#headboard with floating nightstand

[tumblinguists]

Guest Bedroom DC Metro

Mid-sized trendy guest light wood floor and brown floor bedroom photo with beige walls and no fireplace

[looksdegraphistes]

Contemporary Bedroom DC Metro Mid-sized trendy guest light wood floor and brown floor bedroom photo with beige walls and no fireplace

[thestarlightexpress]

Kinktober 2024: Day 2 - Somnophilia - Azriel x Reader

TW: sexual themes including overstimulation and dubcon

word count: 1.48k

NSFW under the cut

The sharp wind and misty rain pelted Azriel’s face as his long flight back from the Continent came to a close. He spent the last week surveilling Koschei’s lake for any useful intel and had unsurprisingly come home with nothing. After 8 straight hours of flying, all he wanted to do was collapse in his fluffy bed and sleep for a whole day. 

He neared the House of Wind, feeling the drowsiness and pull to his bed grow even stronger as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Finally landing, his tense and taut muscles were able to gradually start relaxing. As he slowly wandered down the hallway towards his room, his ears perked up at the sounds floating towards him from a few doors down. Muffled moans and something that suspiciously sounded like a headboard striking the wall. Cassian and Nesta must be at it again.

He slowly opened his door and was dismayed to find an obstacle in between him and his comfy bed - you, laying on your back, starfished right in the middle of his bed. You were dead asleep despite gripping an open book in your hand. Knowing he was set to come back tonight, you had done your best to wait up for him but evidently couldn’t resist the coziness of his bed. 

A soft smile ghosted his lips as his shadows softly shut the door behind him. He pried the book from your hands, setting it on the nightstand before softly kissing your forehead and heading to the restroom. He quickly shed his sweat-soaked leathers before running a quick bath. His sore muscles sang in relief at the warm water. As he lay in the bath, the light and sweet smell of your arousal drifted through the open door. 

His shadows slinked back into the restroom, whispering to him the name of your book. It was one he and Nesta had been reading a few weeks earlier in their secret smutty book club. Knowing exactly what his sweet little mate had been reading had his blood swiftly rushing to his cock. He had intended to just quickly wash off and curl around you as best he could and go to sleep, but he suddenly found himself changing those plans. 

Azriel hurried to dry himself off and slip on his sleep clothes before wandering back into his bedroom. The forceful waves of your arousal nearly knocked him over. You were still in a deep sleep with a blissful smile on your face. The skimpy camisole you were wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination, showing off your perky nipples. Azriel’s gaze raked over your chest and down to your high-waisted shorts that barely covered your ass. He inched closer and closer to you, feeling his now hard cock straining against his sweatpants.

He crawled between your legs, soaking up the smell of your need as you continued dreaming. Azriel slowly gripped your shorts and pulled them down your legs. He was almost on the verge of drooling at the sight of your slick, pink pussy bared in front of him. He trailed up your legs, leaving warm open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Azriel placed a soft peck on the tip of your clit before licking a slow strip up from your entrance. His rough hands reached up to pull your thighs further apart, spreading your cunt for him.

Azriel softly suckled on your clit, sending a new wave of slick sliding down towards your entrance. He shifted down and dove into your pussy, licking up your syrupy arousal. A gentle moan slipped from your mouth as your hips shifted up and chased his mouth. He moved back up and his lips wrapped around your clit while he slipped two fingers inside you. He felt your body shifting above him as he pumped his fingers inside you, stretching you out for him. A small hand landed on his head and laced through his damp hair. 

“Well, this is certainly a way to wake me up.”, your rough, sleep-ridden voice drifted down towards him. Azriel glanced back up at you from between your legs, finding you propped up on your elbows. His free hand grasped your wrist and moved your hand to rest on your stomach. Azriel sent some shadows to weave through your hair and rest around your neck and shoulders. “Go back to sleep, my love. Just let me make you feel good.” He gripped your thigh and dove back into your inviting cunt. Releasing a needy moan, you laid back on the bed and swiftly drifted back to sleep.

Your slick continued to drip between your legs, soaking Azriel’s face and the sheets below you. Even while asleep, his skilled mouth quickly brought you to your first orgasm of the night. Your back arched and your breaths quickened into soft pants as you came in his mouth. The intoxicating taste of your release had his hips bucking up, grinding his swollen cock into the edge of the bed, desperate for a sliver of relief. 

Azriel groaned into your heat as he felt his precum drip down his cock. His fingers inched further inside of you, pressing against the spot that always made you see stars and beg for more. He glanced up at you and grazed his teeth against your sensitive clit when he heard your breath hitch. He promptly brought you to your second and third orgasm until your legs were shaking around his head. Your hand drifted back down to his hair and softly pulled him up from your cunt. Drifting in and out of consciousness, you managed to string together a mumbled plea. “Too much, Az.”, your soft voice lowly murmured.

He rose up and trailed his hands over your body, taking off your camisole in the process. Azriel hovered over you and rested his head on your bare chest. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to get carried away,” You sleepily hummed and cradled his head in your hand. His head drifted up and he nosed into the crook of your neck. “But I think you can cum one more time for me, yeah?” You roughly bit your lip and rapidly nodded against him. You whined at the anticipation of feeling him again. The Mother had certainly given you the horniest male in existence for a mate. His scarred hands gripped your hips in the way he knew you loved as he gently flipped you onto your stomach. Azriel crawled off the bed and stood at the foot of the bed. He outright moaned as he loosened the laces of his pants before pulling them off to release his leaky cock from its confines. He couldn’t hide his smile at the sight of your head resting on top of your arms, already asleep again.

Azriel loved many things about his sleepy girl, particularly how cuddly and pliant you get. But this, this was something you had always talked about doing that Azriel hadn’t been lucky enough to experience. You both loved the idea of him taking you as you slept, letting him use you solely for his pleasure. His cock bobbed in the air as he stared at your supple ass, debating about how he wanted to take you. He crawled on top of you and sat on your thighs a few inches behind your ass. He gripped your cheeks before using one hand to guide the tip of his member through your soaked folds. Azriel angled your hips up towards him before sliding into you and sheathing his cock fully inside of your warm, welcoming heat.

You both groaned at the stretch, Azriel much louder than you. He didn’t even need to give you time to adjust as your body was relaxed enough by your previous slumber. He grasped your waist and pulled his hips back to thrust into you. He had been so pent up over the past week that it didn’t take him much to get close. Getting lost in his own pleasure, he roughly took your tight cunt. Your light moans could barely be heard over his hips slapping into your ass.

Azriel felt his abs straining as he started to approach his release. He shifted his legs further up the bed and caged your torso under his chest. His thrusts started to get harder and erratic as he felt you tighten around them.

Azriel bit down a moan as his hips stilled and he spilled into you, your walls spasming around him as you came for the fourth time. After taking a few minutes to catch his breath, he slowly clambered off the bed and slipped his pants back on before laying down next to you. He gingerly turned you onto your side and pulled you into his chest. Not even five minutes later, he found his chin resting on your shoulder and felt himself pulled into sleep by your comforting warmth.

Kinktober Taglist:

@honethatty12 @sweet-chai-amore @helo1281917 @scarsandallaz @thatacotargirl @a-courtof-azriel @lmadness @riorgail

[leesleelee]

Stay still for me.

Johnathan Byers x top! male reader.

Jonathan wants to take Polaroids of you — shirtless, relaxed, just for his eyes. But you turn the camera on him instead.

CW: Artistic, Slow-Burn, Sensual, comfort, slight smut, mentions of insecurities.

Word count: 900

---

The storm outside was soft, a lullaby tapping against the windows of the Byers house.

You sat on Jonathan’s unmade bed, one leg tucked under you, watching him load a fresh pack of Polaroid film into his camera.

“You sure about this?” he asked quietly, not looking at you yet.

His fingers worked carefully, almost nervously, like the camera was made of glass. "I don’t wanna, like... make you uncomfortable or anything."

You tilted your head, smiling at the way he avoided eye contact when he got in his own head.

“Jon. You literally asked me if you could take shirtless Polaroids of me, and I said yes. You're not making me uncomfortable.”

He finally glanced up at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a little smile.

His hair was still damp from his earlier shower, curling near his ears, and the collar of his hoodie was stretched out like he’d been tugging at it.

“I dunno,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb against the camera’s grip. “Just feels... different now that you’re actually sitting there.”

You leaned back slightly, letting your spine curve into the headboard.

“You mean, now that I’m actually shirtless?”

Jonathan flushed, eyes flicking to your chest for a split second before looking away. “Yeah. That.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“You’ve seen me naked, Byers.”

“That was different,” he murmured, adjusting the light on his nightstand. “We weren’t, like, trying to freeze the moment. With a camera. For later.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You planning on keeping these in your wallet or something?”

He smirked a little, but his voice stayed low.

“I was gonna keep ‘em in my box of stuff under the bed. With the rest of my shame.”

You snorted. “You’re such a freak.”

Jonathan finally looked at you again, properly this time.

And that quiet nervousness in his expression? It was fading. Replaced by something more focused. Intentional.

“Stay like that,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He stepped closer, raising the camera slowly to his face.

“Just—look at me like that. All relaxed. The way your eyes look when you’re teasing me but not fully smiling yet.”

You gave a slow smirk anyway. “You mean this look?”

Click. The Polaroid snapped. He didn’t even blink.

“I’m serious,” he said, lowering the camera to wait for the photo to develop. “You have this thing in your eyes sometimes. Like you’re gonna say something cocky, but you hold it back. It’s… intense.”

You shifted, letting one arm drape across your stomach as you leaned a little further into the pillows. “You mean hot.”

Jonathan gave you a knowing look. “Yeah. That too.”

You held his gaze now. “You should let me take one of you.”

He froze. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because I look like shit in pictures?”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” You sat up straighter. “You take beautiful photos, Jon. But you never let anyone turn the lens back on you.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but closed it again.

You let the silence stretch for a moment, the quiet hum of rain making the whole room feel like it was floating.

Then you stood, moving toward him. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a skittish animal.

“You trust me, right?”

He nodded.

You gently took the camera from his hands. “Then let me show you what I see.”

Jonathan hesitated—but sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched, fingers twitching in his lap.

“Okay,” he whispered. “But don’t... make me look stupid.”

You crouched in front of him, raising the camera. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Click. You caught him mid-blink.

“Try again,” he murmured.

Click. This time, you waited until his eyes lifted to meet yours. There it was—soft, uncertain, but wide open.

You set the camera down on the floor. “Perfect.”

Jonathan looked down at you. “That’s not fair. You didn’t even let me pose.”

“That was your pose.” You rested your hands on his knees. “And it was honest.”

His breathing shifted, just slightly, as your thumbs rubbed gentle circles over the denim of his jeans.

“You’re gonna make this weird,” he muttered, voice low.

“Define weird.”

He smiled. “You looking at me like you’re about to ruin me on my own bed.”

You moved closer, hands sliding up his thighs, slow and sure. “You’re not stopping me.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours once—light, barely there. “Didn’t say I wanted to.”

Your hands moved to cup his face, thumbs brushing the edges of his cheekbones. “You still nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted, eyes fluttering shut as you kissed the corner of his mouth. “But mostly just…”

“Turned on?” you offered, smiling into his skin.

He laughed, breath catching. “That too.”

The kiss deepened, slow and warm like the rain outside. When you finally pulled him gently back onto the bed, you didn’t rush.

You kept whispering to him — about how beautiful he looked, how soft his skin felt under your palms, how much you loved the way he trembled just a little when you kissed his neck.

And Jonathan? He didn’t hide anymore.

He let himself be seen.

He let himself feel it all.

Even the Polaroids scattered on the floor seemed to glow in the dim light — frozen memories of the boy who finally stopped hiding behind the lens.

---

Credits: my Johnathan border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Cough Syrup

written for @steddiemicrofic August

prompt: plug || wc: 437 || rating: M || cws: sick fic, reference to child neglect, references to sex

~~~

"Baby," Eddie sighs, "just plug your nose. I promise it'll go down easier." Steve keeps his mouth sealed and shakes his head as he leans further back into the pillows propping him up against the headboard. Eddie’s very carefully holding the spoon in front of Steve’s face, syrupy red liquid on the verge of overflowing onto their comforter.

“You say that every time,” Steve complains. He moves his head to the side as Eddie makes his move and misses. “But it smells, and it’s gross, and it felt thick and disgusting in my mouth yesterday, and I’ll be fine without it.” 

Steve watches as another thread of Eddie’s patience unravels. After three days wasting away of fever and bone-wrenching aches, he’s surprised Eddie hasn’t just dropped him off on the hospital curb in a cardboard box, sign affixed to the side reading ‘Oversized baby for adoption. May need extra care. Fully vaccinated’.

“Steven James Harrington.” Full government name– with his correct middle name– means he’s in deep trouble. “You’ve inhaled nasty, probably radioactive, floating Upside-Down ash. You’ve accidentally swallowed demobat blood. You’ve drank shitty beer out of a communal bong, had your tongue down every girl’s throat in Hawkins, and inside my asshole–”

“Oh my god Eds, don’t say it like that.”

“–yet for some reason, you refuse a tiny bit of cough syrup to help you sleep.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. In his attempts at being dramatic, he breaks into another coughing fit that has him reaching for the water glass on the nightstand next to all of his used tissues.

“I’ve been sick before and I’ve never needed drugs.”

“Never needed it,” Eddie leads, grabbing his hand, “or have your parents never offered it before?”

The question hits like a punch to the gut. He’d never thought about it that way. How his parents told him he’d get better soon, that he just needed some soup and crackers. If he focuses on being sick, it’ll just make him worse. How if he ate healthier he wouldn’t get sick in the first place.

“Stevie,” Eddie says gently, running his fingertips across Steve’s sweaty, overheated forehead. The fondness floods over him like a tidal wave, washing away all thoughts of his parents’ lack of love and care, something that's always so obvious from Eddie.

“The medicine will help you sleep. And if you sleep better,” Eddie says, and Steve can already see the trap forming, “then I’ll sleep better.”

Eddie smirks as Steve swallows around the spoon, nose plugged. They know Steve would do anything to help Eddie, even if it means helping himself too.

[crushpunky]

girlfriend!reader celebrates rafe’s sobriety

masterlist

warning for mentions of addiction + suggestiveness

Rafe stretched out across the bed, his hand subconsciously reaching for y/n, only to be greeted with a handful of fur from y/n’s cat, Kit Kat. The car stirred, his tail flicking to the side as Rafe lifted his head to stare into the cat’s eyes, his brows furrowed as the cat hopped off the bed and scurried away. Rafe’s messy hair fell into his eyes as he flipped over in bed, falling onto his back as he peered around his bedroom looking for any sign of y/n.

Resting on the edge of the bed where her pajamas, an old t-shirt of Rafe’s and a pair of pink sleep bottoms, rest. Her scent still lingered on her side of the bed, Rafe taking a deep inhale as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. Almost perfectly on queue, Rafe heard a soft humming begin to float in from the doorway.

Standing in the doorway swathed in a fluffy pink robe, y/n smiled brightly at him. In her hands, she balanced a white cake with swirling blue adornments, sprinkles, and a handful of flickering candles. Rafe sat up as she crossed the floor, her bare feet carefully padding towards him.

“Is it my birthday?” Rafe asked, resting his back against the headboard with a cheesy grin.

“Nooo,” y/n sang as she sat on the edge of the bed next to Rafe, holding the cake between them. Rafe tilted his head as he gazed down at the cake, reading the swirling words frosted atop it:

100 days sober !!!

“Congratulations.” Y/n grinned, her smile impossibly wide as she excitedly looked at Rafe. Rafe’s grin faltered for a surprised moment, his cheeks a soft pink.

Rafe swore he could feel his heart skip a beat as he looked back up at y/n, her face full of nothing but love and pride. For years, Rafe was sure he was suffering the life he deserved… but that was until y/n came around. Until y/n came around and proved to him that he could be better and that he deserved love and happiness and all the things he’d gone without for so long. The road to sobriety wasn’t easy, with countless sleepless nights and angry outbursts, but y/n had stuck by his side the whole time. Now, sitting across from her, the sun shining beautifully throughout the room, Rafe knew it was all worth it.

Rafe felt a tinge of stinging at his eyes, trying to shake it off with a quick sniffle and sharp swallow. He took in a deep shaky breath before blowing out the candles.

“Thank you.” Rafe whispered, as y/n smiled back at him. Y/n sat the cake on Rafe’s nightstand, her eyes not leaving Rafe’s as she moved to sit on his lap. Rafe’s hands fell to rest on her hips as he looked up at her, a slight glassiness in his eyes. Y/n brushed a piece of hair from his face, pressing a long kiss to his lips.

“You deserve it, Rafe.” Y/n murmured, smoothing her hands down Rafe’s shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.”

Rafe laughed as he buried his face into y/n’s neck, pulling her closer to him. Y/n could feel the dampness of his cheeks against her skin, but didn’t say anything as she ran her nails through Rafe’s hair. The two of them sat there for a while, y/n gently scratching Rafe’s back as he held on tightly to her, the only sound the occasional sniffle from Rafe.

Eventually, Rafe lifted his head, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin. Slowly he trailed up before finally kissing her lips.

“Thank you.” Rafe whispered again, a gentle smile on his lips.

“I love you.” Y/n murmured. Rafe gazed over her face lovingly, carefully tracing each and every curve.

“I love you.” Rafe said simply, his tone laced with a loving gentleness and sincerity that made y/n’s cheeks warm. Those words weren’t something unusual for her to hear from Rafe, but they were something that still made her heart flutter each time. 

It wasn’t long ago Rafe found it hard to say those words, not because he didn’t feel them, but because they felt too scary to say aloud. The idea of allowing himself to feel that vulnerability and to let someone into his fucked up world had been so terrifying to him, but now, he knew going without that comfort and company was much more terrifying. Letting y/n into his world and into his heart had been the best decision he’d ever made, and one he’d made a million time over if it allowed him to hold her like this.

“There’s one more thing for your surprise.” Y/n whispered, to which Rafe quirked a brow.

“Oh yeah?” Rafe smirked, pulling y/n’s staddled hips flush against him.

“You remember that place we stopped at on the mainland?” Y/n said, moved her hands to rest atop the belt of her robe. Rafe’s lips parted slightly, his cheeks flushing as he nodded like an excited puppy. Y/n chuckled at Rafe’s expression before the began to tug at the belt.

Her robe slowly slipped off her shoulders, Rafe’s eyes growing so wide y/n was sure they were about to pop out of his head. Underneath the fluffy pink fabric, a deep wine colored bralette clung to her chest. The sheer, lacy fabric sat beautifully against her skin, the front of the bra tied together with a silky bow. As the robe finally fell off her completely, Rafe let out a small whine as he noticed the matching pair of underwear that hugged y/n’s curves.

“Fuck.” Rafe groaned, his fingers tracing against the delicate fabric of her bottoms.

“Congratulations, baby.” Y/n said sweetly as Rafe crashed his lips into hers, sending the two of them falling onto the sheets.

[bumblesimagines]

i brought you soup.

you're special to me.

Alice Cullen

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

You never realized how much you took breathing for granted until the only way you could get air into your lungs was by gaping like a fish out of water.

You sucked air into your mouth, nearly managing to choke on nothing, and contemplated why life was so cruel. Sure, you were more than glad to have a chance to skip work, but it was at the cost of a stuffed nose and an itchy, raw throat. 

Shaking a tissue free, you blew your nose for what felt like the fiftyth time in the span of an hour. You groaned and weakly tossed the tissue into the overflowing trash bin before tugging the mountain of blankets further over your body.

Your mother had all but shoved the spoonful of medicine down your throat the second you finished breakfast, but you barely felt its effect half an hour in. You sighed heavily. All you could do was ride the wave until the illness finished its attack on your body.

"(Y/N)!" Your mother hollered from further in the house. "I'm off to work, but your friend is here!"

Friend?

What friend?

You squinted at the clock on your nightstand and frowned. All your friends were supposed to be at work or at school, and none of your coworkers had even bothered to check in through text or call. You forced yourself to sit up, ensuring to tug one of the blankets over your shoulders, and leaned back into the headboard. Was one of them skipping work or school and using you as their excuse or alibi? You rolled your eyes. It definitely sounded like something those idiots would do.

The door to your bedroom swung open, and you blinked your watery eyes until your vision cleared. No, it wasn't one of your friends skipping their biology class or calling off work to hang out. It was none other than Alice Cullen standing beneath your doorway with a big smile plastered on her face and a container in her hands.

You stared at her, half-certain you were having some weird fever dream, but then she walked in, her footsteps so light the floorboards didn't creak beneath her weight. 

"I heard you were sick, so I brought you soup." She explained casually, as if her popping by your house was a daily occurrence, and gently set the container of soup down on your nightstand before popping off the lid. "Courtesy of Esme, of course," She laughed, an absurdly airy and pretty sound. It sounded like an inside joke you weren't fully in on. "Butternut squash soup, just for you. She hopes you enjoy it since she doesn't get to make soup very often."

Why weren't you surprised the Cullens had a perfect immune system?

Smoothing out the underside of her dress, Alice took a delicate seat on the edge of your bed and crossed one leg over the other. Everything Alice (or any of her siblings) did was effortlessly graceful, delicate, like she was meant to be some kind of disney princess that'd put Aurora or Snow White to shame.

Her big, oddly amber eyes swept over your bedroom with curiosity, her eyes wide with curiosity and lips curled upward sweetly. Meanwhile, you racked your mind for the last encounter you had with the short girl.

Senior year at Forks, just the year prior, when she proved smart enough to be in one of the advanced classes despite being a junior. The first day of school, she'd floated into the first and only class you shared with her since the Cullens moved into your town. She looked blissful, always brimming with life and constantly smiling.

The others whispered about her, muttered how 'weird' she was in comparison to her quiet brother, Edward, and her aloof sister, Rosalie. If she heard the murmurs, she hardly showed it, and instead plopped down at your table with a friendly smile and a chirped greeting.

You barely interacted with her, though. At minimum, you spoke two words to her each day, almost always a hello and a goodbye. The only time you had fallen into conversation with her had been to complete a project, something quick and easy, but required listening to someone else's opinion.

She was warm and bubbly, but occasionally spaced out as if her mind grew occupied with something else that left her trailing off before she snapped back to reality. She was a little odd, sure, but harmless and much more approachable than the rest of her siblings.

You wouldn't describe her as your 'friend', really, but you couldn't blame her if she considered you her friend, given how the rest of the school population, apart from Bella Swan, treated her and her family. 

"Uh," You cleared your throat, bringing her attention back onto you. "Thanks."

"Of course." She nodded rapidly, strands of her wild, spiky, black hair shaking with her movements. Her head lolled to the side, and her peach-tinted lips puckered out pitifully. "Oh, you poor thing. You look really bad. Are you sure you don't want to check in with the hospital? Carlisle would be more than happy to help."

You shook your head and eyed the appetizing-looking soap. You were sure it smelled just as good as it looked, but your nose refused to clear long enough to catch a whiff. "It's just a cold." 

Alice hummed. "Do you want me to feed you?"

"Wha-" You startled, blinking at her rapidly as you wriggled your arms free from the blankets. "N-No, it's fine, I can- I can do it myself-"

"It's no problem!" Alice hopped up onto her feet, the big smile returning to her face. "I wanna do this for you. You're special to me, you know? Nobody is as nice to me as you were." 

That sounded incredibly depressing. You tried not to wince. "But..." You swallowed, as best as you could when your throat was hurting like hell, and gave a defeated sigh. "Alright." 

Alice's smile turned into a satisfied grin. "Great! Let me get a spoon and I'll be right back."

[estcaligo]

Some thoughts about room temperature at NRC Dorms (Diasomnia specifically)

First things first - yes, there's magic and fairies who control the temperature of NRC (as mentioned during the Fairy Gala event). But still, I want to talk about the Diasomnia rooms, because they look cold.

Let's start with Sebek's room (who else's)

His room makes me particularly worried, especially since we know he's sensitive to cold.

The walls are cold stone, and the floor seems to be either stone or tile - definitely not warm and cozy.

The carpet looks rather thin, and the space between the wardrobe and the bed is bare. I really hope Sebek wears slippers!!

There doesn't seem to be a carpet under the desk, but since it's located close to the larger carpet, maybe Sebek keeps his feet on that? or I still hope he wears slippers....

The headboard of the bed? I hope it's not leather - it's far from the warmest material for a bed.

The ceiling is quite high, which is not ideal for keeping warmth in the room.

I also hope the window glass isn't thin, otherwise it would let in cold drafts (if there are any in Diasomnia dorm realm??)

And about the training bench in his room? Sure, it's there because Sebek trains a lot, but maybe it's also a way to warm up in such a cold room....

At least one thing warms his heart - Waka-sama's portrait.

Now, Silver's room

The same cold stone walls and floor. Silver doesn't seem to mind the cold as much though - due to his training, of course.

The carpet in his room is small and thin and there's no carpet under the desk. But does he even mind? How much time does he actually spend at the desk studying anyway?...

The wardrobe is farther from the bed compared to Sebek's room. And I can imagine Silver walking to it barefoot, absolutely unfazed (I need to know more about Silver's dressing routine, how often does he fall asleep while getting dressed, etc...)

His bed is placed right against the wall with no extra layers for insulation. Which is cold!!!

And of course, there's the open window. I was already concerned about Sebek's glass thickness, but Silver's window is just wide open omg.

Clearly, Silver is very resilient to the cold. Good for him?... They also say you sleep better in a cool room, so it only adds to his sleepiness?...

Now to Lilia's room

Same walls, same floor. The carpet here feels purely decorative - it's so small and there's no carpet under the desk. However, I imagine Lilia's legs rarely touch the floor anyway (that's how I picture him sitting while on his PC )

The wardrobe is the farthest from the bed in this room, but again, he probably just floats to reach it.

The window is closed here. I was going to comment on how inconvenient it is to have sunlight hitting your face while using a computer/any gadget with screen, but let's be real, there are probably no sunny days in the Diasomnia realm, so it doesn't matter.

There's is also chandelier in Lilia's room (though I assume all 3rd years' rooms are the same?). The chandelier has lots of candles, but they likely emit light through magic rather than heat.

Another detail - Lilia's pillow is quite small. He probably rarely uses it, sleeping in the most bizarre positions (like hanging upside down bat-style).

And to Malleus' room

It has the same cold walls and flooring as the others but feels much more empty and lonely. Most likely, of course, it was intentional to reflect Malleus' character, but still.

The nightstand is empty - not even a book or a personal item.

On the desk, there are only two items: a figurine (which is a nod to Sleeping Beauty) and a three-candle candlestick. The number three might be symbolic, but it also just looks good, so who knows.

Like Lilia's room, Malleus' room also has a chandelier. Is it significant to fae culture? But most likely just for the Maleficent aesthetic.

The only "warm" elements in the room are the tapestry/flags - cherished gifts from a certain important person in his life.

It feels unnecessary to comment on the space between his wardrobe or the lack of a carpet under his desk since Malleus likely doesn't bother with changing clothes manually or sitting at his desk to study anyway.

His bed has two big pillows and one small - likely the one Malleus mentioned using to support his horns while sleeping. (No spoilers, but the 2024 Halloween event gave us some info about how Malleus sleeps lol)

Also, they are obviously provided with the bedsheets by the dorm, but I assume it's allowed to bring your own. We see Lilia getting creative, Malleus clearly has some royal-quality sheets, and Sebek's are the cutest - baby green, but quite plain (so nothing can distract him from being the perfect guard for Waka-sama). And I assume Silver doesn't care at all, and just uses the basic dorm sheets. Feel free to add your thoughts.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Million Dollar Baby | FUTUREPROOF

prologue

summary: you're in la, and it's time to get this show on the road.

pairing: f!rockstar!reader x actor!joel

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. one minor drug reference. reader has hair and can swim.

wc: 3.3k

an: for @schnarfer, my copilot, and @itsokbbygrl and @undercoverpena. thank you for your patience while i've yapped and not written about these two <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

series masterlist | main masterlist | follow @pudding-notifs for updates!

The sunlight is warm, the breeze is mellow, and the bedsheets smell like home. 

Soft, so soft, cool against your warm limbs - every nudge of smooth linen cocooning your body against the waves of wakefulness. You stretch your legs - muscles loosening, mind empty - then your toes, and bury your face back into the pillow with a quiet grunt. 

Everything feels achy today. Just fatigued - cooped up on planes, huddled in the studio, hunched over a notebook in what Jack has fondly dubbed your ‘shrimp position’. But this feels good. Spreading your legs to starfish beneath the covers, breathing in the scent of your own shampoo, before shooting your arms to the headboard and pressing your palms against it. Sinew relaxes a little more, spine crackling. 

One eye winked open finds the room washed in gold, sheer curtains fluttering in the floor to ceiling windows, just obscuring the crest of the hills beyond the pool. 

You close your eyes again, breathing in deeply. Your tongue tastes sour, ashy - the only blot on the morning; a reminder of last night. The whirlwind of faces and places you’d been swept through by Eimear after leaving the studio, blurred into one soundscape while you were dreaming. 

You following her - a satin palm curled around your forearm, the gloss of her braids. Have you met…. Completely sober, brain ringing in your skull from ironing out kinks on the record, you’d made your excuses and escaped as quickly as possible from the glitteringly dark bar back to the house. Closed your eyes against the buzz of the Uber’s window, dragged yourself to the sofa, and shared a joint with Adie before hauling yourself to bed.

There’s a clench in your gut, a rumble. You groan, hunger creeping in, bubbling in your throat. You swing a hand away from the headboard, scrabbling about on the nightstand for your phone, squinting at the screen over the duvet. 

No missed calls. No urgent texts.

But at some point in your slumber, you’d snoozed your alarm.

You drop your face into the pillow again, mouthing a fuck into the cotton. Plans of eating at the café in the next neighbourhood over eviscerated by a fuzzier head. Again. 

You throw the covers off your legs, rubbing roughly at your face, and stand with a yawn. Pick up the pants and t-shirt you’d discarded on the floor last night, sling them over the chair in the corner of the room, and then move to retrieve your bikini from the balcony beyond the curtains.

A fine day out. Still warmer than you’re used to summer being, sun hot on your face even this early, but the view - the view. Spoiled by the label, high up enough to be away from the bustle, but close enough to watch the lights and the smog and the constant glimmer of dreams. 

You step back into the bedroom to tug and tie the swimsuit on before swinging open the door. The landing is quiet, empty. The same as you pad down to the kitchen. 

Everything is white, and where it’s not white, it’s glass and natural wood. It’s beautiful, it’s serene, and - as Eimear had said when you first arrived - very rock and roll. 

The wide, clean kitchen, marble-topped island stretched all the way across the space. Perfect for hosting. The sunken living room and its floating hearth. The rugs and the throws, the cushions, the potted plants, fading smell of incense. The bifold doors thrown back so you can step straight out to the patio and then the pool - sparkling, rippling in the morning sunlight. 

The doors Adie obviously hadn’t closed last night. The bottle of champagne he’d left open on the side. 

You give it a sniff as you walk past, deciding it isn’t worth it as you step towards the fridge instead. You pour a glass of orange juice and poke around for something else, grabbing a tub of mango you’d picked up yesterday. Croissants from the bread bin on the counter, then your sunglasses from where they sit next to the flowers Nick had sent you. 

The patio is hot underfoot, and you all but skip your way to one of the loungers set up by the edge of the pool, clutching your breakfast. You slide your sunglasses onto the bridge of your nose, settling cross-legged on the pale cushions. Orange juice cradled between your thighs, croissant and mango in front of you. 

Nick Walton, Hollywood’s newly heralded genius. You’d thought he’d be wanky at first - obnoxious, loud, demanding - but the man who had introduced himself to you months ago, who had joined you in the studio over the last week, was quiet, kind. A crooked smile, an asinine sense of humour. Ready and generous with praise and votes of confidence, gentle direction offered when needed. He’d been a dream to work with, so much so that the whole band had been quick to tell him they’d love to work together again - if he wanted to. And he did.

You savour the earthy sweetness in your mouth, rip a corner off the croissant. 

It was exciting. Being privy to such a project, being sent rough cuts and signing NDAs. It had been something to do on the road - a distraction from the songs you were playing every night, a challenge to fit to a brief. Something you, as a band, had never really done before. Working not just to convey a message, a feeling, but a place. A story beyond what you knew.

You lick the mango juice from your fingers, your wrist, swipe the crumbs from your lap. Finish your orange juice in great gulps, enjoying the coolness, the tartness. You wanted Nick to be confident he’d made the right choice. Confident that you respected his work, appreciated it, wanted to uplift it. 

The extravagant florals that had arrived before Eimear had whisked you away last night confirmed that. The only thing left now was to get the stamp of approval from Joel Miller - co-producer, leading man. 

So squeaky fucking clean you wonder whether the air around him sparkles.

You stand from the sunbed, reaching up, wiggling your fingers at the sky, before swooping low to touch your toes. Almost. You fold your sunglasses up next to your glass, leaving them to tiptoe around the edge of the pool. Moving to stand at the top of the tiled steps, up to your ankles in the water. Cool, cool, cool. The LA skyline stretched out ahead of you - concrete jungle sprawled under clear blue sky. 

Joel Miller somewhere out there, getting ready to gather his thoughts on the tracks. A big deal. Critically acclaimed films, Oscars and SAG Awards, nominations up the wazoo. Something lurches in your stomach, a familiar that has tread with you since the beginning. The doubt, the worry. The almost overwhelming expectation to disappoint. 

Maybe he won’t like you. Maybe he’s never liked your music. Maybe he’ll wear sunglasses the entire time and won’t speak.

Don’t be childish. You take a step deeper into the pool. 

Maybe he won’t.

Maybe he’ll be everything people say he is. Unfailingly polite, sweet. Humorous, if prone to a little grump now and again. Maybe he’s heard a few songs on the radio.

You take a step deeper.

Maybe he’ll be taller than you think. You know he’s handsome. Broad, strong. Greying curls, deep, sad eyes, full mouth and scruffy beard. He’d suited the cowboy get up in the cuts of Red Sky. Not that you ever thought about that when you’d crash in your hotel room at the end of a night. Or his hands. His thick fingers, or the bulge that strained against his low slung belt - 

You crouch, arms joined over your head. Feet anchored, pressure forced down as your legs extend and lift, arcing towards the water. 

The dive sweeps the remnants of sleep, worries, thoughts of Joel Miller away. The water fills the conches of your ears, softening sound. You close your eyes, lost to the peace of the dark. Coolness slips past, greases joints, cradles you gently. You kick and pull until your lungs strain, pushing one foot off the floor to pop back up to the surface, wiping chlorine from your eyes, your lips. 

You look back over the city, treading water, before turning to face the house. Much bigger than it needs to be - but pretty and green. There are plants everywhere - trees and flowers, grass to your right. Sweet honeysuckle on the breeze, musk of heated tarmac. 

You tip your head back, and your body follows. Sound muffled again, you blink your eyes open to look up into the blue. Endless. You search for birds, letting it calm you - how small you really are. How, no matter how many people gather in crowds, there are more who simply couldn’t give less of a fuck about who you are. 

It doesn’t matter if Joel Miller is one of them. 

You swim a few leisurely laps before pulling yourself out and wrapping a discarded towel around your shoulders, drying off just enough to come back inside the house. You’re brewing coffee when Adie emerges - freshly showered, shirt only buttoned halfway, sunglasses on.

You smirk at him, and he flips you off, wincing as he takes a seat at the island. He rests his head in his hands.

“Morning, rockstar,” you beam, pouring the drink into mugs, and he grunts in response. 

You scrub a rough hand over his buzzcut, and he grumbles out a low “Fuck off,” voice low and raspy.

You snicker, placing a steaming cup beneath his hanging head. He’s always suffered the worst with hangovers, unaided by the five years he has on the rest of you. 

“Come on, dude,” you grin, sliding onto the seat next to him, rivulets of pool water trickling down your back. “You’ve gotta look sprightly. You’re seeing George today, right?”

“He’s seen me worse,” he grumbles, taking a sip. He pulls his sunglasses down his nose just enough to give you a once over. “Aren’t you seeing Nick?”

You nod, blowing steam away from your cup.

“And Joel.”

“Joel,” Adie repeats, like he’s rolling the name around his mouth. “Still want to do disgusting things to him?”

You pull a face, knocking his shoulder, and he clutches his stomach with a groan.

“Ew, Adie.”

“Don’t move me,” he gasps, “I’m not at my best.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you snipe, eyeing him over your coffee. He glances back at you once he’s taken a couple of deep breaths.

“Well? Do you?”

You wrinkle your nose at him.

“Obviously, asshole.”

He shrugs, a slow smile stretching his mouth as he curls himself over the counter. You giggle, an embarrassed little sound, and he snorts into his coffee, choking, spraying it over the marble and your arm. You howl at him - Oh, gross, dude - and then you’re cackling together, something like excitement finally rising in your gut. This is your best friend, this is the dream. And this is part of the cycle - tour, crash, doubt, do it again. You swipe your hand down your arm, holding it out to wipe on his shirt. He catches your wrist before you can, twisting so the silk is as far away from you as possible.

“Absolutely not,” he says, grappling with you, “If I have to go upstairs to change, I will literally never make it back down.”

You give up easily, knocking your forehead against his shoulder, still giggling. He smells like Adie. He smells like home.

“You, on the other hand,” he continues, pushing your head back roughly with his palm, “Could definitely do with a shower. If only for the one and only Mr Mi-”

You flick his ear, and he crows at you -

“Bastard! I’ll find some other wanker to sing!”

- as you take off, dancing around the island, edging towards the stairs.

You put your hands on your hips, tongue in cheek.

“I knew you never liked me - y’know, you were always much more made for the attention -”

“Shut the fuck uuup,” he groans, rolling his eyes, “I love you forever, kisses, kisses, whatever the fuck. Shower,” he says, levelling a finger at you.

You bite your lip against your smile.

“Will you be gone when I’m ready?”

He nods, making to cross himself. You snort again.

“God willing.”

“Alright. Have fun. Give George my love. Make sure Cam’s got nothing in his teeth.”

He smiles, all mischief, all genuine affection.

“Will do, bud. You too. Knock ‘em dead.”

You blow him a kiss as you begin to ascend the steps, and he feigns a swing to bat it away.

“Save them for Joel!”

You flash him the finger, and his cackle is the answer to your ringing -

“Fuck you, Gilman!”

Her voice is sweet, gentle down the phone. It makes his chest tighten a little, nails dig into his palms. I miss you.

“Dad, you’ll be fine,” Sarah sighs, breath of air shooting through the line. If he closes his eyes, he can see her smile. Knowing, placating. Hundreds of miles away, back in Texas for college. Sick of LA ever since they moved here.

Sometimes, Joel reckons she had the right idea.

“You’ve worked with way more intimidating people. And from what Nick’s said, she seems really nice.”

He grunts, swiping a hand across his face, scratching at his beard. She’s right.

��I know. Jus’ want it to go well. Feel like I know nothin’ about it, just gon’ be sittin’ there -”

“Dad,” she groans, “Chill out. Pick something you remember about the lyrics. Say something about the drums or melodies. Get a selfie for Ellie. That’s all you need to do. Anything else is a bonus.”

Joel casts a glance over at Ellie - all limbs sat at the kitchen counter, munching on cereal, earbuds in. 

“Okay. Alright.”

There’s quiet for a moment, and he cringes at how well she can read him.

“Sure?” She checks. He clears his throat, nodding.

“Yeah. It’ll be fine.”

He can hear her smile again.

“It will. Right, I gotta go. Call me later, I want all the details.”

He chuckles, kneading his forehead.

“I will. I love you, baby girl.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The line cuts, three beeps, and he turns his attention back to Ellie. Takes a moment to watch her head bopping, her foot tapping, before waving an arm around until she takes an earbud out.

“Ready to go, kiddo?”

She swallows comically, giving him a thumbs up before leaping off her seat, crossing the kitchen to deposit her bowl in the sink. 

“Yup. Are you driving?” She asks, crossing back over to the foyer, eyeing the keys in the blue dish by the door.

“Sure am,” he grins, taking her bowl from the sink and stacking it in the dishwasher. She rolls her eyes, jamming a foot into a shoe. “Precious cargo.”

“Joel,” she groans, standing, “I am seventeen years old -”

“Ah,” he chuckles, clapping her on the back, opening the front door. “Still my kid. Let’s go.”

She’s watching him. 

He can see how her eyes keep flicking this way in his periphery, her smirk from the passenger seat as he taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, chewing his cheek.

“Are you nervous?” 

His eyes find hers, crinkled with a smile, warmth hidden behind the mirth. A depth of understanding that goes beyond her years.

He shrugs.

“Is it obvious?”

She looks out the windscreen, avoiding his eye, but he can still see the downwards tip of her mouth as she tries to hide her amusement.

“No.”

He grinds his jaw, feeling the beginnings of a flush crawl up his neck.

“You know,” Ellie says, turning to face him again, “She’s supposed to be really cool. Nice. They all are, even if you don’t meet the whole band. Forget about anything else you might’ve heard. And - she’s just a person. It doesn’t matter if you don’t sound like you know enough. It’s not your job.”

A single eyebrow climbs up his forehead.

“You heard that, huh?”

This time, she does smile.

“Relax,” she says, “And if you screw it up, at least get that selfie for me.”

He chuckles, eyes scanning back out over the road. Traffic, people, lights turning red to green.

“I’ll do my best.”

He doesn’t want to tell her how he stayed up late last night watching your interviews. Doesn’t want her to know how he watched the Wired Autocomplete video three times - because you’re funny. Smart and sharp, and private. He appreciates that. Knows you must have worked hard to reach a point where others have so many questions. 

Doesn’t want her to know how he then went on to watch live performances, songs recorded in front of thousands of people. Wishing he’d paid better attention when she’d shown him before. Covers sung in live lounges, radio appearances - one by Sabrina Carpenter that’s been everywhere lately, another about orange blossoms, before finding his favourite. Just you, strumming a guitar - something rare in all the other footage he’d watched. Lover, You Should've Come Over.

How he’d then tapped out your name on Instagram, scrolling back through weeks of posts. Photoshoots, festivals, tour, magazine covers. Stumbled across edits, something Sarah had taught him about. Videos, compilations of you that made his face heat with shame, his heart beat faster. He’d thought he was above it all - within the same stratosphere, unaffected by such things. But he’d been proven wrong. Taken in by your voice, your words. How you looked in that dress, the sliver of stomach exposed on stage. Your doe eyes in the dark of a bathtub, a shoot for Vanity Fair.

He’s really realised, perhaps for the first time, that Ellie is right. Ellie, who’d had your posters up in her room until a year ago. Ellie, who Sarah had taken to your gig at the Staples Center. Ellie, who’d been playing your music - loud - ever since she’d first found it. Music which, he knows now, he also loves.

You are cool - so fucking cool, so fucking beautiful. Accomplished, respected, talented. And now he’s noticed the colour of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the ease with which you perform. The way you move, how electric you are.

And he’s going to be so out of his depth.

He pulls up just down the street from her school, slow halt of tires on tarmac, watching the throng of students cross the road. A jumble of bags moving along the sidewalk, and when they part, he watches Ellie grin as Dina looks up from her phone to wave at the two of them. 

His daughter grabs the backpack by her feet before leaning over to kiss his cheek. He tries to smile.

“You’ve got this,” she whispers, a gentle hand on his arm. She smiles back as she pops open the door and scooches out. “Remember, selfie - and if Vic is there, tell her I’m single -”

“I’m right here,” Dina laughs from over her shoulder, giving Ellie a playful shove. Joel chuckles, returning her yelled Morning, Mr Miller. Ellie shrugs.

“Okay, tell her nothing. I just think she’s cool,” she winks, closing the door with a soft thud before throwing an arm around her girlfriend, chatting away to her as they disappear into the crowd of teenagers. 

Joel waits until he can no longer see them before checking his flush in the rearview mirror. When he’s satisfied he looks close to normal, not nervous, he takes a deep breath and pulls off. 

There’s someone he has to meet.

[remodelproj]

Bedroom setup with finished wood at headboard, to match the floating nightstands. Also matching sofa to bed frame.

[windser]

yet another drabble from my where the apple falls series pairing: caleb x reader 001 002 (not linear, just moments outside of the main story) a/n: i will use drabbles, to work on characterization and write scenes outside of the main story outline. for everyone's reference, this is a canon divergent. you'll notice some things from the man storyline but with some changes.

the golden light of late afternoon bathed your room, spilling across the bed and highlighting the half-packed suitcase in the center. the faint scent of lavender mingled with the crispness of freshly folded laundry as you moved about, tucking items into the suitcase with more precision than necessary. it was a distraction, a way to ignore the weight in your chest.

behind you, caleb sat on your bed, legs crossed and leaning comfortably against the headboard. his dark hair was slightly mussed, his shirt rumpled from lounging throughout your workload. he was flipping through a stack of old photos, his brow furrowing and softening with each memory brought to life. a glass of soda rested on your nightstand, the carbonation settled but still faintly fizzing.

“is this the famous apple soda recipe you’ve been working on?” caleb asked, gesturing to the glass with a lazy grin. “the one that’s supposed to be better than the store-bought stuff?”

you glanced over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your lips. “it’s a work in progress. you like it so far?”

“it’s great,” he said, his voice too casual to be entirely convincing.

you narrowed your eyes, abandoning the shirt in your hands to face him fully. “liar. you haven’t even finished it.”

caleb held up his hands in mock surrender, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “caught me. it’s good, i promise. i’m just savoring it.”

“savoring it?” you echoed, crossing your arms. “it’s soda, caleb. not wine.”

he laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and picked up the glass. “fine, if you’re going to be like that…”

before you could stop him, he tipped the glass back and drained the entire thing in one go. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the motion drawing your attention for a fleeting moment. when he finished, he set the empty glass down and made a face.

“what?” you asked, suddenly defensive. “too sweet? too flat? be honest.”

caleb clutched his stomach dramatically before letting out a loud, unapologetic burp.

you groaned, unimpressed. “very mature.”

he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “perfect. it’s perfect.”

“yeah, sure,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned back to your packing. “you just ruined the moment.”

“come on,” he said, still grinning as he leaned back against the headboard. “i mean it. it’s good. you’re going to make me write you a thank-you card for that recipe.”

you snorted, folding another shirt. “we’ll see.”

his laughter faded into a contented hum as he watched you work, the moment settling into a comfortable silence. you felt his gaze lingering, but you didn’t look back. you didn’t have to. caleb had always been like this—watchful, present, a steady presence in your life.

“did you ever think about going to college in sky haven?” caleb asked suddenly, his voice quieter now. “they’ve got some great astronomy programs up there. you’d love it.”

you paused, his words catching you off guard. “sky haven?”

he shrugged, playing with the corner of a photo. “you’ve always loved the stars. wouldn’t it be cool to study them from the city flying beneath them ?”

you bit your lip, thinking back to the countless nights you’d spent stargazing together in the backyard. “it’s tempting,” you admitted, turning back to your packing. “but i like the school i picked. i want to spread my wings, you know? you got to, and now it’s my turn.”

caleb frowned slightly. “i wasn’t that far away.”

you caught the edge in his tone but chose not to acknowledge it. “you are in a floating city, caleb.”

“it’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone petulant.

“it is,” you insisted. “and it’s good for us to… grow.”

his brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue. instead, he leaned back against the headboard, watching you fold another shirt. “just promise not to grow up too fast, pip-squeak.”

you smiled at that, a warmth spreading in your chest. “i promise.”

for a while, the silence between you felt easy, the kind of quiet that came naturally after years of companionship. but then caleb broke it, his voice intentionally lighter this time.

“so… you’ve got everything packed then?” he asked, nodding toward your suitcase. “no stowaways? no secrets?”

you smirked, shooting him a look. “what are you getting at?”

“oh, nothing,” he said innocently, though his grin betrayed him. “just wondering if there’s anything you’ve been keeping from me. like… oh, i don’t know, boys.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “boys?”

“yeah. you know, the kind who hang around, pretending to care about your star charts just to get your attention.” he smirked, his tone teasing but his gaze sharp. “you haven’t been entertaining anyone while i’ve been gone, have you?”

“caleb,” you said, rolling your eyes. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“is that a yes?” he pressed, leaning forward slightly.

“it’s a ‘none of your business,’” you shot back, folding another shirt.

his grin widened, but there was a new edge to it. “come on. you can tell me. have you kissed anyone?”

you froze for half a second, caught off guard. “what?”

“you heard me,” he said, sitting up straighter now. “have you?”

your laugh came out awkward, an attempt to brush off the sudden shift in tone. “what kind of question is that?”

“a simple one,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “yes or no?”

“why does it matter?” you asked, turning away to place a sweater in your suitcase. “it’s not a big deal.”

“it is to me,” he said quietly.

something in his tone made your stomach twist, and you tried to shake it off. “no, caleb,” you said, your voice light but firm. “i haven’t kissed anyone. happy?”

he didn’t respond, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found him watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. before you could say anything, he stood, his movements slow and deliberate as he closed the distance between you.

“are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low.

the air felt heavy, the warmth in the room suddenly stifling. you swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. “of course, i’m sure. why would i lie about that?”

he was close now, too close, his presence overwhelming as he reached out to gently grip your chin. “look at me.”

your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze, his dark eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t name. for a moment, you felt like you were frozen in place, the weight of his intensity pinning you there.

“i…” you hesitated, your thoughts a tangled mess. “fine. if it’ll get you to stop worrying…”

before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. it was fleeting, almost clumsy, but it was enough to leave your heart racing. “there,” you said, stepping back and forcing a smile. “now you have nothing to worry about. virtue officially protected.”

caleb blinked, stunned for a moment. then a slow, crooked smile spread across his face, one that made your chest tighten. he reached out, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were kids. “pipsqueak,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. "think you're so smart."

your cheeks flushed, the old nickname seeming misplaced in the moment. “you have to stop calling me that.,” you muttered, swatting his hand away.

“you’ve outgrown a lot of things,” he said idly, his gaze lingering on you. “guess i’ll have to come up with something new.”

you turned back to your packing, your hands trembling slightly as you folded another shirt. behind you, caleb chuckled softly, the sound light but carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.

the room settled into silence once more, but the air between you felt different now—heavier, charged with something unspoken. and as much as you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted, irreversibly.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 5

word count: 4.7k

hey lovies! thank you for the support already shown on this story. i'll try to pick up the pace soon, i don't plan on making it too much of a slow burn. feel free to send messages on plot ideas, i'd love to incorporate what the people want. thanks again, enjoy!!

------------------------------------

Harry fell onto his back, huffing air out. His eyes closed shut as he swallowed the thick air around them. They only unscrewed once Kirsten's voice rang through. "That was... wow," she laughed and turned her head to look over at Harry. 

He swallowed again and turned his head to look over at her. "Yeah," He breathed, pushing himself up off the bed. His back felt sticky, a warm hot flashing over before the cold wind from the night whisked into his room and collided with their skin. "Let me just, uh," Harry pointed to the bathroom, signaling he was going to go clean up and bring her a towel as well. 

The man's feet carried him to the cold tile of his restroom where the door clicked shut behind him. Leaning on the counter, he looked up to find his wild gaze looking right back at him. Normally, this routine wasn't anything out of the ordinary for Harry. He would hook up with women, clean them up, and off they go. What he didn't anticipate was the lingering feeling of guilt that came after, which flooded his chest. Even if he was nothing to Aspen and vice versa, that was her friend he had just slept with after ignoring her in her own home. He shook the thought out of his head as if it were too loud and leaking sound while suds formed between his scrubbing hands. 

The cold water of the tap absorbed into the rag in his hands so he could wring out the material and wipe the sweat off his chest and neck. Sure, his night with Kirsten was good. Probably leaning on one of the better times as of recent. He could only hope his neighbors would forgive him for the stereotypical headboard banging against the wall.

A heavy sigh floated past his lips after he slipped a shirt over his muscular frame to go with his now clothed bottom half. He grabbed a fresh towel to bring back to Kirsten, squeezing out the excess water.

Harry leaned against the doorframe, holding the towel loosely in his hands as he took in the sight of Kirsten pulling on her boots. The dim light from the nightstand lamp cast a soft glow over her face, accentuating the faint smirk she wore as she brushed her hair back into place. Her confidence was palpable, a trait that had drawn him in earlier, but now it only amplified the strange hollowness settling in his chest.

"I didn't realize you'd be grabbing me one, too," she said with a laugh, gesturing toward the towel he held. "I'm just so used to, well, you know." She gave a small shrug, her tone light, casual, as if she were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "Tonight was fun. Really fun."

Harry gave a tight nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wasn't one for pillow talk, and Kirsten's carefree attitude made it clear she wasn't expecting it either. Still, there was something about the way she spoke that made him feel like a cog in some larger, predictable machine—a pattern he didn't particularly enjoy repeating tonight.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice low. He stepped forward, placing the towel neatly on the bed beside her before retreating slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. The air between them was oddly charged, a mix of satisfaction and finality that didn't sit well with him.

Kirsten stood, adjusting her jacket before slinging her bag over her shoulder. "You're quiet, aren't you?" she teased, her tone playful as she moved toward the door.

"Depends on the company," Harry replied coolly, reiterating something along the lines of what he said earlier into the night, his voice even but distant. He didn't mean it as a jab, but it came out sharper than he intended.

Kirsten paused, raising an eyebrow as she looked back at him. For a moment, her confident façade faltered, her expression softening just slightly. "Well, you were good company tonight. Even if you won't admit it," she said with a grin, turning the doorknob. "See you around, Styles."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Harry alone in the dimly lit room. He ran a hand through his curls, letting out a heavy breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The silence felt heavier now, pressing against his chest as he sat on the edge of the bed.

The faint scent of Kirsten's perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the musk of sweat and the crisp night breeze filtering through the open window. His gaze fell to the towel on the bed, the one she hadn't needed, and the guilt that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind finally spilled over.

Aspen's face flashed in his mind unbidden, the soft smile she'd worn when she greeted Isobel earlier in the night, the way her voice had wavered when she muttered her quiet hello. She'd seemed so small, so out of place, like she didn't quite belong in her own home with him there. Harry's jaw tightened as he thought of the way she'd disappeared down the hall, her excuse rushed and shaky.

And now, he'd just slept with her friend.

It wasn't like he owed her anything, Harry reminded himself, rubbing a hand over his face. He barely knew Aspen, and she barely knew him. But that didn't stop the uncomfortable twist in his gut, the nagging feeling that he'd crossed some invisible line.

He grabbed the beer bottle from his nightstand, the condensation slick against his fingers as he took a long swig. The alcohol burned down his throat, dulling the edges of his thoughts but failing to erase them entirely. He skimmed around the sex-musked room and his eyes locked on the black lace peeking out on the floor at the end of his bed. 

"Shit," he mumbled with a groan. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Meanwhile, Aspen lay awake in her room, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as she tried to will herself to sleep. She could still hear faint murmurs of conversation from the living room, the occasional burst of laughter filtering through the walls. She wondered if Kirsten was still there, if Harry was still there.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of them together, though she didn't understand why. It wasn't like she and Harry were friends. He'd made it clear he didn't think much of her, and she'd done her best to brush off his cold demeanor. Still, the idea of him and Kirsten sitting so close, laughing and talking like they were the only two people in the room, sent a pang of something she couldn't quite name through her chest.

She turned onto her side, clutching her pillow tightly. You're being ridiculous, she told herself firmly. Harry was just a guy. A guy who had barely spared her a second glance.

But the thought of seeing him, or worse, seeing him with Kirsten, made her stomach churn.

In the stillness of her room, Aspen closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, the soft rise and fall of her chest. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that things had shifted tonight, though she couldn't say exactly how.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next morning came just as fast as it went. A trend of feeling that seemed to happen a lot lately, Aspen noted. Her body tossed itself in its half asleep state to her left side, jumping back a bit when she saw the mess of blonde hair. She sighed and closed her eyes, tucking herself in a ball under the covers. Isobel must have climbed into bed with her after Zayn went home, feeling bad about what Aspen came home to. 

Isobel followed with a groan, turning to her right side to now face Aspen who looked sound asleep but was very much awake. Her roommate knew her too well, once Aspen was awake, she was awake for good. There was no going back to bed for her. It was a pain in the ass sometimes, though. 

"Morning, sunshine," Isobel spoke up, the sleep heavy in her voice. She laughed at the sound of her grunting voice. The sound bounced off the walls of Aspens bedroom. In response, the girl only hummed and peeked her eyes open to look at her blonde haired friend. Eventually, her arms slid out the covers to stretch her limbs. "Good morning, Iz. Welcome to my bed," Aspen squeaked, shriveling back into the warmth of her comforter. 

Their breaths filled the air along with the small whistle of wind that creeped through the cracked window. They both laid on their backs now, staring at the ceiling that Aspen decorated with simple strings of fairy lights, which were currently off. She only turned them on when she spent days or nights cuddled in bed with a book or a movie. It added to the ambience, Aspen would always tell Isobel after forcing her to set them up for her. 

"I didn't know Harry was going to come," Isobel started, guilt swallowing her voice. She would have never let him in if she had known, but of course she didn't want to be rude and slam the door after Zayn. She would next time, she promised herself. 

Aspen stayed quiet with her eyes on the lights as they suddenly became interesting enough to individually count the micro bulbs. 

"I'm sorry, Asp." 

It was then that she looked over at Isobel with a forgiving look. "It's okay, I know. Plus," she shrugged and looked back to the ceiling, "it's not a big deal. We spoke what, once? He was bored of his friends and you were with Zayn and no one else seemed to be alone besides me—," Aspen sucked in a breath. Trying to change the topic, she surfaced the idea of taking that camping get away soon. 

They were finally on break and Isobel would drag Zayn along, to be the manly man, as well as Kirsten and maybe another friend from class. They kept their group small and quiet, and Aspen wasn't much for socializing anyways. It was a good time for them to get out of the apartment anyways. Aspen figured some time out in nature would be good. 

"What if we went this week? We could leave on Sunday, and head back Thursday morning. It shouldn't be too hard to find an RV to take out there. We'd sleep in tents, duh," Isobel rolled over to her side and propped on her elbow, "but we can drive it there. Well, Zayn can. You and I, we'll take on keeping the group alive with food. How's that sound?" 

Aspen cracked a smile. It did sound nice. She could read, possibly finish the one she was on now and start up another. And she could read by the lake! Something about the quiet sounds mixed with the flow of running water and just nature brought her peace. She didn't mind cooking, either. It was something she liked to do for herself and Isobel anyways, and it shouldn't be hard to keep three women and a man alive for that short time. 

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Her voice came out soft. "I'll just have to let Marion know, but I think it sounds nice," she said again.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Across town, Harry sat hunched over the work computer at the shop, his brow furrowed as he scrolled through the calendar of bookings. For the first time in what felt like months, his personal schedule was wide open for the coming week. It seemed like everyone was slowing down for the holidays. Even Niall, who typically had back-to-back clients, only had a few appointments scheduled.

Harry closed the calendar tab with a click, leaning back in the chair. He stretched his arms over his head, the ink on his forearms catching the dull light of the shop. “Zayn, you’ve got a two-thirty coming in,” he called over his shoulder, his voice gruff.

Zayn, who was cleaning his equipment nearby, gave a thumbs-up. “Got it. You okay, mate? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

Harry grunted in response, not bothering to elaborate. His mind had been on a frustrating loop since last night. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more-- the nagging guilt over sleeping with Kirsten or the fact that Aspen’s face had been haunting his thoughts ever since. She was shy, reserved, almost invisible most of the time, yet she’d managed to crawl under his skin in a way he couldn’t shake. How could one simple conversation in one night mess him up this bad?

Zayn watched Harry carefully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You sure? You’ve got that ‘brooding asshole’ look going strong today,” he teased.

Harry shot him a glare, though it lacked his usual bite. “Piss off, Z.”

Zayn laughed, shaking his head as he went back to his prep. “Alright, man, but if you wanna talk about whatever—or whoever—is eating at you, I’m here.”

Harry didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed his sketchbook and sank into the leather chair by the window, letting the sound of the shop fade into the background as he stared out at the street. The thought of disappearing for a few days—getting out of town and away from the mess in his head— sounded better by the minute.

The buzzing of a tattoo gun filled the shop, a familiar background noise that usually put Harry at ease. Today, though, it only made his shoulders feel tighter. He sat in the corner by the window, sketchbook balanced on his knee as he absently doodled. His mind wasn’t on the designs, though—it kept flickering back to last night. Specifically, to Kirsten, her easy laugh, and the way her inked skin had felt under his fingertips. And then, inevitably, his thoughts veered to Aspen—her quiet presence at the party and the way she’d all but fled the moment she’d seen him with Kirsten.

“You’re in a mood,” Zayn announced, his voice cutting through the noise. He leaned against the doorway to the back room, arms crossed, a knowing grin on his face. “More than usual, I mean.”

Harry didn’t look up from his sketchbook. “What do you want, Zayn?”

Zayn ignored the gruffness in his tone and sauntered over, plopping down on the couch across from him. “Nothing. Just wondering what—or who—has you looking like you’ve been chewing on nails all morning.”

Harry’s pencil paused mid-sketch, his grip tightening slightly. “Not in the mood, mate.”

“Not in the mood? Come on, Harry. You’re the one who had a bit of fun last night,” Zayn said, his grin widening. “Kirsten seemed... pleased. You two looked cozy.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he flipped the page in his sketchbook, pretending to focus on a new design. “Drop it.”

But Zayn wasn’t one to let things go, especially when he sensed there was more to the story. “What’s the problem? She’s hot, clearly into you, and it’s not like you’re the commitment type.”

Harry finally glanced up, his green eyes narrowing in warning. “I said drop it.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Zayn held up his hands, feigning surrender. “No need to get your knickers in a twist. Just saying, it’s not like anyone’s keeping score. Unless...” His smirk returned, devilish now. “You’re not thinking about Aspen, are you?”

The way Harry’s jaw clenched gave him away, even as he remained silent.

Zayn let out a low whistle. “Holy shit. You are, aren’t you?” He leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “That’s what this is about. You’ve got a thing for Aspen.”

“I don’t have a thing for anyone,” Harry snapped, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the noise of the shop.

At that moment, Niall popped his head in from the back, a mischievous grin already in place. “What’s this about Aspen?”

Zayn immediately gestured for Niall to join them. “Oh, you’re gonna want to hear this. Our boy Harry’s all tangled up because he slept with Kirsten but can’t stop thinking about her shy little roommate.”

Harry groaned, running a hand through his curls as Niall grabbed a chair and sat down, laughing. “Kirsten and Harry, huh? Didn’t see that coming. Thought you’d sworn off dating anyone remotely connected to your social circle, mate.”

“It’s not dating,” Harry growled.

“Right, right. Just some fun,” Niall teased, winking. “So, what’s the issue, then? Kirsten’s gorgeous, and Aspen...” He trailed off, glancing at Harry with a sly grin. “She’s not your usual type, but I get it. There’s something about her, huh? Quiet ones are always full of surprises.”

“Both of you can piss off,” Harry muttered, closing his sketchbook with more force than necessary.

Zayn and Niall exchanged amused glances before Zayn pressed on. “Seriously, though. What’s the deal? You’ve barely said two words to Aspen since the party, and now you’re brooding like you’ve got a guilty conscience. What’s going on in that curly head of yours?”

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. He hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. Finally, he muttered, “It’s not guilt.”

“Then what is it?” Niall asked, genuinely curious now.

Harry’s head snapped up, his green eyes darkening as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The sharp shift in his posture was like a physical barrier, warning them not to push further. His jaw tightened, and his lips curled into a dismissive smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you two serious?” he scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “Aspen? She’s dull as hell. Barely says two words in a room and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else when people are around. Boring doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Zayn and Niall blinked, their surprise at Harry’s sudden venom showing plainly on their faces.

“And Kirsten?” Harry continued, his tone biting as he picked up his pencil again, spinning it idly between his fingers. “Now that’s a woman. Confident, funny, knows how to hold a conversation. Not to mention she’s actually hot. Inked up and everything. You think I’d waste time on someone like Aspen when I could have that?” He scoffed again, shaking his head. “Please.”

Zayn frowned, exchanging a glance with Niall. “Jesus, mate. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Harsh?” Harry let out a humorless laugh, tapping his pencil on the sketchbook. “You’re the ones acting like I’ve got some secret crush on her. I’m just setting the record straight.”

But even as the words left his mouth, Harry’s chest tightened. He knew he sounded cruel— he’d meant to sound cruel. It was the only way to shut them up, to throw them off the scent of whatever confusing mess was brewing inside him. The truth was, every insult felt like a lie he was spitting through gritted teeth. Aspen wasn’t boring; she was thoughtful and observant, noticing things others missed. She wasn’t plain; her quiet confidence was magnetic in ways he couldn’t explain.

He pushed those thoughts down, hard, shoving them into a corner of his mind where they couldn’t fester. He needed Zayn and Niall to buy this version of him, the version that didn’t care, that didn’t even see Aspen.

Niall narrowed his eyes, studying him with more suspicion than Harry liked. “Funny, considering you barely took your eyes off her at the party.”

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically, leaning forward and grabbing his sketchbook to scribble something random. “I wasn’t looking at her, you idiot. I was just bored out of my mind. Not much else to focus on when the rest of you are busy playing happy couples.”

“Uh-huh,” Zayn said, unconvinced.

“Believe whatever you want,” Harry muttered, waving them off dismissively. “I don’t care.”

But he did care. Every word he’d said felt like a betrayal, not just to Aspen but to himself. Still, he buried the guilt, keeping his expression carefully blank as he returned to his sketch.

“Fine,” Zayn finally said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “If you say you’re not into her, I’ll drop it. But don’t expect us to believe you when you’re acting this defensive.”

Harry didn’t respond, focusing intently on the sketchbook as if the world around him had ceased to exist.

Niall snorted as he followed Zayn toward the back. “For a guy who doesn’t care, you’re awfully prickly about it.”

As their voices faded, Harry let out a long breath, his pencil still in hand. He stared blankly at the page, the lines he’d been drawing turning into nothing more than aimless scribbles.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his curls. Lying about Aspen hadn’t just gotten them off his back— it had left him feeling worse. But he’d deal with that later. Right now, the only thing he could do was keep up the façade.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It was a couple of hours later when Harry found himself at Zayn’s house, lounging in the kitchen while Zayn leaned against the counter, his phone pressed to his ear. Harry had come over because there wasn’t much else to do. The shop had been slow, and his own apartment felt too quiet, his thoughts dangerously close to places he didn’t want to revisit. Being around Zayn wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being alone with his own mind.

Zayn’s voice was light and teasing as he spoke to Isobel, pacing the kitchen in socked feet. Harry half-listened while he rummaged through the cabinets, searching for something edible. Zayn never kept anything decent stocked; it was always random snacks or leftovers that had been in the fridge long past their prime.

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Honestly, it’ll be nice to get out for a bit," Zayn said into the phone, his tone dripping with the kind of affection that Harry couldn’t help but find mildly irritating. “Yeah, Kirsten said she’s in. Oh, and Niall—wait, hang on, let me ask him.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Zayn, raising a skeptical brow. “Niall can’t go,” he muttered, pulling open another cabinet. “He’s got appointments during the dates you’re planning. Told him myself this morning.”

Zayn paused, his brow furrowing as he digested that information. “Oh, yeah, right. I forgot. Thanks, mate.” He returned his attention to the phone. “Isobel, scratch Niall. He’s booked solid that week. But hey, I can bring Harry.”

At Zayn’s words, Harry froze. His hand, which had been reaching for a box of stale-looking crackers, hovered mid-air. He turned slowly, fixing Zayn with a glare that could have set the room on fire.

“Absolutely not,” Harry said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Zayn, ever the optimist when it came to wearing people down, ignored him. “Yeah, he’s free all week. It’d be good for him to get out. He’s been a right grump lately.”

“I said no,” Harry repeated, his voice louder this time. He slammed the cabinet shut for emphasis, the sound making Zayn wince slightly.

Isobel’s laugh was light but hesitant as it floated through the phone. “Actually, Zayn… I don’t know if that’s such a great idea. You know how Aspen feels. It might be… uncomfortable for her, especially with everything that’s happened.”

Zayn paused for a beat, glancing at Harry, who was rifling through the fridge with an irritated expression. His grin didn’t falter, though, as he leaned against the counter. “Aspen’s fine,” he said breezily, dismissing Isobel’s concern as if it were a passing thought. “She’s a grown woman. It’s not like Harry’s gonna be glued to her side the whole trip.”

Isobel sighed audibly on the other end. “I’m serious, Zayn. If he’s there, she might—”

“Babe,” Zayn cut her off with a playful tone, “you’re overthinking it. It’ll be fine. More than fine, actually. The more the merrier, right? Don’t stress, love. I’ll handle it.” Without waiting for her to protest further, Zayn quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, I’ll bring the beer. Do we need more marshmallows for the campfire?”

Isobel exhaled sharply, clearly not convinced, but she let it go with a muttered, “You’re impossible.”

“Love you too,” Zayn said cheekily before ending the call and shoving his phone into his pocket. Turning to Harry, he adopted the same easy grin.

“Good news, mate. Isobel says the more the merrier. You’re officially invited.”

Harry turned away from the fridge, a scowl tugging at his lips as he stared Zayn down. “I already told you, I’m not going.”

Zayn ignored his tone entirely, moving to grab a bag of chips from the pantry. “Come on, man. Campfires, hiking, fishing, a couple of beers by the lake… It’ll do you some good to get out. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. He wasn't necessarily wrong, but he knew the pang of guilt would only nestle itself further, especially after what he said earlier in the shop. “Hard no,” he said flatly, though there was a flicker of doubt in his tone.

Zayn shrugged, popping a chip into his mouth. “Suit yourself. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re stuck in your cave all week, miserable as always.”

Harry didn’t bother responding, his jaw tightening as he turned his attention back to the fridge. Zayn might have brushed it off, but Harry couldn’t shake the unease that crept into his chest. If Zayn’s nonchalant attitude was an act, it wasn’t a very good one.

The thought of being near Aspen, even with a group of people, left him on edge. He didn’t want to admit how much she lingered in the back of his mind, how her absence in a room felt louder than anyone else’s presence. But the idea of facing her—and whatever awkwardness or tension would inevitably follow—was enough to make his stomach turn.

Still, as Zayn rambled on about tents and supplies, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if there was some part of him that didn’t want to say no. Some part that wanted to see her, even if it was only from a distance. 

Harry's mind traced back to his empty week. Niall had a busy week outside of work, so he couldn't bother him. Harry did well alone. It wasn't like he needed the company of other people, it was just the lingering thought of a retreat. Plus, he heard Zayn mutter back and forth with Isobel on the phone, a conversation long drowned into the background noise of Harrys thoughts, about Kirsten going. Their night at Isobel's wasn't so bad, she wasn't that hard to talk to. Especially with alcohol involved, Harry was sure he would slouch a bit into conversation.

Plus, it wasn't like the chances of seeing Aspen were high, anyways. He would climb into the passenger seat, assuming the girls would be in the back, and accompany Zayn in front of the curtain. And when they would arrive, he'd make his way to a far corner with his tent and keep to himself and his journal. His heavy shoulders slouched while his green eyes flickered back to Zayn; who was still on the phone. 

Surely, it couldn't be that bad. Harry would keep to Harry and Aspen would keep to Aspen and, well, her books. 

"I'll go."

"What?" Zayn grinned, a smug one at that. He knew that Harry would give in. The man always cooped himself in his own space and his apartment surely wasn't that nice. He could do the same, just by the campfire. Plus, Zayn didn't want to be the only guy there. His fear of snakes and ground critters ran deep in his bones and Harry... well. Harry was sure to do a good ole' neck stomp and carry on about his day.

"You heard me," Harry gruffed. "If I have to say it again, I'm not going. Piss off."

"Harry, this is my ho--."

"I said piss off," He grumbled again, the front door slamming shut as he left.

It wouldn't be so bad. It couldn't be so bad. Harry's phone chimed only two minutes later.

Zayn: Vas happeninnnn!!

Harry rolled his eyes, not answering. So when Harry's response didn't come through for a few seconds, another text chimed on his phone. 

Zayn: Vodka or tequila ? Running 2 the store soon we leave tomorrow morning

Zayn: 9 am meet here

What a stupid question. Weren't they supposed to be friends? As if it was on cue with the curly headed mans thoughts, Zayn texted again.

Zayn: Nvm , gunna grab both Lol!

Harry rubbed a hand over his face with his eyes closed, head leaned back into the seat of his car. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Guess he should get to packing.

[harmonyrae]

A Sovereign is Born

Synopsis: A story he never thought he'd tell, his own. How did he become the Abysm Sovereign, a monster to so many? Who was he before?

My submission for the Where Drakeshadows Fall Fan Art Contest

Content Warnings: Spoilers for Sylus's Myth, Grief, Death of Loved One, Physical Pain (mentions of the horn/tail transformation), Sylus POV

Word Count: 5.9k

It’s not unusual for Sylus to sit up and read for an hour or so after waking up. He enjoyed waking up slowly and starting his day, or rather his night, challenging his mind. Leaning against his headboard, he propped his book up on his knee while he sipped his tea. However, the peace and quiet was short-lived. 

“That’s it! I can’t do it anymore!”

Her voice echoed down the hallway. A smirk spread across Sylus’s lips as he listened to her footsteps making their way to his bedroom door. The door swung open, but Sylus kept his eyes glued to the book before him. He felt the bed shift heavily beside him. He looked over to see she had face planted right into the plush black comforter. Her hair was tossed into a messy bun, her usual Hunters gear replaced with a pair of red sweatpants and a t-shirt three sizes too big. Sylus’s smirk turned into a full blown smile.

“Is that my shirt?” 

She lifted her head and blew a strand of hair away from her nose, completely ignoring his question. 

“I haven’t been able to sleep for the past 2 nights. I’m - I don’t know what to do…”

“So you came here?”

“I’ve tried everything - warm milk, ocean sounds, meditation, no caffeine or screen time after I get home from work, melatonin gummies. Nothing has worked. So yes, I came here.”

She dropped her face back onto the comforter. Sylus tilted his head, clearly enjoying seeing his kitten in such a desperate state that she came to him for help. As various ideas floated through his mind, one stuck with him.

“Do you know why I love reading so much?”

“Hmm?” She didn’t bother to lift her head to respond. Sylus could tell she was past her breaking point. He had already decided he would do everything he could to help her relax and fall asleep tonight.

“Stories take me to far away places or back in time. That escape, no matter how brief, eases my mind. Stories speak to the soul.”

She lifted her head and looked at Sylus with wide eyes.

“Tell me a story!”

Sylus chuckled. She sat up on her knees and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Sylus, I never beg. But… please? Please tell me a story?”

“On one condition.”

She scooted closer to him, seeming to agree without knowing the terms.

“You tuck yourself into this bed and call out of work tomorrow. You need more than just one night to recover from insomnia.”

“Sylus! I’m not- I’m…”

“Sweetie, I just woke up, remember? You’ll have the bed to yourself all night.”

“Oh… uhm…” She sighed heavily. “Deal.”

She rolled off the bed and kicked off her slippers. Peeling the comforter back, she slid between the sheets and let out a contented sigh as she settled in. Turning on her side to look at him, she smiled. “Story time!”

Sylus closed his book and set it on his nightstand. He pressed his lips thinking about the story he was going to tell. Would it be too much for her? Would it be too sad? He cleared his throat in an attempt to smother the anxiety.

“Are you sure my story will interest you? It’s not a happy story. Quite sad actually. And it involves dragons.”

“Ooh dragons! Yes, tell me, tell me!” 

Her excitement made his heart swell. His nerves, much less troublesome. 

“I just have to decide what to name the main character.”

“Sylus.”

“Yes?”

“No, name them Sylus!”

“You want me to name the main character after myself?”

“Why not? It’ll be like you’re talking in third person.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose and forced a smile. The story he was about to tell just became infinitely more challenging. But he nodded.

“Okay, they’ll be named Sylus then.”

He crossed his arms and braced himself, prepared to tell a story he had long ago promised to never tell a soul.

“In a time before humans, dragons occupied the land. And before Sylus - well, dragon Sylus that is -  was born, a great war was being fought between clans. His father was fighting on the front lines, while his mother protected her egg. She never left her nest, even as news from the front took a turn, she focused on taking care of her unhatched child.”

She smiled and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Sinking deeper into the plush mattress.

“Sadly, Sylus never got to meet his father. When word reached his mother, she immediately flew to the front. Leaving her egg to search for her lover to say a final goodbye. The war had already ended and the spring flowers had started to bloom when she arrived. She couldn’t find him, all she could do was roar into the night sky, mourning her lost love. And as quickly as she flew to that datura covered field, she returned to her child. The egg showed the first signs of cracking during the days she was away. She was terrified that leaving the way she did would mean her child wouldn’t survive.”

“But they did.” She whispered.

“Yes, they did. When the egg broke open, she was shocked to see a creature unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It didn’t look like a dragon. Pale skin, tufts of white hair.”

He winked at her and she giggled in response. Her eyes softened as her imagination took over.

“She was shunned by many mothers in the clan. They believed she had been cursed for leaving the egg the way she did. But she didn’t believe that, not for a moment. She saw him as a blessing. Even if she didn’t understand why he was so different. She would make a pilgrimage to the field every spring to pay respect. Eventually, Sylus wanted to go with her. And here, kitten, is where the story really begins.”

Sylus clung to his mother as she flew. Her ebony scales shimmered in the sunlight. Her crimson wings outstretched, steady and fluttering gently in the wind. Spring had started early this year, the air was warm and the floral scent washed over her, bringing tears to her ruby eyes. 

“Will I ever be able to fly?”

His small voice broke as asked. He’d been asking the same question for years. The only dragon-like features that he had were his talons and scales, which had slowly started to spread across his arms in spare patches, chest and up his neck when he had turned 5. There’ve been no new developments in the past 5 years. He still had no horns or tail, and of course, no wings. 

“I hope so. But remember what I told you?”

Sylus collapsed onto his mother, his arms swayed against her neck as his face pressed into her back. She felt the chill of a tear run over her scales. She flapped her wings hard, pushing them higher into the sky above the clouds. Sylus squealed in response.

“Mother!”

She smiled, she could hear the excitement in his voice. She flew higher and higher until the clouds lay beneath them like a fluffy meadow. 

“Stand up.”

Sylus didn’t hesitate. He dug his claws into her scales, anchoring himself before he placed his feet firmly on her back. She leveled out and let her wings spread wide to allow them to glide. He removed his claws and eventually let go completely. She looked over her shoulder to see his arms outstretched and his face painted with a smile. The fabric of his tunic billowed in the breeze, the arms cut loose to imitate wings.

“Better?”

Sylus giggled and flapped his arms, feeling the fabric flutter.

“Better.”

“We’re almost there, you think you can hold on for a dive?”

He looked down at his mother with wide eyes, his sharp teeth on full display as he smiled. He nodded and dropped to his knees to cling to his mother ready for the descent. She tucked in her wings and angled her nose downward, diving through the clouds and straight for the ground. Sylus laughed and shouted as wind nearly deafened them and the ground grew closer. His mother finally flung her wings out and the updraft pushed them upwards before slowly descending to the field.

Sylus slid down his mothers wing and rolled onto the ground. He lay on his back, savoring the feeling of solid ground beneath him. As much as he loved flying, it made him appreciate the safety of the ground. He rolled over on his stomach and watched his mother walk into the field. She settled at the top of a hill and wrapped her wings around herself before lowering her head to the ground. Sylus frowned. The excitement of the flight momentarily made him forget the purpose of the trip.

Sylus jogged up the hill to his mother. He sat down next to her head, which was nearly three sizes larger than he was. If he was a normal dragon he might be half her size by now, but whatever “cursed” him made sure he would always be tiny in comparison to his kin. He shoved those thoughts away for now, leaning against his mother and using the ends of his tunic to dry her tears. It was always a hard trip, his mother mourned the loss of his father as if it was only yesterday she lost him. 

“Tell me the story.” Sylus nudged his mother. She let out a soft growl in response. 

“Sylus…”

“Come on, you know it helps. Tell me!”

She sighed, her breath blowing the petals off of hundreds of flowers that sat before her. 

“When I first met your father, he was just a young dragon learning how to fly. I was, of course, performing better than he was in class. He would antagonize me during class, but during the journey home he would stay close to me, telling me stories about far away cities he had heard of and wished to see. When we came of age, he never gave any indication he liked me in any way. But when our first mating season began, he approached me and I was rather shocked.”

“He had a crush on you and you didn’t even know it. Embarrassing.”

“For me or for him? Being direct is always better. Don’t be embarrassed about what you desire.”

Sylus scrunched his nose, but nodded before settling back against his mother.

“It was rather impressive at first, but I think he got too cocky. He tripped over his tail and rammed his nose into a boulder. Everyone laughed and my friends urged me to ignore him, a better mate would present themselves. But –”

“But you didn’t want another mate, you wanted him!’ Sylus finished for her.

“I did. I wanted your father. Everyone thought I was crazy and mocked me for choosing a weak mate. But in just a few months he –”

“He proved himself to be the fiercest warrior and became the commander of all warriors in our clan!”

“You know the story better than I do it seems.” She laughed. “He wasn’t just strong, he was brave. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him. I loved him dearly and miss him everyday.”

She nudged Sylus with her snout. 

“And you remind me of him.”

“But I’m not even a real dragon. And I’ll never be a warrior.”

“You are stronger than you know. Being different doesn't make you weak and it doesn’t mean you can’t be a warrior. You have a purpose Sylus. I know it.”

Sylus stared at her, tears filling his eyes. 

“I just want to be like you. Like father.” 

“And you are. You don’t have to look like us to share our heart. Our strength.” 

Sylus never stopped wanting to look like a normal dragon, but over the years he started embracing his natural strength. Stubborn like his mother and cunning like his father, he proved himself to be a respected and valued member of the clan.

Sylus was 16 when the humans came. Tension in the clans grew as new inhabitants moved closer to their valley. And then they invaded. Clan after clan fell, their weapons were strong enough to pierce scales and shred wings. His mother protected him, but she wasn’t able to keep them away forever.

The afternoon sun cast a red glow across the valley, Sylus clung to his mother as she flew. Her strength was dwindling, her wounds were deep. Sylus had tried to treat them, but she wanted to get away from their army as quickly as possible. 

“You have to stop, you’re hurt!”

He felt her drop several feet, her wings refusing to hold them up. She straightened her neck, pointing herself in the direction of the cave they had called home for the past few years. But when they finally approached the entrance, she couldn’t make it inside. Her claws scraped along the mountain side and Sylus could barely hold on. She came to a halt on a small ledge, her body collapsing, her wings draped over the edge of the cliff. Sylus crawled over her body, tugging off his tunic to press into her wounds.

“We have to get you inside, they’ll see you. Mother?”

Sylus couldn’t hide the fear in his voice. His hands shook as he treated her wounds. His mother let out a strangled roar. She was in too much pain to be quiet, Sylus knew they’d have heard her. They’d come for her and soon.

“I know it hurts, but you have to be quiet, you have to try, please.” 

Tears stung his eyes, his heart pounded in his chest. The headache he’d had for the past few days had become so much worse. His mother struggled to open her eyes, a haze muddying the usual red shimmer. 

“Be strong, my love. Always be strong.”

“Stop. Stop it! Don’t talk like that!” 

Pain washed over him as his scalp split open. His talons clawed at his head as he screamed. His mother shifted, with her remaining strength she wrapped her wing around him protectively. He fell to his side as his back arched, his tailbone transforming and his tail extending. His body calmed, but fear settled over him. He lifted his hands to feel the spiraling horns. He felt his body sway and he looked over his shoulder to see a tail sweep against the rock beneath him. 

“Mother?”

“I see them, my love. They’re beautiful.”

Sylus didn’t have time to process this sudden change. He’d waited 16 years to have horns and a tail, to be remotely similar to his kin, and now he would be hunted for having them. He resumed treating his mothers wounds, moving to the dagger stuck in her side. 

“I need to remove this, hold still okay?”

His mother let out a deep growl. He gripped the hilt and pulled with all his might. The blade shook as her scales scraped against it. He placed it on the ground and moved the cloth over the new wound. She wasn’t getting any better. With tears streaming down his face, he finally knelt next to his mother, trying to meet her eye.

“Mother?”

She looked at him through weary eyes, her breathing slow. 

“Please don’t leave me… I can’t… I don’t want to be alone.”

“You will never truly be alone. You are my beautiful warrior–”

Her chest shook as her eyes closed. Sylus collapsed beside her, his body shaking as he sobbed. He forced himself to sit up and run his hands along her face, her scales rough and shattered. He rested his forehead against her, the pain of his new horns and tail mingling with his heart breaking.

Then he heard it, shouts in the distance. He looked over the ledge and saw the humans. They were climbing the mountain towards him. They had seen his mothers body, he had to hide. He looked up at the cave entrance. He picked up the dagger before digging his claws into the rock and pulling himself up. 

“I see movement!”

Sylus swore under his breath, they’d seen him. He hauled himself up the mountain and rolled into the entrance to the cave. He stood and raced to the furthest corner, searching for a way out or a hole he could hide in. There was nothing. The shouts were getting closer now. He looked down at the blade in his hand. He looked down at his tail. It felt foreign to him, like it didn’t belong, like it wasn’t meant for him. Maybe it wasn’t….

He didn’t have time to talk himself out of it or think up another plan. He wanted to live. 

He pressed the dagger against the base of his horn, the cool metal made him shiver. He grit his teeth, a sob breaking free as he began to cut. The horn came loose and he held it in his hands. He threw it to the other side of the cave and began on the other horn. The pain was almost too much to bear. The horn fell away and blood trickled down his face. The stream poured into his eye and he blinked away the sting, but not before feeling a strange warmth spread through his mind.

He heard the sound of blades and more shouts. They’d reached his mother. He held his breath to stop himself from screaming in anger. 

He blinked back more tears as he placed the blade under his tail. Bracing himself against the wall of the cave he sank down. His tail fell away and Sylus collapsed. He crawled to the opposite corner of the cave, leaving a blood trail behind him. He pulled his legs to his chest, his heart aching, his skin stinging, his eyes burning. The shouts are right outside the cave now. He didn’t have any strength left, if this was it, he couldn’t stop it. He felt an inexplicable exhaustion take over and he slipped into darkness.

Her face. Bright, soft, sweet. The dress she wore. The dark fabric flowing and fluttering in the wind. She held red datura flowers. She reached out a hand, a flower held between her delicate fingers. Sylus felt a subtle touch, as if the flower was tucked into his hair. And then darkness, once again.

Sylus opened his eyes slowly, the room spinning around him as he woke. He stared at the blank ceiling above him, a faint scent of herbs wafting through the air. He turned his head to see a man crouched next to a small fire, mixing something in a cauldron. Sylus coughed. The man looked up and gave him a small smile. He scooped something into a wooden bowl before approaching Sylus.

Sylus tried to sit up, a combination of fear and curiosity settled over him. The man offered him the bowl with a wooden spoon. Sylus cautiously took it.

“Root soup, it’s not much, but it’s all we’ve had for the past few days. Should help with that cough too.”

The steam from the soup warmed his face. He took a spoonful and sipped, the warm broth soothed his throat. He dropped the spoon onto the blanket beneath him and tipped the bowl back taking large gulps. The man laughed.

“You’ve been asleep for two days, I figured you would be pretty hungry. There’s plenty left.”

Sylus finished the soup before looking over at the man properly for the first time. He shifted uncomfortably, his back still tender.

“Where am I?”

“You’re with Judicator’s finest - his dragon slaying army! We are a day's journey away from the city.”

“The city?”

“Ivory City! You must be from a neighboring village, taken by those beasts. It’s good we found you when we did. Seems you fought off the beast and kept yourself from being a meal! The Judicator was impressed.”

Sylus clenched his fist. They’re calling his mother a beast. They think he killed her? That he is human? He suddenly reached up to his head, but felt no horns, only fabric.

“Your head was bleeding pretty bad when we found you. A doctor in the city will get a better look at you tomorrow. For now, the bleeding stopped.” 

The man took the bowl from Sylus and returned to the cauldron to ladle in more soup. Sylus heard blades clash outside and the faint sounds of hooves against gravel in the distance. He realized they’re in a tent. He’s surrounded by humans. The humans that killed his kin. Who killed his mother. A heat rages beneath his skin, his chest heaving. Sylus closed his eyes to calm himself. 

“More soup?”

Sylus opened his eyes and took the bowl eagerly. He sipped slowly this time, still not bothering with the spoon. He took in the man’s features. Old, black hair speckled with white, a long beard, silver armor, a long sword hung at his hip. He wondered if all the men in this camp had weapons like that. Sylus straightened his back, becoming acutely aware of how defenseless he was. No weapons to defend himself. No wings to escape. 

“Thank you.”

The man nodded. 

“I must report to the Judicator, he wanted to know when you woke up. Get some more rest or explore the camp, but don’t go far.”

With that, the man left. Sylus set the bowl down and reached behind him to feel the base of his spine. The skin is tender, but no tail. He felt his head one more, the skin smooth where the horns once were. He sighed in relief. They thought he was human, maybe he had a chance. 

Sylus spotted a set of clothes in the corner of the room. He stood and held up the clothing before him. They appeared to be his size and made of quality fabric. Much better than what he could find to clothe himself in years past. He stripped off his dirty clothing and pulled on the black pants and sleeveless tunic. The pants were a few sizes too big, but the buckles on the waist secured them nicely. He stepped out of the tent and squinted against the setting sun. At least a hundred men are camped here. There are dozens of tents propped up across the field and horses grazed nearby.

He strolled through the camp, taking in the humans gathered around campfires. Like his kin, they varied in appearance greatly. Some tall, some short, some thin, some wide. Some with hair on their face or no hair at all. He rubbed a hand along his jaw, feeling no hair, only the ridge of the patch of scales that ran up his neck toward his ear. He covered the scales with his hand, panic settling over him as he wondered what the humans thought of his scales. 

Sylus quickly ran to a stream just on the outskirts of the camp. He crouched and looked for his reflection in the water. The moonlight lit up his face, making his silver hair glow. The water settled and he gasped at his reflection. He appeared… normal. He looked like all the other men in the camp. He ran a finger along the scales on his chest, feeling their rough texture, but seeing nothing but smooth skin. He lifted his hands, his talons appeared to be replaced by slender fingers. When his gaze returned to his face, he saw himself smiling. 

“I look like them?” Sylus whispered.

For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sad or angry about his appearance. He’d wanted horns, a tail and wings for as long as he could remember. But now, he was surrounded by creatures that looked like him. And his “curse” had, somehow, masked the remaining features that set him apart. He leaned back on his heels and looked up to the moon. 

“What do I do now?”

His heart ached. Could he really stay with these humans? The ones who killed his own mother? Learn to live like them? Embrace his appearance and suppress his draconic desires? He stood up and walked further from camp, toward the steep slope leading back into the valley he had called home his entire life. As he gazed out over the horizon, he saw a flicker of firelight, the faintest hint of smoke rising into the sky.

“We burned the bodies. We didn't want to risk some kind of filthy disease washing its way into the rivers and streams as they decayed.”

A deep voice rang out behind him. Sylus flinched.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, young man. I was concerned when I didn’t find you in your tent.”

“I’m sorry, I just… I wanted to take a walk. I didn’t know…”

“It’s perfectly fine. I was surprised you strayed so far from camp. Given all that you’ve been through.”

Sylus nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling cold and uncertain in the man's presence. 

“I’ve built my army to fight even the most foul of beasts. You’re safe now.”

Sylus looked back to the valley. This man must be the Judicator, the one who started all of this. Who started the war against his kind. Sylus had a thousand questions, questions he never thought he’d get the answer to, let alone ask. But one gnawed at him and he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Why?”

The man walked up beside Sylus, looking over at him with a brow raised in confusion.

“Why did you want the dragons gone?”

The man laughed, his voice deep and cruel. He slapped Sylus on the shoulder. Sylus bit his tongue to avoid saying something he would regret.

“Because those beasts only know one thing. Desire. And desire leads to corruption and greed. They were evil and it was my duty to rid these lands of their kind. I am proud of what I’ve accomplished.There are no dragons left to destroy the souls of my people.”

Sylus felt his chest tighten, his anger and disgust making it hard for him to breathe. His heart felt like it was breaking yet again. The pressure behind his eyes building as he pinched them closed. His eyes flew open when he felt a familiar twinge of pain tickle his scalp.

“Why do you ask boy? Did they fill your head with their lies?”

The pain was so intense Sylus couldn’t speak. Fear paralysed him. He silently prayed to the only one he ever believed in. 

Mother, please. Don’t let them come back. Please…

But it was too late. He felt the flesh of his scalp split open once again and his body shook. He fell to the ground with his head in his hands. The man beside him lurched backwards, watching in horror as Sylus transformed. Sylus heard the footsteps of several men run toward them. His spine extended, his tail sweeping across the ground, knocking the Judicator off his feet.

“He’s a beast!” “How can this be?” “Is he a dragon?” “He doesn’t look like one, but he has horns! And a tail!” “He’s a horror!”

The Judicator stood over Sylus, peering down at his slumped form. He unsheathed his blade and kicked Sylus over onto his back.

Sylus groaned in pain, his tail coiling around him in a weak attempt to protect himself. He held his hands out, tears stinging his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing to speak.

“Please… don’t…”

“You disguise yourself and lie your way into our camp?! You intended to destroy our city! You foul creature!”

Sylus tried to crawl away from the crowd now gathering around him. His elbows sunk into the mud and his heels scrambling to gain traction. Other men were retrieving their weapons. Sylus gathered his remaining strength to dig his heels in and straighten his back, his legs shook as he stood. His hands still in front of him, shaking his head as he backed away from the men.

“We will not be fooled by you! You are a fiend. An evil, vile creature! You will not corrupt our souls!”

The Judicator lunged forward, Sylus reached out to try to stop the blade, but the man was too fast. His blade pierced Sylus’s chest. Sylus held the blade, as he stared into the eyes of the Judicator, the man sneered, pleased to see the fear in Sylus’s eyes.

Sylus gasped, the tears in his eyes spilled over, mixing with the dirt and blood across his face. He placed a foot behind him, trying to steady himself, but his tail swiped at the crowd viciously. Men went flying and some tumbled over the edge of the cliff into the valley below. 

“Stop him!” The men shouted as they rushed towards Sylus.

In a flash, a dozen swords were thrust toward him. Sylus felt every jab, his body weakening with every blow. The Judicator stood before him, watching his men attack the dragon boy. A prideful smile plastered on his face. Sylus kept his eyes trained on the man, he became numb to the pain, only feeling his body being shoved. 

Sylus fell to his knees, his hands crashing to the ground before him. He looked down to see half a dozen blades pierced through his chest. A sob broke free from his ravaged chest. He saw boots before him, the Judicators booming voice louder than his men's victory chants.

“The final dragon has been slain.”

He bent down and took the hilt of his sword, placing a foot on Sylus’s chest to gain leverage, he yanked the sword free kicking Sylus backward. Sylus tumbled backwards, his foot caught the edge of the cliff. He didn’t try to stop himself from falling, he closed his eyes as the wind howled in his ears. He felt the rocks of the cliffside against his back, his legs, his arms, his face as he rolled. The blades dislodged themselves and clanged against the rocks as they fell with him. 

Sylus hit the rocky base of the valley with a brutal thud, the metallic clinks of the swords falling all around him. He had no strength left. He forced his eyes open when he heard the sound of shouts above him. Men poured over the side of the cliff, making their way down using rope, some swinging from rock to rock. Their quick descent stirred something in Sylus. 

He was familiar with rage, but this was different. The pain his body felt transformed into something white hot. His legs burned as he stood. He stared up at the men climbing down to him. His right eye watered, it stung with every blink. Sylus wiped at his eye, but felt no tears. His vision darkened as his chest shook with something akin to laughter. Then everything went dark.

Her face, once again. Framed with silky strands of white hair. Her hand. Clutched a weapon of some kind. A sword? A faint golden glow swirled around her fingers and arm as she lifted the blade. Sylus felt the same searing pain in his chest. Blood splattered across her skin. Tears fell from her eyes. 

“Sylus…” She whispered.

A gust of cold air swept across his face and he shivered in response. His eyes fluttered open, a blue sky filled with soft white clouds floating above him. Beams of sunlight broke through the clouds and shone down upon him. He felt the warmth and took a deep breath, that’s when he felt it, the pain. He lifted his head to see the wounds scattered across his body. He sat up, clutching his chest as he looked around. 

Bodies surround him, men he saw at the camp. Sylus crawled to a boulder and used it to help him stand. Did he do this? How? And why did he feel so free and happy at the sight? A laugh bubbled up through his throat, catching him by surprise. The memory of his mother teaching him about the ancient dragon curse flooded his mind. Rage. Anger. Hatred. Something stronger. It took over and now…

Sylus walked further into the valley. He looked down to see a black red mist swirling toward him from the corpses. The mist felt refreshing, like a burst of cool air on a hot summer day. The mist swirled around his tail, up his spine to his horns, across his face and down his arms before funneling into his chest. The wound the Judicators sword had created glowed. He felt the wound close, but what replaced the flesh is bright like a ruby. The other wounds closed and his strength slowly returned as the mist continued to swirl around him.

With his wounds healed he felt the tension in his back grow. He hunched over and lurched forward, bracing his hands against the cliffside. The skin of his back split open, the pressure finally released and Sylus threw his head back letting out a roar. Crimson wings burst forth from the wounds. They stretch outwards, the breeze dusting over the newly exposed flesh. Sylus' chest heaved as he looked over his shoulder at his wings. He has wings. Wings. 

He stood up straight. His tail swayed and his wings fluttered, eager to take flight. He hadn’t seen the Judicator among the bodies. He also hadn’t seen that girl. He didn’t know why he dreamt of her, but he’d seen her twice. She wasn’t there. Who was she? 

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, shaking the image of her from his mind.

“If humans want a monster, they’ll get one.”

Sylus took a breath and flapped his wings hard, allowing instinct to take over.It was a foreign sensation, but as soon as his feet left the ground he sighed. Years of wishing to fly and here he is, flying over a valley filled with bodies. 

He soared over the valley and towards the fields he had visited so often as a child. Tears sting his eyes as he lowered himself to the ground. He sat among the datura flowers, most withering in the summer heat. He picked one up and held it between his claws, allowing the tears to finally fall as he mourned the loss of his kin, his mother and the person he was. Only the monster remained. 

“You were right. That is a sad story.”

Her words are slurred, fatigue finally winning the war. Sylus shifts slowly and leans towards her, lifting his hand to gently brush the hair out of her face. 

“Is that really the end? Who was the girl? Did he find that judi-ma-cator guy?”

Sylus chuckles under his breath. His thumb moves to her cheek, stroking her soft skin. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. She was nearly asleep.

“He did find the Judicator. And the girl… she was very important to him. The most important actually. But that’s a story for another time. Sleep. I’ll turn out the light.”

She lifts her hand to cover his, trapping it over her face. 

“Wait.”

She stares up at him, her tired eyes glistening.

“At least tell me if he had a happy ending?”

Sylus gently removes her hand from over his. He pulls the blanket up over her shoulders and leans over to press a kiss to her temple. She closes her eyes once more, finally letting sleep take her. He smiles as he takes in her delicate features. He carefully stands and turns off the lamp beside the bed. He strolls to the door, but turns back to look at her before leaving.

“His story isn’t over yet.” He whispers.

He opens the door and gently closes it behind him, leaving his beloved to sleep peacefully.

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

AN: I have no idea if this will be allowed to compete because it is pretty intense, but I wanted to write this regardless. I always crave the boys POV so this was a must. I hope you guys like it - and cry with me... If you want to give the X post some love, it's linked below.

X Post: (posting now)

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: nami x reader, zoro x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.8k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, angst

𝐢 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭

𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞...

zoro

“Love?” you mumbled, eyes still hazy with the sleep you’d dragged yourself from. You held a pair of bone white mugs, steam swirling up from them. The bed dipped as you set one knee after the other on the stiff mattress, inching forward to leer over him with a lovely smile.

Zoro was only just conscious enough to acknowledge you, blinking awake and leaning up on his elbows. “What…”

Again, you smiled, leaning over to set one mug on the nightstand before lifting up the covers to slide in beside him. You balanced your mug in one hand and curled into his side, warming your hands on the glass. “I brought you coffee.”

His eyes drifted to the window, alarmed at the brightly shining sun. “What time is it?”

You hummed, adjusting to sit up a bit as you sipped at your own mug. “Afternoon probably.”

Zoro huffed as he shoved the blanket off, ignoring your annoyed puff and rubbing furiously at his eyes. There were black spots in his vision when he dropped his hand. His shoulders ached and the bandage around his arm felt like a shackle of some kind. 

Nearly frantic, he clawed at the tight fabric, digging into his skin when it didn’t budge. Your mug clinked onto the wooden nightstand and the sheets rustled as you followed him, your shoulder at his shoulder, your hand over his. Zoro softened entirely the moment your fingers brushed his own, your movements fluid and gentle as you removed the bandage in one swoop.

He heaved, stiff shoulders drooping over at the light caress of your hand over his worn, tanned skin. Your other hand came to nurse at his hair, nails scratching at his scalp and drawing a softer, more relaxed sound from him. 

Your cheek rested on his arm, your body wrapped around him. “Love?”

He liked it when you called him that. It made him feel loved, despite everything. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” As if you needed to say it out loud. He knew. He knew that above anything else, really. 

“I... me too.”

A little snort left you as you turned to bury your face in the sleeve of his shirt. “Idiot.”

You knew he felt it too, despite everything. His next sigh lifted and lowered your head. “You tired, big guy?”

He grunted, turning his face to brush his lips over your temple, closing his eyes as a draft floated in and out of the room. “Nah.”

You laughed again. Conversation fled the room, leaving your intertwined breaths alone with the quiet. Zoro couldn’t explain this feeling well; if he tried, he’d say it was warm. Like a bonfire, the flickering light reflected in his eyes, the warmth wrapping around his entire being till he could hardly breathe.

But he couldn't articulate all that, so it was just warm.

His eyes fell to the nightstand. “You didn’t need to make me coffee.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” you reminded him, and that was simple enough. 

Zoro reached to take his mug and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, waiting till you took up your own coffee and settled into his side again. Only then did he cast his mug a look, admiring the rich blackness swirling inside. 

A sweet scent filled his nose and his gaze found your coffee, a nice taupe from the cream and sugar you surely flooded it with. You took three long sips before you noticed his lingering eyes. “You do like yours black, right?”

“Mhmm.” He tipped the mug back and drank half the coffee in a matter of seconds, grimacing slightly. That's one way to wake yourself up. Still… “Can I try yours?”

You obliged, of course, lifting the cup to his lips and tipping it. His hand hovered yours to make sure it didn’t spill, and the taste was nearly too much. Whereas his coffee was still scalding and bitter as all be, yours was… warm and sweet. 

Much like you. He offered you a small smile, downed the rest of his drink, and set it aside. He was so bitter much of the time, too angry and sour. But you were consistently different. “You’re… too sweet for me.”

A beat passed, and you sputtered out a laugh. You set down your mug and swung a leg around his hips, straddling him as you cupped his face, your smile incredulous as you shook your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His ears burned red, and he lost his sudden conviction. “You’re just… so nice.”

You raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

He didn’t answer, and once more you laughed in his face. 

“Love,” you nearly whispered, your eyes too deep and attentive, leaving him no room to hide. “I don’t know if you’ve met my boyfriend, but he’s very nice to me.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek. “He’s very sweet to me.” And his other cheek. “I can tell he loves me, even if he’s too shy to say it.” 

Zoro could hardly breathe, trying so very hard to not let out the soft gasp rising in his chest as you grinned like a devil. “He should know by now I’m not too sweet for him.”

His hands found your hips and his eyes darted to the side. He scoffed, “Whatever.”

“Hey.” You hooked a finger under his chin and made him face you again. “I love you.”

“You said that already.”

“I know.”

A piece of hair fell over your eyes, obstructing Zoro’s view of your face, so he reached up to brush it away. Your eyes flickered to his approaching finger, and in an instant your teeth clamped down on his hand. Not too hard, of course, but he still jerked away with pursed lips. “Would ya stop biting me?”

You cupped a hand over your mouth, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up from within you. “I’m—I’m sorry! I dunno—dunno why—” You dissolved into giggles, careening forward into his chest and tucking your head into his neck. 

Zoro didn’t bother fighting his smile, wrapping his arms around your back and resting his chin on your head, completely forgetting that the day was halfway through and that work was a thing to be done.

nami

The sound of humming shouldn’t have made Nami so on edge, but it was only because she knew exactly who the melody belonged to that her defenses were on the rise. 

Slowly, she rounded the final row of tangerine trees. She’d gone there—to the place she used to call home—intending to find her sister. What she had hoped she wouldn’t find was you.

Yet there you were, up on a stool trying to reach the ripe tangerines at the top of the tree. You usually helped Nojiko with the harvest this time of year. Nami should have known to expect you.

Your rose up on your tip toes, tongue poking out, and your fingertips barely grazed one last tangerine. One foot left the stool in a last final effort—your fist closed around the fruit but your foot missed the stool by an inch. 

You hit the ground unceremoniously, landing on your back with a harsh thump. Nami’s first instinct was to run up and make sure you’re all right. Well, no—her first instinct was to laugh at you.

Turning your head to the friendly sound, you ignored the pain in your butt to smile wearily up at the ginger girl now looming over you. Her shadow blocked out the sun and a halo formed around her body. 

“Clutz,” she murmured, reaching out a hand. You took it with a roll of your eyes, jumping to your feet and dusting off your pants.

Your smile was easy even as a bruise formed on your skin. “What’re you doing here?”

“Nojiko,” she replied simply, not wanting to say that really, Arlong was in one of his tempers again. You’d only worry if she said that, and the smile would leave your face, and Nami couldn’t have that.

“Right,” you nodded, ignoring the sting in your chest that she wasn’t there for you. She never was, so you shouldn’t bother hoping, but oh well. “She’s in town.”

Nami pursed her lips. “Right.”

The pair of you locked eyes, sucking all the air out of the moment and leaving it rather suffocating to stand in. Nami knew you knew. You were always around, being Nojiko’s close friend (being Nami’s best friend, once upon a time). Nami knew you knew of her plan. She said nothing about it, and neither did you.

This was only the fourth time she’d seen you in six years. She ached like every other time, her skin blazing where you’d grabbed her hand. In six years, you’d both grown older, taller, stronger… in your case, prettier.

If distance made the heart grow fonder… Nami killed that thought where it stood.

She started to turn and clear her throat. “I should go.”

Nami barely made it three steps before a hand closed around her wrist and she forgot how to breathe. Nami didn’t know you and you didn’t know her, not anymore. There shouldn't be any reason for her to turn around. Nami should be able to rip away from you and storm off with no trouble.

But Nami turned around slowly and met your eyes, losing herself as you smiled softly, hopefully. “Stay?”

“I can’t.”

“I wanna talk to you,” you pleaded. “You’re still my friend, right?”

Yes. Please. “I don’t have friends anymore.”

Your grip tightened. “But—”

“You don’t want to be my friend,” Nami snapped. “Any attachment you have to me is just clinging to the past, okay?”

Hand slackening, Nami nearly breathed a sigh of relief as your hand started to slip, only for your fingers to intertwine with hers. “I don’t believe that. Nami, I am your friend. I’ve always been. And I worry.”

This was the longest conversation you’d had with her since Arlong took her away. Arlong. You gritted your teeth and sent out a curse. If only you were strong enough to do something, to save the friend who gave up her life to save that damn village.

Nami watched the clouds enter your eyes, darkening the lively glow she so admired, and she found the strength to pry your hand off of her. Nami could hardly stand to look at you when your face fell, but she managed. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Nami…”

She couldn’t bare to drag you down a similar path as her. You were too sweet. Too good. The world needed good people you, and so she wasn't about to go around tainting you with her darkness. 

She took a step back, then another, and turned away, hopefully for the last time. “Goodbye.”

[iamthecomet]

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯: "𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

Rating: G Pairing: Dewdrop/Aether Words: 853 Man I just can't resist an Aether sickfic.

Mushy May created by @forlorn-crows Divider by @ghuleh-recs

Whenever there’s some god awful bug going around the Abbey, it’s inevitable. Aether always gets it. Usually toward the end of the outbreak. Exhausted from running around helping everyone else. Pulling double shifts in the infirmary. Swearing up and down that ghouls can’t catch sicknesses from humans. He’s wrong, every single time. He lies to himself about it anyway. 

This one is pretty mild. A sore throat. A cough. His head feels like it wants to float away but also like it weighs a thousand pounds. He drags himself back to his room from the infirmary in denial. Limbs heavy. Exhaustion bone deep.  He’ll sleep it off. That’s all he needs. Twelve hours of sleep and he’ll be fine. 

When he wakes up he is not fine. His head is pounding. He can’t decide between if he’s hot or if he’s freezing. He lays in his bed, throws his arm over his eyes to block out even the idea of the sun and groans into the inside of his elbow. 

Aether swallows, it feels like knives. He lays there for what feels like hours, suspended in sickness, trying to decide what to do. How to fix this. He knows there is medicine in the bathroom. That it,combined with some of Mountain’s tea, will help. He knows all he has to do to relieve his suffering is stand up and take care of himself. He chides patients for it all the time–that all they have to do is drink lots of water and baby themselves for a few days. But Aether rarely has to realize how hard that is sometimes. He thinks, this is fair karma. He will never suggest that caring for oneself is easy ever again. 

Instead of getting up and getting water, or medicine, or even his phone to text someone and ask for those things, he rolls onto his side. Hopeful that he can just will himself back to sleep. That if he could just be unconscious everything would be ok again. 

It doesn’t work. He doesn’t sleep. He can’t. Every time he starts to drift off something hurts more. His nose runs. He coughs so hard his chest aches. 

It feels like days later that there’s a knock on the door. A quick rap, just before Aether hears the knob turn and the door open. 

“Aeth?” 

“Hey, Dew,” Aether mumbles into his pillow, voice hoarse. 

“You’re sick. I told you you were going to get sick.” 

Aether groans. He starts to tell Dew that he doesn’t need to be reprimanded right now, but he cuts himself off with a rattling cough he feels in his bones. 

“Did you take anything?” 

Aether shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

Dew doesn’t answer, Aether hears him walk into Aether’s attached bathroom, he hears the medicine cabinet open. Dew drops something, swears. Aether can hear him mumbling to himself as he rumages. The water runs for a while, and then Dew’s at his beside. 

“Sit up.” 

Aether does, it’s an ordeal, it involves opening his eyes, which hurts. His head spins, but he manages to right himself with his back against the headboard. Dew’s sitting next to him on the bed. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand. Dew’s holding what looks like a fistful of pills, and a damp washcloth. 

“Dew, I’m ok.” 

“Just take the fucking medicine, Aether.” 

Aether would laugh, make some joke about how bad Dew would be at working in the infirmary, but he finds he doesn’t have the energy. He just takes the pills from Dew. It’s less than a fistful–only four. A couple of Advil and some cold medicine. He takes them all, taking small sips of blessedly cold water to swallow them with. 

Dew settles the washcloth over his forehead. It’s cold. Almost too cold except for the immediate relief it brins. Aether’s eyes flutter closed. 

“I’m going to run you a bath,” Dew says, smoothing his hand over Aether’s flushed cheek. Fingers gentle, and feeling strangely cool against Aether’s overheated skin. 

“You don’t have to–”

“Shut up,” Dew bites with no venom. “I’m taking care of you ok? Let me.” 

“Only if you take the bath with me, keep me company,” Aether mumbles. He doesn’t want to be alone again. He feels like garbage, and as much as he wants to tell Dew he’s ok and can take care of himself–he wants the attention more, the care. Dew bends down and kisses Aether between his horns. Thumb still tracking over his cheek. 

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.” 

“Can you get me some of Mountain’s tea too? And a snack? And–” 

“Hey,” Dew snaps, laughter in his voice. “Don’t push your luck.” 

But when Dew slips out of the door a few minutes later he knows that Dew will come back with everything he asked for and more. He lets himself sink into the bed, still feeling like shit, but knowing that the end is in sight. There’s a cool bath in his future, and more gentle touches from a fire ghoul with terrible bedside manner. What more could he ever ask for?

[tmntstorycomp]

The air is crisper than it usually was. A breeze whispered through, hushing the loud angry simmering. It took far too long for him to realize his eyes were open. Everything in front of his eyes was black, there was the slightest shine to it. Blue undertones that broke up the monotony of nothing. He jerked his head to the side, searching for the source of the light. There was nothing, just more darkness that seemed to fill his vision. 

Suddenly, he sucks a breath into his lungs. The bitter, acrid taste of ink filled his mouth. It clogged his nose all the way up to his brain. He felt it back behind his eyes. He lost feeling in his hands, lost feeling in his feet. He couldn’t force the ink back out of his lungs. 

There was a point where Massy couldn’t tell what part of his body was even his anymore.

It all swirled together in the endless abyss. Massy pushed his mouth open, tried to force the ink out as he coughed and hacked and did his best to squeeze the ink back out of his body. As his grandfather always told him, Will was always the most powerful piece of a person. Spirit and Will and Endurance to exist. Power and Strength, those were fleeting and variable. Losses that would fall away with time. 

But Will… Will would carry you through. 

Will… You certainly are a fun character.

What?

The fight, the emotion… I admire it. You hold power.

I don’t hold any power.

You don’t? Then How did you get here, Masaccio?

Massy sat up quickly, sucking air deep into his lungs. His eyes flickered over to the alarm clock on his nightstand, the time 7:30 p.m., on the dot. Massy stared at the bright green numbers, unyielding to his gaze until the 0 slowly clicked over to a 1. Massy sat back against the headboard, his hand coming up to rest over his heart as it thudded in his chest.

His mouth was dry, he reached over for his water bottle. It was just a nightmare, again. It was always nightmares. Massy popped open the lid of his bottle and held the cold metal to his lips. He drank it down like a man abandoned in the desert. He drank until he finally had to take a breath. 

With a swift hand, he twisted the lid back onto his bottle and tossed it back down onto the bed. His head tipped forward, resting against his hands with surprising ease. He never knew what these dreams meant, they were always different. 

The same voice, calling to him. Telling him something new. Telling him something different. Massy reached over to his nightstand and pulled out his journal. Pulling open the leather bound notebook, his eyes looked over all the lazily scribbled notes from previous dreams. Black, tar beaches. Dark, empty woods. Libraries with aisles upon aisles upon aisles of cobweb covered books. 

Vacant.

Abandoned.

Massy wrote down his latest dream, pausing with his pen pressed to the paper. His mind wandered back to the ink. That time he spent floating in nothing… Uncle Leo said he knew what that feeling was. 

Massy didn’t believe it. 

Respectfully. 

Uncle Leo said he knew what it was like to float aimlessly through the void. To lose sense of time with nothing but space to keep you company. That the isolation was just as painful as any battle he ever faced. 

Massy didn’t doubt that. He didn’t doubt that his uncle knew all about the isolation of space. 

But that’s not what happened to Massy. 

Massy didn’t just float aimlessly, he lost himself in that ink. Just like in his dream, he didn’t know where he ended and where the ink began. Massy wasn’t just dissociating within the world around him, he was becoming a part of it. He was drowning in it, dying by its cold hands. Massy couldn’t pull himself away, he could only dig his heels in further. 

“Massy? I thought I told you to take a nap and put the pen down.”

Massy lifted his head to see the concerned expression on his father’s face as Mikey peeked his head into the room. Massy blinked slowly and then lifted his pen up from the page. 

“I uh.. I did. Nap, that is. I took a nap.” Massy responded. Mikey watched him for a moment longer before he nodded. 

“Okay… Well, dinner is done. Come out, yeah?” Mikey hesitated in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame of the door. “You know, your Auntie April is going to be here tonight? Donnie and Leo… They’re already waiting.”

Massy nodded, his thumb picking at the edge of his paper. His eyes remained focused on his father, as if maintaining this eye contact would prevent Mikey from peering into his thoughts. 

“... Are you okay, son?” Mikey asked softly. 

What a loaded question.

“Yeah, I’m fine, dad.” Massy replied just as softly. 

And what a lie.

Mikey’s jaw tightened for a split moment before he nodded his head and replaced his flat expression with a small smile. He let the curtain fall back over the doorway as he retreated from Massy’s room, leaving the teenager to his own thoughts once again. 

Massy looked down at his notebook page. 

The white paper, all of his previous writing, had been consumed by a dark blue ink from where his pen had bled. Massy groaned, lifting the page to see the blotch had sunk deeper than just the single sheet. The dark blob breached about five pages of his journal. Massy went ahead and closed it, rubbing his temple gently. 

He tried to push his father’s concern out of his mind. All Mikey would know is that Massy was okay. He was! Okay! No need to question any further. Massy couldn’t talk to him about this stuff anyways. He couldn’t talk about how he always needs something to be making noise because the silence is too suffocating. He couldn’t talk about how sometimes he still felt a dark, sadistic thrill whenever he held a pen. 

He couldn’t say these things. He couldn’t talk about the hateful things he thought about back then. 

Because that’s his dad. And his dad, for good or for bad, always tried to talk it out. Massy didn’t want to talk it out. He didn’t want to be told that he was understood. 

Call him an angsty teenager, but no one could possibly understand what he went through. What he did. 

And what did you do?

Did you just stand there and watch?

Or did you play along?

Massy shook his head as he pulled himself out of his bed. He left his things haphazardly on his bed as he made his way out of his room. Something was wrong, he knew that for sure. Maybe he should…

As Massy turned the corner into the kitchen, he was greeted with the sight of four adults sitting around the kitchen table. Uncle Leo was sitting at the head of the table. It was still weird to see him in the spot that once occupied his own grandfather, but after Massy’s stint last year, Uncle Leo had really stepped up and became head of the family. 

On his right, Uncle Donnie and Auntie April sat, chatting away about their next big project. Massy heard pieces of it as he walked over to the open seat next to his dad. Apparently, they were going to expose a corrupt CEO- As if that was anything new for them. 

Then to the left of Uncle Leo was where his father sat, and now him. Massy sank into his seat some, his hands coming up to rest on the table. No one addressed him, he didn’t mind. It seemed the adults were all having an adult conversation, and Massy didn’t even want to be a part of that. 

Suddenly, a piece of casserole was gently put on his plate followed by fingers pinching his cheek. He looked up to catch his Aunt had leaned over the table to serve him. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment too long before she turned back to where Donnie was ranting to Leo about how impractical the current bathroom schedule was.

Leo was questioning when they even put a bathroom schedule into place. 

Massy focused on his dinner, tapping his fork lightly against the ceramic plate as he slowly ate. He tried to listen in to the conversation.

“… And I don’t feel comfortable sharing a bathroom anymore so I am moving to install more…”

“… Install more bathrooms? Was that always an option?…”

“… For me, not for you…”

Massy tuned it back out in favor of pulling the layers of his dinner apart. His eyes focused in on what looked to be a small chunk of ham and it suddenly occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea what he was eating. His father could probably serve him literal trash and Massy wouldn’t even be any of the wiser. 

The young turtle lifted his head when he realized the table around him had gone silent. He looked up at the adults and they were all looking at him expectantly, like he had something to share with them.

“What?” Massy questioned softly, setting his fork down next to his plate.

Leo arched his brow and leaned forward some, “Messy, I asked if you were interested in starting your training back up.”

Massy resisted the urge to clench his fists, opting to clench his toes instead. Much less of a release but far more discreet. 

Masaccio hadn’t stepped foot in the dojo in quite some time, and no one knew why. Well, no one else knew why. He had been trying to practice with his ninpo- He had that now! He always had it, but now he could actually use it. Now it took a form. 

Then he woke up back in his room.

You know there’s more to the story.

Not that they need to be concerned with yet.

But Massy had been avoiding going back to training. Even just the simple meditation led his mind to wander down paths he wasn’t entirely comfortable taking. Now Leonardo, head of the Hamato Clan, was asking him if he wanted to continue training.

He should say yes, shouldn’t he? He wants to be part of this clan, he’s said before that he wanted to be a more active part of the family, he wanted to make up for what he had done.

Massy wanted to be a powerful ninja just like his father, right?

“I think I’m going to need a little bit more time before I can start training again,” Massy responded, looking back down at his plate. 

There was a small, mumbled ‘okay’ that stabbed him in the back of the neck. This time, his fists did clench and he pushed himself abruptly out of his seat. Massy offered his family a smile, even as he was met with confused expressions.

“Massy?”

“I’m going to my room, I’m not that hungry,” The youngest turtle muttered before he quickly made his way to his room. He could hear them talking behind him.

“Maybe we should follow after him?”

“No, he just.. He needs time. I’ll.. I’ll talk to him in a little bit,” 

Massy shook his head and closed the curtain behind him as she walked over to his closet. He pulled at the pile of blankets that he had tossed in there. He tossed the fabric behind him until he found a small shoe box buried inside. Taking a quick peek over his shoulder, he made sure no one was coming in as he pulled the box open. 

Nestled inside, cushioned by torn and crumpled scraps of paper, laid a familiar glowing pen.