the water, sand clinging to your damp feet as they sank lightly with each step. The shift from the cool ocean to the warm air made your skin prickle, droplets of water still sliding down your arms and shoulders.
“…That wasn’t there before,” you said, squinting at the net like it had personally betrayed you.
Mugman followed your gaze, dragging a hand through his body, still catching his breath slightly from the water.
Cuphead stood beneath it, spinning the volleyball lazily in his hands, the motion smooth and practiced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Like he’d been waiting, as if he planned this.
“Perfect timing,” he said, flashing a grin that immediately set off alarms.
Mugman groaned before you could even respond, dragging both hands down his face.
“No,” he said flatly, already turning like he was about to walk the other direction.
“Yes,” Cuphead replied instantly, tossing the ball lightly from one hand to the other.
Mugman pointed at him, narrowing his eyes.
“I just got out of the ocean.”
“And now you’re warmed up,” Cuphead shot back, completely unfazed.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Mugman let his arms fall to his sides with a quiet, defeated exhale.
“I’ve been told,” Cuphead said proudly, placing a hand against his chest like it was an achievement.
Bendy bounced on his hooves nearby, sand kicking up slightly around his feet as he leaned forward with barely contained excitement.
“I volunteer for chaos,” he announced, raising one hand dramatically like he was being sworn into something important.
Cuphead didn’t even look at him.
“You’re not good at volleyball.”
Bendy gasped, placing a hand over his heart.
“I’m good at enthusiasm.”
Bendy leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.
“That’s exactly the problem.”
Meanwhile, Boris sat a few feet away in the sand, legs stretched out in front of him, holding the frisbee upright against his chest like it was some kind of official badge.
His gaze moved slowly between all of you, calm and observant.
And somehow that settled it.
Cuphead and Bendy on one side.
Cuphead cracked his knuckles like he was about to enter a tournament.
Bendy stretched dramatically, nearly losing his balance in the process before catching himself at the last second.
“I’m ready,” he declared.
“You’re never ready,” Cuphead said.
Mugman and you on the other.
Mugman stepped into the sand with a quiet sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly like he was bracing himself.
You stood beside him, arms still slightly damp, brushing sand off your hands as you eyed the net.
“…I feel like we’re at a disadvantage,” you said.
“We are,” Mugman replied immediately.
“But,” he added, glancing at you briefly, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly, “we might survive.”
“…That’s not comforting.”
Boris adjusted his grip on the frisbee, lifting it slightly.
“You’re the referee now?” Cuphead called.
Cuphead stepped back, bouncing the ball once against the sand before catching it again, his posture shifting — more focused now.
Way too intense for what this was.
“No,” Mugman said immediately.
“Great,” Cuphead replied.
The ball cut through the air faster than expected, spinning slightly as it shot straight toward you.
Your brain short-circuited.
You swung wildly, arms flailing with zero coordination.
The ball connected, but not in the direction you intended.
—And smacked directly into Mugman’s face.
He just stood there, head tilted slightly from the impact.
Bendy collapsed instantly, dropping to his knees in the sand as he burst into laughter, one hand slapping the ground.
“I— I can’t!” he wheezed.
Cuphead doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed.
Boris calmly raised one finger.
Mugman slowly lifted a hand to his face, rubbing the spot where the ball had hit, his expression completely blank.
“You’re banned from sports,” he said, voice flat.
“I tried!” you said, stepping toward him slightly, hands hovering like you didn’t know whether to apologize or defend yourself.
“It was not intentional!”
Bendy was still laughing in the background.
“I’ve never seen someone take out their own teammate so fast!”
“Silence,” Mugman muttered, not even looking at him.
The game continued anyway.
Absolute, unstoppable chaos.
Bendy dove dramatically for balls he had absolutely no chance of reaching, launching himself across the sand with full commitment.
“I had it!” he shouted mid-air.
Before immediately faceplanting into the sand, a small cloud puffed up around him.
He stayed there for a second.
Then lifted his head slightly.
“…I almost had it,” he added, voice muffled.
“You were six feet away,” Cuphead said.
“It was a strategic dive.”
“You dove into absolute nothing.”
He just shook his head and served again.
Every spike from him felt like he was trying to win a championship match, his movements sharp and precise as he jumped slightly to hit the ball down with unnecessary force.
“Why are you like this?!” you called from your side.
“Winning builds character!” Cuphead shouted back.
This time successfully sending it over the net.
“…I did it!” you said, surprised.
The ball came back immediately.
This time in the shoulder.
Mugman didn’t even flinch.
He just looked at you slowly.
“It’s becoming personal.”
“I don’t control the ball!”
Bendy was back on his feet now, still grinning.
“This is my favorite game.”
“Of course it is,” Mugman muttered.
You managed to hit the ball once more—
This time, he didn’t even react.
Didn’t blink, didn’t even bother to speak.
He just stood there in silence.
“…I’m switching teams,” he said finally.
“No you’re not,” Cuphead called immediately.
“Please take me,” Mugman added, already stepping toward the net.
“You don’t want me on that side.”
Boris, still seated in the sand, slowly lowered the frisbee.
He watched the scene for a moment longer.
Then set it down beside him.
“I will stop counting,” he said.
“No one’s winning anyway.”
The game dissolved from there.
Not officially but functionally.
Points stopped mattering, rules simply stopped existing.
It became less about volleyball—
And more about dodging, shouting, laughing, and occasionally surviving.
Somehow, that made it better.
By the time the sky began turning orange with sunset, everyone had collapsed onto the sand in a tired, tangled mess of limbs and laughter.
It hadn’t even been coordinated.
One moment you were all still moving — half-heartedly tossing the ball, arguing over points that no longer mattered — and the next, it was like the energy just… gave out all at once.
Cuphead dropped first, falling backward into the sand with a dramatic groan, one arm thrown over his face like he’d just survived something life-threatening.
“I’m never moving again,” he declared, voice muffled slightly.
“You say that every time,” Bendy said, immediately flopping down beside him — except less gracefully, his limbs landing at odd angles before he adjusted, kicking up sand in the process.
“…Okay, maybe I won’t,” Cuphead admitted.
Boris lowered himself down more carefully, sitting first before leaning back onto his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him with a quiet exhale.
“I'm exhausted just from watching this,” he said.
Mugman dropped down a second later, sitting first before leaning back slightly, bracing himself on his hands, shoulders rising and falling a little heavier than usual.
You followed, easing down into the sand near him, your muscles still humming faintly from the day, your limbs feeling pleasantly heavy.
The air felt warmer now, softer.
The sharp brightness of the afternoon had faded into something golden.
Like the whole beach had taken a breath.
Bendy stretched dramatically, arching his back and reaching his arms high above his head, fingers spread wide.
“You know what this day needs?” he announced, glancing around like he was about to deliver something profound.
Cuphead groaned immediately, dragging his arm off his face just enough to squint at him.
Then shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows.
“…Actually that’s not terrible.”
“I have good ideas,” Bendy said, pointing at himself proudly.
“You have ideas,” Cuphead corrected.
Driftwood was gathered in uneven stacks.
At first, it was chaotic.
Bendy picked up pieces that were far too small.
Cuphead grabbed ones that were unnecessarily large.
You carried a few in your arms, brushing sand off them as you brought them over, occasionally glancing toward Mugman, who was doing the same but more efficiently — stacking them nearby before stepping back.
Boris took over without saying much.
He knelt in the sand, adjusting the pieces with quiet precision, turning them, stacking them, building something that actually resembled a structure instead of a pile.
Bendy hovered nearby, hands on his hips.
“I am supervising,” he said.
“You are in the way,” Boris replied calmly, not even looking up.
“I am contributing morale.”
Immediately stepped forward again.
“What if we add this one—”
The fire crackled to life slowly.
Until the flames caught properly, curling upward in warm shades of orange and gold, the light dancing across all of your faces as the sky deepened into richer hues.
The ocean rolled gently nearby, its earlier intensity softened into something calm and steady, the waves quieter now—less forceful, more rhythmic.
The air carried a faint mix of salt and smoke.
Stars began appearing overhead.
More of them, scattered across the darkening sky like they’d always been there — just waiting.
You sat beside Mugman on a large piece of driftwood, the surface rough beneath you, worn smooth in places by time and water.
Close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.
You were both aware of it.
Neither of you said anything.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The fire popped softly, sending small sparks upward that disappeared almost as quickly as they appeared.
The waves filled the silence, steady and familiar.
Mugman shifted slightly beside you, adjusting his posture, one hand resting loosely against the wood, the other tracing faint, absent patterns in the sand near his feet.
“You did good today,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now — less playful than before.
You glanced at him briefly, then back at the fire.
“I hit you with a volleyball.”
“Not the part I meant,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly.
You let out a small breath that almost passed for a laugh.
“I liked surfing,” you admitted, your voice softer, your gaze fixed on the flames as they flickered and shifted.
“I knew you would,” he said.
There was something quiet in his voice.
Not teasing or even smug, just certain.
Across the fire, Bendy leaned toward Cuphead, lowering his voice in a way that was absolutely not subtle.
“I bet five bucks that they'll confess tonight,” he whispered, eyes flicking toward you and Mugman with poorly concealed interest.
Cuphead didn’t even hesitate.
“I’ll take it,” he said, just as quietly, though his grin gave him away.
Boris, sitting nearby with a stick carefully rotating a marshmallow over the fire, didn’t look up.
“Of course they will,” he said calmly.
Mugman stared at the sand for a moment, drawing small, uneven lines in it with a stick, the tip dragging slowly as if the motion itself was helping him think.
“I’m glad you came here,” he said quietly.
You turned your head slightly toward him.
A pause settled between you.
Simply heavier, more noticeable, the kind that made everything else feel quieter by comparison.
“I don’t usually…” he started, then stopped, his grip tightening slightly on the stick before he exhaled and let it drag another line into the sand.
“I don’t usually let people get this close.”
Your chest tightened at that, your fingers curling slightly against your palm.
“Then… why me?” you asked, your voice quieter than before.
He briefly glanced at you, almost like holding your gaze for too long would make this harder.
The memory flickered — standing on the shore, watching him out in the water, waiting.
“You didn’t have to,” he added, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful.
“I wanted to,” you replied, just as quietly.
Closer now, warmer, the space between your hands felt smaller somehow.
“I quite like you,” he said.
It came out quieter than before.
Less certain, although more real, like he wasn’t hiding behind anything this time.
Your heart stumbled — actually stumbled.
“I…” you started, then stopped, your breath catching slightly as you tried to find something that didn’t feel too small.
Across the fire, Cuphead silently pumped his fist, biting back a grin.
Bendy immediately covered his mouth, leaning toward him.
“I told you,” he whispered, barely containing his excitement.
Boris calmly ate his marshmallow.
Mugman let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, his shoulders relaxing slightly like something he’d been holding onto all day had finally eased.
Like he hadn’t entirely expected that answer.
He reached for your hand.
His fingers paused just short for half a second, giving you time to pull away.
Your fingers curled around his.
His grip tightened just slightly once he realized you weren’t pulling away, his thumb brushing lightly against yours in a small, almost absentminded motion.
Your heart did something completely unreasonable.
Neither of you looked at each other right away.
That would’ve been too much.
Instead, your shoulders shifted just slightly closer.
Barely noticeable but just enough.
And neither of you moved away.
The ocean breeze drifted through the night air, soft and warm against your skin, carrying the quiet rhythm of the waves with it.
The waves rolled in quietly against the shore.
Laughter still lingered faintly in the background.
And in the space between one heartbeat and the next, everything felt still.
Like the moment had settled into place.
Like it was meant to be there.
You had found somewhere you belonged.
Author's note: I think you guys can already imagine how afraid of the sea I am from the detailed descriptions of the reader going surfing for the first time. That's exactly how I felt putting my feet in the sea for the first time this year, and I definitely won't stop being afraid of it, even though I enjoyed my time floating there LMFAO.
Also, someone requested this a long time ago but I can't remember or find out who it was, but I hope you guys enjoyed this one <3
By the way the reader is so down bad for Mugman here on this one, I know how OUT OF SHAME you guys — especially the creator HERSELF of said au — are when it comes to Ink Beach Mugman, shame on all of you !!! /jk/aff
