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dandylovesturtles · 4 months

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alright, here it is: part 3 of the still untitled Room Fic! and boy is it long... this might be as long as parts 1 and 2 put together.

Content warnings for this part: vomit, serious discussion of food issues, internalized ableism, everyone being a little bit dumb

I am not a doctor and my meal plan for Leo is extremely lightly researched (mainly because it's hard to find information that would be helpful in Leo's situation but that isn't highly technical). in the end I went with what I like from a narrative standpoint. if someone starves as long as Leo did please get them to an actual doctor lol.

also I got tired and didn't proofread the last few sections.

just a warning that I'm going on vacation next week and will be out of the country for awhile so don't expect any more for this for quite some time. in the meantime, hope you enjoy this!

and if you're confused, start here!

-----

Leo wakes up.

The room is moving. His head is cradled in someone's lap. There's a furry hand stroking his arm, and a voice hums the notes of a lullaby he hasn't heard since he was a child.

-----

Leo wakes up.

He's lying somewhere soft and blessedly warm. There's a weight across his chest. Someone is chattering in his ear, happy and upbeat, saying something to him about Jupiter Jim on the desert planet Delta-5.

-----

Leo wakes up.

He's still somewhere soft but now it's too hot. He whines and pushes at the things on his chest. Near his ear someone tuts, and then a hand lands on his, giving it a squeeze.

"Nardo, you need to warm up. Don't-"

-----

Leo wakes up, and his eyes open.

"Leo?" comes Raph's voice. Leo blinks to clear his vision, then lets his eyes trail up, to find his big brother bending over him. "You awake for real this time?"

He isn't sure. Raph being here sure feels like a dream.

He lowers his eyes and looks around. He's not home. He doesn't recognize this place at all, actually. But the walls are beige (still unstimulating, but at least not white), the furniture is dark brown, the bed (not a cot) has a blue bedspread, the empty takeout containers on the table have a splash of red. It's not home, but it's not the room, either.

If he were going to dream, surely he'd just picture himself back home.

He blinks back up at Raph, and smiles.

"Wide awake," he says, echoing Raph from before.

Raph bursts into tears, immediately leaning down and wrapping Leo up in one of his signature hugs. For the first time in so many days (longer, longer, Leo can't remember the last time he got a Raph hug like this), Leo feels completely secure, fully enveloped in love and affection, held safe by his big brother where no one can hurt him.

The difference between this moment and the last week and a half is so stark it leaves Leo feeling dizzy. Like he hadn't even realized how scared and lonely and helpless he truly felt until all that pain was taken away. He's safe now. He's okay now. Raph is hugging him.

Leo hates crying in front of people, but even he can't be stoic for this.

"Oh Leo," says Raph softly once he realizes. "It's okay. We got'cha."

Leo sniffs, burying his face in Raph's plastron. He wishes he could hug back, but his limbs feel so heavy, like Donnie swapped them out for metal versions when he wasn't looking. So he can't hug back, but he leans in close and hopes that's enough.

They get about a minute to hug before Mikey is worming his way in between them, wriggling to push his arms past Raph's and around Leo for himself. "No fair, you got to hold him earlier!" Mikey declares, his voice thick with tears.

"You got to hug him earlier," Raph argues.

"He was asleep, it doesn't count!" Mikey hits back, and Leo laughs and shifts so Mikey can better get in the middle. Raph sighs exaggeratedly, but he gives Leo a pat and leans back to let Mikey in.

Mikey hugs even tighter than Raph, nuzzling in against Leo's shoulder. "I missed you," he says, then gives a choked sob he tries to bury.

"Missed you too," Leo promises, craning his neck so he can land a big smooch on Mikey's head. That replaces the sobs with relieved giggles that leave Leo feeling so much lighter.

After another minute, Mikey moves back and looks over at Donnie, who's been standing at the side of the bed wringing his hands. "Your turn, Donald."

Donnie makes a grumpy noise at having been perceived, but when Leo gets a look at his face he sees Donnie has tears shimmering in his eyes, too. They break free once Donnie's arms are around him, trickling onto the skin of Leo's shoulder.

"Crying over me, Don-ton?" he teases, even as his own voice is thick with emotion.

"Shut up, Nardo," Donnie snaps back, but his voice cracks at the end and he holds on even tighter.

"Alright, my turn," says April once Donnie starts to loosen his grip, and Donnie obligingly crawls off the bed, swiping at his eyes. Like he's looking for something to busy himself with, he starts throwing away the takeout containers on the table. They must be empty.

Leo tears his eyes away just as April swoops in to wrap him up in his fourth hug of the hour, giving him a kiss on his forehead as she does. "Hey, Leo. How're you feelin'?"

"Happy to see you," he says again, and she squeezes him tighter. "Kinda hot."

"That's the hypothermia talking," says Donnie. April shushes him.

"Hypothermia?" Leo asks. April pulls back so she can see his face.

"It wasn't that bad," she says quickly. "You'd started brumating, we think... Tromping around in the snow didn't help, though."

"Not to mention you used up the last of your energy portaling us out of there," Mikey chimes in. "It was really cool though!"

Leo laughs. "Thanks, little brother." Even with the containers thrown away, the smell of the takeout is thick in the room. Leo guesses they had Japanese. It can't have been that long ago. "Where are we?"

"Motel room about two hours down the road." April slides to sit next to him, keeping one arm wrapped around his shoulders. Her body heat is warm in a more pleasant way than the blankets, and he leans into it. "We wanted to go further, but we needed to get you warmed up."

"A motel...? Huh." Leo looks around again. This is his first time being in a hotel that isn't owned by Big Mama. He wonders how far it is from the Japanese place. Just, like, average delivery time. "What happened? It's... kind of a blur for me." He laughs.

They launch into the story without any more prompting. It all sounds like what Leo expected. Raph led the team. Donnie did science stuff. Mikey razzed his tazz. April used her investigative skills.

They tracked him all the way down to Colorado (that explains the snow) and broke him out. They floored it away from the EPF, got far enough they felt safe, then booked into a motel under April's name. That's where they've been since. Splinter and Draxum are out now, patrolling to make sure they weren't followed or discovered.

It's quite the story. And Leo knows he should be paying more attention than he is.

It's just, the takeout boxes. The smell coming from them is so strong, or maybe Leo is just abnormally sensitive to it. He thinks someone had steak, and someone else had fish. The fried rice had egg in it. His mouth is watering so badly he has to swallow every few seconds.

"Leo?" calls Mikey, and Leo startles, ripping his eyes from the trash can to look at Mikey's face. He's gripping the bedspread so hard his knuckles are cramping. He realizes this is not the first time Mikey said his name. Great, now they know he wasn't paying attention.

"Ah, sorry," he says quickly. "I didn't mean to zone out." He flashes them all the biggest smile he can, so they don't worry. "I was just, uh..."

He trails off, not sure of a way to say that he was completely distracted by the smell of their already eaten Japanese food without making it awkward.

"Sorry, Leo, we know you're tired," says Raph, reaching over and rubbing his head. "You can go back to sleep. We're not leaving for awhile."

Go back to sleep? Leo doubts he can, what with the hunger an empty yawning hole inside him. It had been muted while the cold and the exhaustion took over, but now that he's warmer and more rested his body is very painfully reminding him he still has another problem.

He's trying to come up with a casual way to approach the subject when his stomach does it for him, gurgling and growling loud enough that everyone hears it. Leo is very glad his blushes don't show up as easily as humans' do.

"Uh... heh heh." He scratches at his own cheek, then stops when he feels how disturbingly hollowed out it is. "Before that... are there any leftovers?"

Everyone's staring at him. Leo's too tired to puzzle out why they're all staring at him. Maybe there really aren't any leftovers? He did just watch Donnie throw everything away. Maybe there were some, but now they'd have to fish it out of the trash. Leo wants to say he'd happily eat it out of the trash, but that would be really weird and they'd stare at him even more.

(But he would eat it out of the trash. He may be too proud to say it out loud, but he can admit it to himself.)

"O-or," he says quickly, to fill the silence after his last question, "if... if it's not too much trouble, can you ask Dad and Barry to bring something with them when they come back? Even if it's just something from a gas station, or..." They're still staring, and Leo feels himself starting to ramble desperately, "Or if it's too late, I can just... I can just go back to sleep, hah, but... but can someone at least wake me up so I don't miss breakfast?"

His family stutters back to life at that. Raph gives a furious shake of his head and says, "Forget breakfast," which makes Leo's heart and stomach lurch painfully. Waiting until lunch? That feels like forever away.

But then Raph continues with, "Leo, why didn't you tell us you're hungry right now?"

Leo falters. "Uh... just... didn't want to interrupt the flow of the conversation," he says, which is true, but the way everyone is looking at him now, he's pretty sure it's the wrong answer.

"Please," says April, tone very close to exasperated, "interrupt the conversation."

"Will do," says Leo. But he's still not sure what to do, because no one has told him when food is coming.

(You want this? You beg for it.)

Before he can spin out on that thought, Mikey jumps off the bed and heads for the mini-fridge that Leo hadn't noticed until now. He yanks open the door and pulls out two takeout containers, a box and a cylindrical container.

"We weren't sure what you felt up to, so we got you steak hibachi and miso soup," Mikey says, waving each container in turn.

The thought of having to actually chew and swallow sounds exhausting, so Leo says, "Soup's fine." And then, just in case, he adds hastily, "Please."

"Okay," says Mikey, and even though he's clearly trying to sound upbeat, Leo can hear the strain in his voice. "Just give me a minute to heat it up for you!"

Leo would eat it cold. Leo would eat it frozen. But he bites that back and waits.

Mikey puts it in the microwave on top of the fridge. Every little tick down on the timer feels like it takes three eternities. The rest of his family seems to feel the tension as much as he does.

"April!" says Donnie abruptly, too loud to be natural. "You wanted to see what's on the sci-fi channel!"

"Thaaat's right!" she says, also a little too loudly. "I did. Hand me the remote."

Donnie gives her the remote. She turns on the TV just as the microwave dings.

Mikey yanks the door open as soon as it does, pulling the bowl out with no regard for how hot it is. He gives it a perfunctory blow to cool it down, then hurries over to the bed, pausing only to grab a plastic spoon off a little pile of utensils on the table.

He hands both the bowl and spoon to Leo, but Leo already knows his arms won't be able to maneuver the spoon, so he lets it fall into his lap, in favor of lifting the entire container to his lips. He hopes he doesn't look too pathetically eager as he tilts it back and takes his first sip.

It's good.

It's so good he starts crying.

It's not even the best miso soup he's ever had. In fact, it's a little too oily and nowhere near as good as the kind his dad makes, or what Mikey is capable of. But it doesn't matter. It wouldn't matter if this was the worst soup in the world, because right now it's the best thing Leo has ever tasted.

He may be crying more over this than he did over hugs from his family. Maybe he'll have it in him to feel bad for that later.

The TV is showing some old monster movie. His siblings pretend they're watching that and not watching him. He appreciates that, because it makes him feel less self-conscious as he desperately slurps down the soup, practically guzzling it, only pausing when he has to chew the greens here and there.

He eats until his stomach is full and warm. And then he keeps going. There's still soup left, and stopping feels impossible.

(Besides, no one actually promised him breakfast.)

"Hey, maybe you should slow down," says Donnie. Leo pauses, looking up at him, licking the remains of soup off his lips. The container is still about a third full.

Maybe Donnie is right. His stomach is actually starting to cramp. But... but...

He doesn't know what his face looks like right now. But something about it makes Donnie look sad.

He turns away, rubbing right between his fake eyebrows. "Okay, okay. Just... don't overdo it."

Leo sighs, grateful the soup isn't being taken away. He goes back to drinking it, feeling like the chasm inside him is finally beginning to fill.

-----

The next time Leo wakes up, it's because he has to puke. Unfortunately, he doesn't have time to communicate that before it's all over himself and the bedsheets.

"Whoa, Leo-" someone says, and then there's a flurry of activity around him. He can't keep up with who goes where and who says what. It's a lot to keep track of when he just woke up and is spewing half-digested miso soup and stomach bile.

"There we go... You're alright, Blue, you're alright," he hears once he comes back to his senses, and he blinks and looks over. His dad is standing on the bed next to him, and he leans in with a damp washcloth and wipes at Leo's face and mouth.

"Perhaps the soup was too much for your stomach," Splinter says as he finishes, tossing the washcloth into the floor. "How do you feel?"

"Mm... weird," Leo admits, leaning sleepily into his dad's shoulder. He shouldn't because he's gross, but Splinter lets him do it, stroking his cheek. "My stomach hurts..."

The loss of the food hurts; without anything in his stomach, he'll feel hungry again soon. Leo is terrified of that, of the deep empty chasm of his hunger returning, sucking him down into its depths. At the same time, the idea of eating makes him feel queasy.

He feels weird, and miserable, and scared, and he doesn't know when his dad came back, but he's so glad he's here.

"How much did you let him eat?" he hears Draxum ask. Leo finds the energy to feel offended that he's being talked about like he isn't in the room, but not enough energy to actually say anything about it.

"As much as he wanted," Mikey answers. Which, as Leo recalls, was almost all of the soup.

"And how much was that?"

"Here, look."

There's the sound of the mini-fridge being opened again. The pop of the takeout lid. Draxum hums in a way that does not sound pleased.

"Leonardo," he says, coming to stand by the bed now. "I have a very important question and I need you to answer: when was the last time you ate?"

Leo stares at him blearily. Then he raises a tired hand and indicates the mess all down his front.

"Don't get cute," says Draxum, ignoring the following grunt of warning Splinter directs his way. "You know what I'm asking you."

Of course Leo knows. But he doesn't want to answer. Not while his dad is holding him, and all his siblings are watching him expectantly. They aren't going to like what he has to tell them. He doesn't want to upset them.

But Draxum is unmoved and steely eyed. There's no way Leo is getting out of this without answering.

He sighs, shutting his eyes and leaning into Splinter so he doesn't have to be looking at the rest of them when he says it.

"Last time I ate was at Run of the Mill."

He hears a gasp, hears Mikey yell, "What!?" Feels Splinter's sharp intake of breath under his cheek, and then his dad shifts so he can hold him even closer.

"They... they didn't feed you in there at all?" asks April, like she doesn't quite believe it.

Leo nods.

"I should have leveled the whole building!" Donnie snaps, and Leo hears something get knocked to the ground.

Mikey comes closer, and puts a hand on his shoulder, drawing Leo's gaze back his way. He looks so upset, and Leo regrets looking. "Leo, why didn't you tell us? You didn't even say you were hungry!"

"Felt weird to bring it up in the middle of the happy reunion," he says. It's a weak justification, he knows. The look on Mikey's face just gets more miserable.

"Wait," Raph cuts in. "Wait, so... when Bishop said he gave you chances to cooperate for better living conditions, he meant..."

Leo swallows hard, not wanting to look at the distress on Raph's face. "Feeding me, yeah."

"What did he want out of you? What was he making you do?"

This part, at least, Leo can answer easily. "He wanted information. About the yokai and the Hidden City."

Raph sounds surprised. "He just... wanted you to answer questions?"

"Yeah." Leo nods again. "Like, how to get in, how many portals there are, what kind of defense capabilities there are, stuff about Draxum... That's what I remember."

"Why didn't you just tell them?"

Now Leo does look at Raph's face. He's staring at Leo with open horror and distress. But Leo doesn't understand the question, or the look. He did what he was supposed to, didn't he? He held out and didn't give Bishop any information. He did the right thing. So Raph has no reason to look so upset.

He smiles in a way he hopes is reassuring. "Hey, that's not what a hero would do, right?"

It's apparently not reassuring. If anything, Raph only looks more horrified.

He turns away from Leo abruptly and marches straight out of the room, slamming the door on the way out.

Leo doesn't understand that reaction. He did what he was supposed to, but Raph is mad at him, anyway. The rest of his family seems shocked, too, so at least Leo isn't alone.

"I'll talk to him," says April, the first to move. She leaves with much less noise, disappearing into the dark parking lot beyond the door.

Awkward silence envelops the room after that. Leo doesn't know what to do or say to break it. He made Raph mad, because he never does anything right, according to Raph. It's the same as always, but for some reason Leo feels even worse this time.

"...Well," says Draxum, cutting through the awkwardness when it becomes clear no one else wants to, "knowing this, we will have to be much more careful about what and how much you eat. I'll make a meal plan."

"Why you?" Leo grouses. "Let Donnie do it."

Donnie opens his mouth like he wants to agree, but Draxum cuts him off before he can.

"Me, because I have actual experience designing nutritious meal plans for children." Leo thinks of what he's heard about Draxum's lunchroom and makes a face, which Draxum ignores. "Besides, I can't trust any of the rest of you to actually tell Leo he can't have more to eat."

"I can handle myself," Leo argues.

"Clearly," says Draxum icily, indicating the mess still in Leo's lap, "you cannot."

Leo doesn't have a good response for that, and no one steps up to his defense. Back not even twenty four hours, and he already has multiple people mad at him. That has to be a new record.

"...Whatever," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say. Draxum nods like he actually gave approval.

There's another round of awkward silence. Splinter breaks it this time.

"Why doesn't someone call housekeeping to ask for some fresh sheets," he says, "while I help Blue take a bath."

"Ugh, yes, I'm calling them now," says Donnie. Leo notes for the first time that his most persnickety brother is as far from his bed as possible, having put the second bed and the table between them. "The whole room is starting to smell."

Leo cringes. "Sorry..."

"There is nothing for you to apologize for," his dad reassures him, patting his head. Leo isn't sure he'd say that, but he doesn't waste breath arguing. "Now, come with me."

It takes some maneuvering, but they get him out of bed without making a bigger mess. Mikey starts stripping the sheets, and he can hear Donnie on the phone with the staff across the room.

Leo's still not wearing any of his gear. It shouldn't matter because he's just in a room with his family, but he still walks to the bathroom as quickly as he can.

Splinter shuts the door once they're inside, then fills a little plastic cup with water. This he hands off to Leo, saying, "Drink this, and I will run you a nice warm bath."

Leo does as he says, and tries not to think too much about how Raph is mad at him.

-----

There's an old concrete barrier that stands between the motel parking lot and an open field. Raph hefts a piece of the crumbling concrete and chucks it as hard as he can, watching as it disappears into the tall grass beyond.

They starved him. They starved his little brother for over a week, because he wouldn't answer some questions. And he wouldn't answer those questions because...

That's not what a hero would do.

Raph's ninpo flares to life. Punching out another piece of the barrier is easy; he lifts the broken pieces and throws them after the first, watching them sail through the air.

"You better hope there aren't any security cameras out here," says a voice behind him, and he looks over his shoulder.

April is there, standing a few feet back, hands tucked in the pockets of her jacket. Raph's ninpo stutters out at the sight of her; he wonders if he looked scary.

"...What are they gonna do even if there are?" he asks. But he does stop his wanton destruction.

"I don't know, but just remember it's my credit card on file for damages." Her voice is teasing, though, and he knows she isn't actually mad. She comes over, turning so she can lean against part of the barrier that's still intact. "Come on, Big Red. Talk to me."

Raph doesn't turn around. He can't stand to look back at the motel, at the room where his brother is, tiny and weak and with a stomach that's been empty for days on end. He can't handle it right now. So he keeps his eyes on the field.

"Leo let those guys hurt him," he says.

"No he didn't," says April. "He can't help what they did to him."

"If he'd just answered their questions, they would have fed him."

"We can't know that." April shakes her head. "You heard what Draxum said about those guys. You saw what they were like. Maybe if Leo had answered their questions, they would have just killed him. Leo was probably thinking that, too."

"But that's not what he said," Raph points out.

"...Look." April takes a deep breath. "Leo... just went through a lot. We don't know what he was thinking while he was in there, or what he's thinking now. And you know that boy likes to say flashy things. Don't take anything he says right now too seriously."

"But what if this is the most truthful he's gonna be? What if he just hasn't thought of a good lie yet?"

"Raph-"

"No, you don't get it, April." Raph holds his head in his hands, like he can physically hold the dark thoughts at bay, but he can't, and they keep coming: horrific images of what could have happened, if they'd been too late, if the EPF had been less patient. "I told him to stop thinking of himself! Right before he disappeared, I told him he needed to be a hero! But Raph didn't mean like this!"

"Hey now, you don't know-" April tries, but Raph cuts her off.

"I just wanted him to stop doing everything himself! All the showboating, all the running in without talkin' to us... Raph just wanted him to remember that we're a team!" He lets go of his head and grips the concrete instead, so hard it cracks and crumbles under his fingers. "What if he took that to mean he should risk his life for everyone else? That he had to sacrifice himself?"

"Oookay, slow down there, big guy," says April, turning around and putting a hand on his arm. "You're taking one thing he said and blowing it way out of proportion."

"But what if I'm right?" Raph shakes his head. "How do I live with that, if I am? Knowing I almost killed him?"

"Okay, you look at me right now," she demands, in a way Raph can't refuse. He turns, and she reaches up and grabs his face by the cheeks, yanking him down until he bends to her eye level.

"You did not almost kill him. That was those EPF guys." Her voice is stern, and her grip on his face prevents him from objecting. "And even if you are right, and it's what you said to Leo that kept him from answering... well, then that's something the two of you will have to work out together."

She lets him go, putting her hands on her hips. "But what's done is done. Right now, Leo is exhausted and starved, and he's not really in a state for big emotional talks. So let's just get some space and get your head on straight. Once we get him home and everything's calmed down, the two of you can hash this out."

Raph lets out a strangled laugh, slumping down against the crumbling barrier. "Yeah, because that's so easy."

"I'm not saying it's easy." She sits down next to him, putting her hand on his arm. "But you guys love each other, so you'll do the hard things you have to do. I know you got this." She gives him a wink. "You're Raph."

Raph isn't sure he has that much faith in himself. But April isn't wrong very often, so he thinks he should probably listen to her.

-----

The water feels nice on Leo's skin, pleasantly warm and soothing. He sinks down until all but his eyes are in the water, letting it swirl around him.

He still feels a little exposed, but it's only Splinter in here, and that helps. It's like he's a little kid again, getting a bath from his dad, but he has to scrunch to cram his legs in the tub and that ruins the illusion.

"My Baby Blue always did enjoy a nice bath," says Splinter fondly, rustling up hotel soap for them to use.

He wets a washcloth and lathers it up, then cleans off the top of Leo's head and back of his neck, then down to his shoulders and the ridge of his shell. Leo would normally protest this kind of treatment, but right now he's not sure he can lift his arms above his head, so he doesn't.

Besides, it feels nice.

"Float on your front," Splinter says, adding, "Deep breath." It's what he always said when they were kids and he wanted to wash their shells. Everyone but Mikey can hold their breath for a long time, but he always says it anyway.

Leo takes a deep breath and flips onto his front, closing his eyes as his dad washes the back of his shell. It's so soothing he could almost take a nap here. The world is nicely muted under the water.

Splinter gives his shell three pats with his hand, the signal to sit back up. Leo does, rolling onto his back to rinse off. Splinter hands him the washcloth and soap, and he cleans his lower half, taking care around the bottom ridges of his shell.

"Thanks for the bath, Daddio," he says as he finishes. "I know I was starting to get pretty ripe." He pulls up the drain plug with a pop, watching the dirty water spin away.

He tries to imagine he's watching the last of that place drain away with it.

Splinter retrieves a fluffy white towel, drying off the top of Leo's head before handing it off. "I wasn't thinking of that," he says. "But I know a good bath always made you feel better when you were sick."

It was never really about the bath, but the undivided dad attention. How Splinter would wash his shell and pat his head and dry him off, just like he's doing now.

It occurs to Leo that he almost lost this forever, and its like his breath is taken away. He buries his face in the towel and tries to ride through it - he doesn't want to cry again.

Splinter must pick up on it, because suddenly he's sitting on the side of the tub, rubbing the top of Leo's shell. "It's okay, Blue. You're safe."

He's safe.

He really is safe, isn't he?

He lowers the towel and turns into his dad instead, wriggling his head into his lap. Splinter welcomes him, patting his head with one hand and the top of his shell with another. Leo's breath hitches and the tears break free.

"I know," says Splinter, and his voice is thick with emotion. Leo knows he can't look or he'll start sobbing. "I... was very scared for you, my son. I am so glad you're here, Leonardo. I love you very much."

"L-love you too," he warbles. His tears are falling fast, now, and Splinter takes the towel and dries them away every now and then.

By the time Leo sits up and rubs at his eyes, the towel is totally soaked through from being in the tub. Splinter moves away to grab him a fresh one, which Leo wraps himself up in.

"Leonardo," says Splinter hesitantly once he is out of the tub, "I know you may not want to talk about it right now. But I need to ask you this."

Leo wonders where this is going. He sits down on the toilet lid, looking at his dad. "Uh, okay."

Splinter looks him up and down before asking, "Did those men... hit you? Or touch you in any way?"

Oh. Leo shakes his head. "No. They didn't... I mean, they just put me in that room. They weren't, like... torturing me or anything."

He thought that would reassure his dad, but if anything Splinter only looks more sad.

"Not feeding you is torturing you," he says.

"Oh, well, yeah, I guess." Leo rubs the back of his head. "But I mean, they weren't... you know. Shocking me or whipping me or... putting me in that medieval stretchy thing from the movies."

"I see." His dad sighs, but nods. "Very well. I'm glad, at least, that you do not have any injuries."

Leo nods back. "Yeah, no, I'm all good." He tries to smile, but his smiles aren't really having the effect they usually do.

"Are you ready to go back?" asks Splinter, moving to the door. Leo nods again, standing up. "Are you still cold?"

Leo blinks in surprise, then realizes Splinter is referring to the towel he still has wrapped around himself. He's not really that cold anymore, but he grabs onto the convenient excuse, anyway.

"Uh, yeah." He grins sheepishly. "Actually, did you guys bring any of my clothes? I'm a little worried about the ride home."

"Ah." Splinter taps his chin. "I don't think we brought any of your things. Your brothers brought their hoodies, I believe, in case they needed to go in a store..." He reaches up and pats Leo's hand. "There is a gift shop in the motel lobby. I will send Purple and Orange in the morning - I'm sure they'd enjoy doing some shopping!"

"Thanks. I just need a sweatshirt or something. Maybe some pajama pants." He shrugs. "Gotta stay toasty, right?"

"That's right. No more turtle-cicles." Splinter reaches up and turns the doorknob, gesturing for Leo to lead the way.

Leo shuffles for the bed, keeping the towel tight around himself as he goes. He doesn't drop it until he's under the sheets again, safely tucked away.

Raph isn't back yet. The realization turns Leo's stomach. But Mikey barrels into bed next to him, cuddling up against one side, while Donnie scoots in on the other, tapping away at his phone, and Leo tries to forget about it.

He's sure that, as soon as he's better, Raph will be back to yell at him.

-----

Leo doesn't realize Draxum left until he comes back. He did doze off for a bit there, though, so it's not surprising.

Mikey was snoozing against Leo's arm, too, but when the door clicks shut he raises his head, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Donnie looks up from his phone. Splinter's asleep in the other bed, only grumbling incoherently at the noise before rolling over.

(Raph and April still haven't come back. It makes Leo's heart thud a little harder.)

"Hey Barry," says Mikey, voice still a little sleepy. He pushes himself up to sit against the pillows. "Find what you were looking for?"

"Yes." Draxum walks over to the bed, pulling a bottle out of a pharmacy bag. He twists the cap loose, then holds it out and says, "Leonardo, drink this."

Leo can't help the way his face screws up as he takes it, eyeing the label on the bottle. "Eugh. What is this?"

"Vegetable juice," Draxum informs him dryly.

"Gross." Leo does not bring the bottle any closer to his lips. "Can I have soda instead?"

"Absolutely not." Draxum's voice is stern. "No sugar or caffeine until I say otherwise."

The next several days are looking worse and worse. Leo grimaces. "Can I just drink water, then?"

"You can and should drink water. But you also need to steadily reintroduce your body to nutrients. The vegetable juice will help, until your stomach can handle more solid food at a time."

Leo groans, eyeing the bottle warily. Anything labeled "juice" should not be this color of red-orange.

"Draxum's just trying to help, Leo!" Mikey chimes in. "Besides, vegetable juice isn't that bad."

It's not the most reassuring endorsement, given that Mikey loves vegetables in a way Leo has never understood. But with his little brother cheering him on, he can't back down.

"Fine. Down the hatch," he mutters, then takes a swig. It tastes just as off-putting as he was imagining, and he shudders and smacks his lips. "Yuck."

"Sorry, Leo." Mikey pats his arm comfortingly. "As soon as Barry says it's okay, we'll get pizza!"

"Please don't remind me of pizza right now..."

"Here." Leo looks up to find Draxum is holding out a handful of crackers. "Eat these, too. Be sure you chew them thoroughly before you swallow. And keep drinking the juice."

Leo takes the crackers in his free hand, putting them in his lap on top of the sheets. There's only six, and they look boring even for crackers. but his stomach perks up with interest, reminding Leo that everything he put in it before got thrown up.

Leo thought he was going to be waiting until breakfast to eat again. The crackers ease that tension, relief he hadn't consciously realized he needed.

Still, can't let Draxum think Leo actually appreciates all his bullying, so Leo still makes a face as he holds up one of the crackers and examines it.

"And these are...?"

"Are you going to react like this to everything?" asks Draxum with a scoff. "They're whole wheat crackers. They'll settle your stomach, and you need food in you so can take these vitamins."

He pulls a bottle out of his bag and shakes it, filling the room with the sound of pills rattling around. Leo scrunches up his snout.

"You didn't get me the chewable kind? Or those fruit gummy ones?"

"Are you such a child you need your medicine in the form of candy?" Draxum rolls his eyes. "You will be just fine with the pills."

"Okay, okay!" Leo groans theatrically, leaning his head back. "I can't believe you guys are letting him take care of him. He'll be feeding me bugs and leaves next."

"Stop whining. No one wants to hear it this late."

"I actually like these crackers," says Donnie. "They're delightfully bland."

This statement is followed by a crunch.

The sound sends a shiver up Leo's shell, and he turns his head in time to see Donnie, one of Leo's crackers in his hand, a big bite taken out of it. He chews and swallows with a slight smile on his face, clearly unconcerned that he just took one of Leo's crackers.

Leo only had six crackers to start. Now there's five. He doesn't know when he gets any more. No one promised him breakfast. And now he only has five crackers, and not six. And he can feel the hunger coming back.

Donnie turns his head and they lock eyes. Leo has no idea what his own expression looks like, but Donnie's turns startled and then almost frightened. He's so shocked he drops the rest of the cracker into his own lap.

Leo just barely stops himself from snatching it back.

Because that would be weird. What he's doing right now is weird. Everyone is staring at him, the room has gone silent, he's acting like Donnie just committed an unforgivable sin when all he did was take a cracker, like the two of them haven't been casually taking each other's food their entire lives.

He's being weird. He needs to stop. He needs to go back to normal right now.

Five crackers can be enough. It's enough it's enough it's-

Leo forces his brain to restart, his face and posture to relax, his fingers to unclench. He schools his mouth into an unserious grin, glancing back at Draxum. "H-hey, so... how many crackers do I need to eat? Since Thief-atello just stole one."

"I'm sorry," Donnie blurts out, an extremely rare apology. "I wasn't thinking."

Leo waves a hand. "It's cool, man," he says.

"No," Donnie insists. "I shouldn't have done that, I don't know why I did that-"

Great, first he pisses off Raph and now Donnie's freaked out. Leo's family came all the way to Colorado to save him and all he's done since then is upset them.

"Dee," says Leo, and he knocks one shoulder against Donnie's. "Seriously. It's fine."

Because it is. They take food from each other all the time. Leo's the one who made it weird, not Donnie, even if he did take one of Leo's crackers.

Donnie looks at him, uncertain. He still hasn't touched the remaining cracker in his lap. Leo wishes he would finish eating it now, so it isn't tempting him.

"...Still. I won't do it again," says Donnie finally, looking down at his lap and wringing his hands. He looks miserable, and Leo hates that he caused this.

Before he can do or say anything more, Draxum gets Leo's attention by holding out a new cracker. "Here," he says, waiting until Leo takes it, before handing a few to the still shell-shocked Donnie. "Both of you can have crackers. Now don't squabble, you'll disturb the neighbors."

Donnie puts the crackers in his lap and doesn't touch them again. The air in the room is stifling. And Leo wants to eat his own crackers, but now it feels awkward.

"I think you should steal one of his to get him back," says Mikey in an exaggerated whisper, a gallant attempt to dispel the tension. It doesn't quite work, but it breaks the silence enough for Leo to force out a chuckle and pick up a cracker.

"Everyone eat what you've been given and settle down," says Draxum, going to sit on the other bed. Splinter mumbles in his sleep again and rolls over. Everyone relaxes a little more.

Leo bites into the cracker. It tastes like all of nothing, but it has a pleasant crunch between his teeth, and he finds that he likes it.

Next to him, Donnie hesitantly finishes off his own half-finished cracker. Then he half-heartedly eats the others. Leo drinks his vegetable juice, then swallows the pill Draxum gives him.

Mikey does his best to fill the room with happy chatter, and the mood lightens, little by little.

Everything's okay. He just can't do that again.

-----

Everyone but Draxum is asleep when Raph and April come back into the room, just a little before dawn. Splinter is splayed out across the bed closest to the door, while all three of his little brothers are curled around each other in the bed by the bathroom.

Raph and April spent a long time sitting by the barrier, talking intermittently between long spells of silence. Then they moved to the tank, taking a nap together on the bench seats.

April has her travel pillow and blanket now, and she takes both and spreads out at the foot of his brothers’ bed, wisely putting her head by Donnie, who sleeps still as the dead, and not Mikey, who has already moved several times since they walked in. She yawns and then conks out almost immediately, glasses held loosely in her hand against her chest.

Raph wishes he didn’t feel quite so wide awake.

Draxum is sitting in one of the chairs by the table, phone in hand. He has a notebook open and scribbles into it with a pen. Raph comes over and takes a peek: it’s all notes about nutrition, the vitamins that are most critically needed after a long term starvation event.

Draxum’s helping Leo. That makes Raph feel better, and he sinks into the other chair, leaning his head back.

“You should try to get some sleep,” says Draxum, voice low. “We’ll be leaving in a few hours.”

“Raph’s good,” he says, staying where he is.

He feels Draxum’s eyes on him, for a moment. “I’m taking watch. Go to sleep, Raphael.”

Raph hesitates, then gets up from the chair and goes to lay down next to his dad. Splinter grumbles in his sleep, but rolls over like he knows to make room for a son crawling into his bed.

From here Raph can see Leo’s face. It’s gaunt and washed out, and even with all the sleeping he’s done there are still dark circles under his eyes. He looks so fragile, and the anger burns in his chest again, that anyone could hurt him like this.

He’s safe now, though. Mikey has an arm curled around his plastron, and Donnie flanks his other side like a guard. He’s able to rest, and eat, and get better.

Raph remembers what April said. Give Leo time to heal, then talk about what happened in there. He can do that. He can be patient.

He hadn’t thought he would be able to sleep, but lying still, with his sleeping family all around him, safe and sound, puts him under in minutes.

-----

"Morning, Leo!"

Leo blinks awake, taking in his surroundings. The walls are beige, the bed is blue, there's a TV playing the morning news on low volume, there's sunlight shining through the window.

He can smell food.

"It's breakfast time!" says Mikey. He's standing next to the bed, holding a tray. Leo wriggles until he's sitting up against the pillows, grinning as he pats his lap.

"Thanks, Mikey."

"You're welcome!" Mikey gives Leo a thousand watt smile as he sets the tray down.

Leo wishes he could feel as enthusiastic as his little brother as he gets a look at his breakfast. There's a large cup of white yogurt, and a little plate of scrambled eggs that don't even look like they have pepper on them. He's glad he has food, he just wishes it was something more exciting.

He lifts his eyes and takes a look around the room. Donnie is in one of the chairs by the table, tapping away on his phone. April is in the other chair, and she smiles and gives him a little wave when he meets her eyes. His dad is in the other bed, munching on what looks like a muffin and watching the news. He doesn't see Raph, but he hears the shower running.

Draxum is standing by the doorway, watching Leo. When their gazes meet, he sighs, rubbing the furrow on his forehead.

"Are you going to ask me what you're eating again?"

"Yes!" Leo points at the cup of yogurt. "What is this!? It's not even fruit flavored!"

"It's Greek yogurt. You can have fruit when your stomach is more settled."

"Ugh..." Leo sighs, grabbing the plastic spoon off his tray and scooping up a tiny bite of yogurt. It's not terrible, but without any fruit it's not very exciting.

"Hey, look at the bright side," says Mikey, holding out a plastic cup. "You get apple juice this morning! Since it had no sugar added, Draxum said it's okay!"

Leo musters up a smile. "Well, it's better than vegetable juice..."

"Don't get too excited," says Draxum dryly. "You'll be drinking more on the drive home."

"You're such a buzzkill, Drax," Leo huffs, taking a bite of his eggs now. They're unseasoned, but they're something. And there's the part of him that is just happy to have any food, simmering under the surface and demanding he eat faster. To keep himself from cramming the whole of the plate in his mouth at once, he turns to Mikey. "Hey, sneak me a muffin. Blueberry or chocolate chip."

Mikey grimaces. "I don't think Barry wants me to do that..."

Leo pouts, chewing his eggs slowly. "Who are you going to listen to, him or me?"

"He'll listen to me," says Draxum sternly. "If you're still hungry after that, you can have some more crackers."

Leo sighs, but part of him feels better knowing the crackers are still on the table. He crams more eggs in his mouth and chews as sulkily as possible.

There's an Old Navy ad playing on TV. Splinter sits up straighter in bed when he sees it, getting muffin crumbs everywhere. "Ah, that reminds me! Blue wanted some warm clothes to wear on the ride home." Splinter reaches out and pats Mikey on the arm. "Orange, Purple - why don't the two of you go to the gift shop and do some shopping? You can get a souvenir for yourselves as well."

"Oooh, yes!" Mikey bounces excitedly in place. "Dibs on picking out Leo's clothes!"

"Gasp!" Donnie stands up, pointing at him dramatically. "You know I'm the fashionable one in this family! Leo, tell him you want me to pick out your clothes for our return trip!"

"Mmm, I dunno..." Leo grins up at his little brother, giving him a wink. "I think Angelo's got this."

Donnie makes a noise of utter betrayal while Mikey cheers and stoops to give Leo a hug. "I won't let you down, Leon!" he promises, giving Leo a big smooch on the top of his head.

"I know you won't."

"Fine then! I'll just have to make you all jealous with my own selections." Donnie looks down. "April, do you want to join us?"

"Yeah, sure." April stands up, stretching her arms above her head. "Maybe I'll get a keychain or something."

The three of them file out of the room, Donnie and Mikey still arguing animatedly. Draxum takes one of the abandoned chairs, and Splinter goes back to watching the news.

Leo continues eating his bland breakfast, and tries not to spend too much time wondering when his next meal will be. At least he's been promised crackers.

-----

Raph comes out of the bathroom about ten minutes later, just as Leo's finishing up his breakfast with a few crackers. He nearly jumps when their eyes meet.

"Oh, hey, Leo," he says, voice a forced cheerful. "You're awake! That's great!"

"Yeah," says Leo back, trying not to sound too awkward and failing. He holds up his empty cup. "Just finished breakfast."

"O-oh, yeah. Was it... good?"

Leo grimaces. "Not really."

"Oh." Raph hovers in the doorway, practically vibrating with nervous energy. Leo wonders if he should apologize, but he still doesn't know what he's apologizing for, so he doesn't.

He'd know if Raph would just go ahead and yell at him, but Raph doesn't seem eager to start. Maybe he doesn't think Leo is healed up enough yet, or maybe he doesn't want to do it in front of Splinter. Either way, no yelling seems forthcoming.

Instead, Raph says, "Uh, where's everyone else?"

"Shopping for clothes for Blue and for souvenirs for themselves," Splinter answers.

"Oh, cool. Maybe... maybe I'll go join 'em!"

Raph pats Leo on the head as he goes by, then leaves the room like it's on fire. Leo is silent; he has no idea what to say or do.

He's out of food now, too. He's already asked Draxum for crackers once, and he's not sure if asking again will actually gain him anything. And with Mikey gone, he feels too anxious to try.

He settles back on his pillows and turns his eyes to the TV, lifting the plastic spoon in his hands. He slots the handle between his teeth and chews, relaxing at the feel of it. It's sturdier than the water bottles, so he can't flatten it down as easily, but the way he can munch on it endlessly has its own appeal.

The news drones on. His dad laughs at something the anchors say. Draxum scribbles away at a notebook. And Leo leans back on his pillows and chews on the spoon.

On the ticker at the bottom of the screen, he notices the tail end of a news item about a training accident at a military facility in Colorado Springs - one injured.

-----

The outfit Mikey has picked out is a sky blue hoodie with "PIKE'S PEAK" in big block letters and darker blue plaid sweatpants. They meet Leo's standards for softness and comfiness, if not quite his standards for style. It's fine, because he's after the former right now.

"Did I do good?" Mikey asks, bouncing on his toes.

"You did great," Leo responds, motioning him closer so he can rub his head affectionately. It lacks his usual punch, but Mikey laughs and wiggles away anyway.

"We also got," Mikey rummages around in the gift store bag, then pulls out, "matching fuzzy socks!"

The socks are in their signature colors and have snowboarders on them, and each set has a terrible pun like, "SNOW RULES!" and "COOLER THAN COOL!" Leo loves them immediately.

"I think this is the best gift you've ever gotten me," says Leo sincerely. Mikey beams and comes in for a hug that Leo gladly returns.

"Here, put 'em on!" says Mikey after he backs away, nodding at the hoodie and pants on the bed. "You don't want to be cold, right?"

"Right," says Leo, lifting the hoodie in his arms. A quick glance around the room shows that they're all looking at him now - Mikey, Donnie, and April by the bed, Splinter from the other bed, Draxum at the table, Raph hovering in the doorway. Waiting for him to put the clothes on.

He wishes they wouldn't.

It's weird. He's never felt self-conscious like this. He and his brothers have never really practiced modesty the way humans do, especially around each other. And yet the idea of standing in front of them now with no clothes, not even his mask, makes him feel strangely queasy.

He tries to tell himself it's because of how he looks now. Stick thin arms and legs, weird, unhealthy skin tone, dark circles under his eyes that a few hours of unconsciousness and one night of intermittent sleep have definitely not erased. That it's just his normal vanity.

But he can still feel it: that guard's eyes on him, any time he left the safety of his hiding spot under his cot.

He pulls the hoodie on over his head while he's still in bed. Then he crawls out of bed and pulls the pants on as fast as he can.

He looks around to see if anyone noticed, but their expressions haven't changed. Mikey gives him a thumbs up.

He relaxes. With the clothes on, the feeling of being exposed finally ebbs away. And it is warmer like this, which is a plus.

It's okay. In a day or two, he'll be over this weird self-consciousness and back to normal, and no one has to know about it.

"Well, how do I look?" he asks, grinning and turning in a circle. Mikey and April clap indulgently for him.

"Lookin' good, Leo," says April, and he gives her a wink.

"Well, even though you chose to forego my aesthetic sensibilities, I got you something, too," says Donnie, pushing his way forward. He holds out a pair of flipflops, which say "We're in" and "CO" on the toes and have cartoon giraffes on the heels. Leo can't help but grin when he sees them. "Trust me, you'll want these if we have to go into any gas station restrooms. Shudder."

Leo laughs, then reaches out an arm to pull Donnie into a hug before he can escape. To his surprise, Donnie doesn't even put up a token fight against it, hugging him back more fiercely than usual.

"Thanks, I love them," he says into Donnie's ear.

"Of course you do," says Donnie smugly, but his eyes are suspiciously shiny when he breaks the hug. Nothing feels awkward between them now, even given the cracker incident earlier, and Leo is glad.

“Okay!” says April, clapping her hands. “Checkout’s in thirty minutes - if you have anything else to do, do it now.”

“Wait,” says Leo, looking around. “Where’s my mask?” It’d be nice for hiding the dark circles.

“Oh, I think Raph grabbed it,” says April, but when she turns, Raph is gone. April presses her fingers to her forehead and sighs. “Okay, you can get it later.”

Leo’s mouth suddenly feels dry. He reaches around and grabs a bottle of vegetable juice Draxum gave him, draining the last of it.

“Checkout in twenty eight minutes,” says Donnie to cut the awkwardness. “Let’s go, people!”

Leo sits on the bed and watches his family prepare to leave, gnawing on the top of his juice bottle.

-----

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” calls a voice, and Leo blinks awake to see April standing over his cot. No, not the cot - this is the bench seat in the tank. If he’s going to be sleeping so much, he needs to stop waking up confused.

And he has been sleeping a lot. The only time they woke him up was to eat another snack of crackers with a little bit of mushed up banana, like he’s some kind of baby.

The banana did help break up the monotony, though.

Leo can’t help but hope he’s being woken up for food again.

Like she read his mind, April grins and holds out a hand to help him up. “Lunch time!” she announces.

“Oh boy,” says Leo, taking the hand and slowly getting to his feet. He’s stiff from lying in the tank for so long, and he stretches and pops his arms. “More flavorless mush.”

“Maybe we can convince Drax to give you a little salt this time,” says April with a snicker. She waits for him to slip the flipflops on, then leads him out of the tank.

It occurs to him that this is the first time he’s really been out in the sun in over a week, excluding times he’s been unconscious and the short walk from the motel room to the tank. He takes a minute to just lean his face back and feel the warmth of it on his skin. It hasn’t even been that long, and he’s used to life underground, but somehow it feels different this time, foreign and new and sweet.

When he looks back at April, she’s tearing up again. She quickly wipes at the bottoms of her eyes and pulls on a smile, linking her arm around his.

“Come on. We can grab a picnic table and sit outside.”

It's then that Leo actually takes in where they are: a big travel center, or that's what the sign on the building declare. The tank is parked at the gas pumps, and Donnie, with his hood up, is excitedly talking about it to some interested truckers who have come over. He spots Mikey over at the grassy space for dog walking, laughing while a puppy licks his face, a seemingly annoyed Draxum standing off to the side with his arms folded. He doesn't see Raph or Splinter, but April fills him in as they cross the parking lot.

"Raph and Splints are inside ordering food. They have a whole diner in there!"

"Let me guess: I'm eating soup."

"I think it's potato."

"Well, at least it's not more tomato." Leo makes a face. "If I have to drink any more vegetable juice I'm going to turn red and swell up into a ball."

"You know what pizza sauce is made out of, right?" she asks, playfully bumping into him.

"Actually, I don't," he says smoothly, bumping into her back. They fake tussle outside the door for a moment, until both of them are laughing.

Someone trying to get past clears their throat loudly, and April and Leo shoot them an apologetic look before going on inside. Leo visits the restroom and tries not to look too long at the arrays of snacks on offer. April goes to help Raph and his dad with the food.

They all end up back outside at a large picnic table. His family has a mix of foods: burgers, hot dogs, salads, chicken strips. He knows there was pizza inside, and it touches him that no one picked it.

Next to everyone else's large, full plates, his own bowl of soup feels ridiculously small and sad. But he doubts any amount of pouting will convince Draxum to let him have a burger, so he digs in. At least this has some flavor.

Lunch is nice, even if Raph is still acting weird and distant. It’s just good being in the sun and the fresh air. Leo is reluctant to leave as they finish up.

“Come with me!” says Mikey as the others go to throw their trash away and buy anything they need for the return trip. He holds out his hand, and Leo takes it and follows Mikey back toward the grassy area at the edge of the parking lot. They make sure there are no dog droppings, then lay down in the grass, looking up at the blue sky and the clouds going overhead.

“I thought it’d be nice to get a little more sun before we have to get back in the tank,” says Mikey, limbs splayed out in every direction. He’s taken off his hoodie - no one at the travel center has paid much attention to the peeks of green skin they’ve been showing off, and no one is nearby right now, anyway.

It is a little hot. But the idea of being shirtless where a stranger can see him keeps Leo fully swaddled.

He pushes that thought aside, closing his eyes and just trying to enjoy the feeling of the sun on his skin, the breeze blowing by, the grass under his fingers. He doesn’t get to touch a lot of grass in the city, but it reminds him of times they would sneak out to Central Park.

“This is really nice, Angelo,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmmm.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, just laying there, with only the ambient sounds of the travel center keeping them company. Leo starts to feel like he might doze off again.

“…Hey Leo?”

Leo blinks his eyes open, craning his neck to see Mikey. “Yeah?”

“Are you… okay?”

Ah. Maybe he should have expected this.

“Of course I’m okay,” he says, voice nonchalant. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh, well…” Mikey hesitantly trails off, clearly trying to decide what he wants to say.

Leo takes care of it for him. “It’s over, Mikey. You guys saved me. I’m okay.” He turns his head and grins. “And once Draxum stops being the food police, everything will be back to normal.”

“Mmm…” Mikey doesn’t sound as convinced as he should. Man, Leo’s smiles are really failing him lately. “But… if something’s bothering you… You’ll tell us, right?”

Leo pats his head. “Of course I will.”

If it’s worth bringing up to them, anyway.

Mikey’s eyes rove his face for a moment, but in the end he must be satisfied, because he smiles and rolls to toss his arm over Leo’s chest. “Okay. But I’ll hold you to that.”

“Or what, I’ll get a visit from the doctor?”

“You know it!”

Leo laughs, which gets Mikey laughing. They stay there until Raph calls their names across the parking lot, and they go back to the tank.

-----

He manages to stay awake after they stop for lunch, curled up on the bench seat. He doesn’t have the energy to talk as much as normal, but he leans against Donnie and contributes where he can. He’s just happy to be back with them, hearing and seeing them all around him.

But there’s something always at the back of his mind keeping him from fully relaxing: he doesn’t know when he gets to eat next. And he knows it will be okay - he’s with his family, and they’d never let him go hungry. He knows that, but about two and a half hours after lunch, he keeps finding himself returning to the same thought.

He’s drinking on a sugar-free Gatorade they got him at the travel center; one of the only non-vegetable or fruit drinks Draxum approved. Mikey has just finished up a story from one of the many art vlogs he watches, and, in the lag of conversation, he tries to broach the subject casually.

“Sooo… what’s our plan for the rest of the drive? Are we stopping, or…?”

“We’re going to try to make it all the way back to New York,” says April. “We already have our shifts picked out, and the autopilot is helping.”

“We can stop in a few more hours for another bathroom break,” says Donnie, pulling up a holoscreen showing their route and the drive time remaining. “Unless someone needs us to stop sooner.” He glances at Leo, and the way he’s bouncing the rim of the bottle off his teeth.

“Oh, uh, I’m good,” he says quickly, lowering the bottle. "I'm just wondering, uh... what about stopping for dinner?"

His family does about as good a job being subtle about looking at each other as he's being subtle about his worry. "We were thinking we'd probably try to find something around seven," says Donnie.

Seven. It's a little after three now. Okay. He can wait that long. What's four hours? And at least he knows what to expect now.

His family hesitantly return to their conversation. And Leo does his best to pay attention. April is telling them about all the stuff she's been doing to prepare for college in the fall, how she's already chatting with people running the student paper. She's excited about it, and Leo is excited for her.

"Ew, Leo," says Donnie suddenly, tearing him out of his thoughts. "Why are you doing that?"

Leo looks over at him in confusion. He starts to ask, Doing what?, but when he opens his mouth to speak, something falls out of his teeth and into his lap.

It's the Gatorade bottle cap, chewed down flat. Leo can see the marks from where his molars snapped through the lip, and the dents where he's been gnawing at it with his incisors.

He didn't even know he was doing that.

Everyone saw him doing that.

Embarrassment flushes through him, and he scrambles to grab the lid and toss it into their communal trash sack. Maybe no one noticed how thoroughly he had chewed on it.

"Gross," says Donnie, his nose scrunched up. So at the very least he saw. "You don't know where that's been."

"Oh please, it's not that gross," says Leo, doing his best to keep his voice light and airy. "It's just a bottle cap."

"That other people have touched and that you put into your mouth."

"Don't knock it till you try it, bro."

"I'm good not trying it."

"Your loss," says Leo with a shrug. He leans back, cool and calm and collected and not a total weirdo who gnaws on plastic like it's candy. "Stop looking at me like that, I threw it away already."

Donnie stops looking at him, literally. Things feel tense again. Leo doesn’t know how he keeps managing that.

Mikey jumps up, walking to the front of the tank, where Draxum is asleep in one of the chairs. Mikey shakes him awake, smiling in the face of his annoyed grumbling.

“Hey, Barry, is it okay if Leo has a snack?”

“Why do you have to ask him?” calls Leo, folding his arms. “Besides, I’m fine!”

His protests go ignored. “What time is it?” asks Draxum, sitting up and smoothing down his robes.

“I’m fine!” insists Leo, louder.

“It’s three fifteen,” Mikey says.

“Mm… Yes, he can have a snack.” Draxum gets up, going over to their snack cooler. “Leonardo, do you want crackers or more banana?”

“I’m fine!” Leo tries one more time, but his stomach flips when it occurs to him that he may actually not get a snack if he insists, and he wants the snack.

He sighs, sinking back in his seat, and says, “Crackers.” He wants the crunch of eating them.

Draxum brings him his crackers. There’s only four. He’s not sure why he’s getting less this time. Maybe because he was caught chewing on the lid.

He doesn’t ask. He eats what he’s been given, and then decides the best thing for everyone would be if he took another nap.

-----

Raph would have driven them all the way to New York if he’d been allowed. But they insist on having him swap with Donnie, and he ends up sitting in the back on the benches with because the other front chairs are hard for him to fit in.

Leo is asleep. He’s been sleeping a lot, but that’s to be expected. His body barely has any energy, and going by the dark circles, Raph knows he didn’t get much sleep while he was…

When Leo is awake, his family are their lively selves, chatting and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Once he goes to sleep, everyone quiets down, Donnie dims the lights in the cab, and a weird melancholy sets in.

Leo looks terrible. They haven’t talked about it, but they all know it. Raph is shocked Leo has even been able to walk on his own, but Draxum attributes that to their reinforced mutant biology. He’s swimming in a hoodie that is his size, his hands and feet are skeletal where they poke out of his clothes. Raph wonders how long it will take for him to start filling out again, to have muscle like he did before. He’s afraid to ask.

Splinter sits with Leo’s head in his lap, rubbing his shell any time he shifts in his sleep. Mikey curls up against Raph and sniffles, and Raph pulls him closer.

He has to keep reminding himself that Leo is here, and safe. He just ate a snack, and soon they’ll get another meal in him. Just give it a week or two, and they’ll have their brother back.

And then, he’ll make sure Leo knows he never has to sacrifice himself again.

-----

Home looks just like Leo remembered it, and feels totally foreign at the same time.

His family clap for him as he walks in, and he does a little bow, which is a poor decision because it leaves him feeling lightheaded after. Luckily Raph is there to catch him and carry him from the garage to the chair in the living room. Things are still weird between them, but at least Raph isn't totally avoiding him.

(Raph still hasn't yelled at him. He wishes they could just get it over with.)

They eat lunch, with Leo getting bland soup and crackers again. Draxum notes that he could have peanut butter if they could have it in the lair, which makes Raph look pointlessly guilty, so Leo changes the subject. After lunch, April gives him a big hug and tells him she'll see him soon, but she has to go back home before her mom gets too worried. Leo feels bad when he learns she's missed several days of class now, but she just laughs and pats his head.

"I'm a senior and it's May, Leo; that I show up at all is enough for them."

Everyone's tired from being on the road for over twenty four hours, so after April leaves they unanimously agree on a movie marathon/turtle pile in the living room. His brothers drag out their comfiest pillows and blankets and set up in the floor, while Splinter cuddles up with Leo in his recliner. Draxum actually stays, to everyone's surprise, and Mikey jumps at the opportunity to introduce him to the magic of Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim.

Leo drifts in and out the whole evening. He'll be awake for the whole first act of a movie, then blink and suddenly they're partway through a different film. Each time he wakes his dad is there, patting his hand and saying, "Hello, Blue," and his brothers are around him, quoting their favorite lines or jumping up to act along with their favorite parts. It's normal and it's familiar and it's warm and soft.

He eats more soup for dinner, and crackers and banana and a little pudding cup, as a treat. His family gets more sleepy as evening turns to night; his dad's snoring fills the room, and Draxum finally leaves to go to his apartment. His brothers settle in and fall asleep around the middle of Jupiter Jim's Last Trip to the Moon 17, curled up in a heap at the foot of the chair.

He's home.

He's really home.

It's over.

Leo buries his face in his dad's fur and lets that thought carry him to sleep.

-----

Leo's home and it's amazing.

Raph wishes that meant everything was back to normal.

He doesn't know how to be around Leo right now. Every time he looks at him, he sees the stick thin arms and the gaunt face and he hears Leo's voice saying, That's not what a hero would do, and he doesn't know what to say anymore. What if he accidentally says something that makes Leo feel like what happened to him was right? What if he accidentally makes Leo think he should do it again?

It's only been a day, he tries to tell himself. Leo's still spending most of his time sleeping, between his regular snacks and meals. Even when he's awake, he doesn't have much energy for conversation, seeming content to just sit and listen to everyone else. It's just not the right time. It'll get better once Leo is better.

He can wait until then.

It's the afternoon now, the day after they brought Leo home. Raph just finished his workout and is making his rounds to check on everyone, just to make sure that everyone is... well, just to make sure. Splinter is in the kitchen making tea, a kind with no caffeine or sugar, as per Draxum's instructions. Mikey and Leo are in the living room, a half-asleep Leo watching Mikey play video games on the projecter.

Donnie isn't there.

His heart lurches, no matter how much he tells himself it's okay. Donnie is fine, Donnie is home, Donnie hasn't gone missing, not right after they got Leo back.

(He'd tried to tell himself Leo was fine in the beginning, too.)

He checks their rooms first, but Donnie's is empty. Then it's up to the lab, where he finds the door closed.

He knocks, and a robotic voice asks for identification. He sighs, not wanting to play this game right now.

"Donnie, it's me. You better be in there..."

The door beeps and then slides up, revealing a dimly lit lab. At first, Raph thinks he must not be here, and he's about to turn to leave, but then he hears a noise from Donnie's big computer desk.

A sniffle.

His big brother senses shifting into hyperdrive, he speed-walks over. The door slides shut behind him with a mechanical whir.

Sure enough, Donnie is there, legs pulled up into his desk chair, face buried in his knees. His goggles are off and laying on the desk, and his computer monitor shows a video, frozen on...

A white room, almost empty, save the cot that is for some reason propped up in front of the toilet, and...

Donnie sniffles again, and Raph tears his eyes away from one little brother to the other.

"Donnie...? What is this?"

Donnie sniffs and sits up a little more, rubbing under his eyes where tear tracks are already drying. "It's the surveillance video from the EPF base."

Raph gathered that much. "Why... are you watching it?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Donnie looks up at him. "I wanted to see what they did to him."

"You couldn't just ask him?"

Donnie's drawn on eyebrows go down. "I don't know, do you want to ask him?"

Raph imagines trying to ask Leo questions like that and can't help but cringe. "Okay, no. Raph doesn't want to do that."

"Exactly." Donnie gestures at the screen. "I got this footage from the base. And I erased it permanently from their systems, for the record, and destroyed the hard drives to be sure. But I kept a copy for us. I thought, if Leo wasn't in a state to... well, just in case. We might need it for medical reasons."

"But we know what's wrong with him," Raph points out.

"Do we?"

"Uh, yeah." Raph nods. "Starvation... right?"

"Well, yes." Donnie drums his fingers on the table. "But... he's different, now. He's pretending he's not, and he's doing his normal Leo thing of joking and smiling, but... he is." Donnie scowls. "And I already asked Michael to confirm my suspicions, and he said so, too, so I know this isn't me overreacting!"

"Okay, okay!" Raph holds up his hands placatingly. "So you wanted to watch the footage to see what happened. What'd you find out?"

Donnie wilts, resting his chin on his knees. "I couldn't get further than the first twenty four hours."

Raph feels a foreboding chill run over his spine. "You couldn't... or you didn't want to?"

Donnie reaches over and presses a button. The footage shifts to a different angle, so now he can see the wall Leo was curled up against. Donnie runs the footage back at a fast speed, and Raph watches as Leo gets up a few times, disappearing into the blind spot of the camera, or going to grab water from a little slot by the door, until Donnie freezes on a new scene: the wall opening up to reveal a large window.

He leans forward, putting his hands on the desk. "Raph saw that - they were watching his cell through that."

"Yes. And he would sit in that spot," Donnie runs the footage forward a bit, to where Leo is sitting against the now white wall, "because it's in a blind spot to the window."

Raph grimaces. "He didn't want them watching him."

"But it didn't matter," says Donnie, and he reaches over and taps the button to go to a new angle... and again... and again. "They have every inch of the room covered."

Raph's heart sinks. "Does he know?"

"Leo's not dumb," says Donnie, a magnanimous statement coming from him. "He knew they had to be watching him with cameras."

"But he still tried to hide..."

"He was doing whatever he had to to feel better," concludes Donnie.

Raph sighs. "I wonder if it worked."

Donnie clicks another button, and the video player closes. He swivels his chair to face Raph, his eyes shiny again.

"I don't want to watch anymore," he admits.

Raph nods. "I wouldn't want to, either."

"No, I mean... because he was trying to hide." Donnie rubs at his eyes again. "Maybe it is a little ironic for me to be saying this, but... it feels like it would be a privacy violation."

Raph turns that over. Maybe knowing what happened to Leo could help them. But what Donnie is saying feels more important.

He puts his hand on Donnie's shoulder, the part that's bare past his battleshell, and gives it a rub. "You love him and you don't want to hurt him," he concludes.

Donnie sniffles again, and then uncurls himself, putting his legs down on the ground. He doesn't have to do more than that for Raph to catch on, and Raph scoops Donnie up into a hug that is quickly returned.

"...I keep hurting him," Donnie admits, resting his head on Raph's shoulder. "I don't know how, but it keeps happening."

"...Yeah, well, join the club," says Raph sadly. He pats at Donnie's back. "Raph can't seem to say the right thing, either."

Donnie laughs miserably. "I thought getting him back would be the hard part. And then everything would go back to normal."

"Yeah..." Raph gives him a tight squeeze. "But you know what April said?"

"What?"

"That we'll do the hard part, 'cause we love him."

"Well, April is the only other smart one in this family," says Donnie, and Raph gives him a noogie with no actual pressure.

"Everything will be okay," he says. "Raph promises."

That seems to calm Donnie down. Raph just hopes he can actually keep it.

-----

It's his first night back in his room, and for the first time since escaping, Leo can't sleep.

He doesn't know why he can't. The sheets are the same as always. The dim lights from outside his subway car filter in through the windows the same as they used to. He's wearing his favorite pajamas, which have pants and long sleeves. The temperature is warm but not too hot. Conditions are perfect.

But he can't sleep.

At first he thought maybe it's because he's alone for the first time, but he doesn't think it's that. In fact, the idea of going to one of his brothers or his dad makes him feel even more exhausted. He loves them and he loves being around them, but he's had to work hard all day to not seem too weird. He caught himself chewing his spoon at lunch and had to stop. He paced the kitchen until Draxum gave the okay for him to have a snack. Mikey poked his head in while he was changing shirts earlier and he froze up, deer in the headlights. In the end, he went to the bathroom to change, because at least there aren't windows in there.

He's being weird, and trying to not be weird is taking all his energy.

So no. He's okay being alone right now. But something is still bothering him.

It's not the bed; he slept in the motel just fine. It's not the temperature, because they're making sure the lair stays nice and warm for him. And it's not the clothes, because the clothes are covering him up. And it's not the windows because it's not even like anyone is looking through them.

Right?

It's only then that Leo realizes he keeps staring out of them.

He tears his eyes away to look at the ceiling, taking deep breaths. What is he worried about? So what if the train car is full of windows? Who would even be looking at him? It's just his family outside, and if they need to talk to him they'll come in.

Besides, the windows are see-through. If someone were looking at him, he'd be able to see them.

Just to reassure himself of that, Leo looks around at all the windows again.

Yep. Still see-through. So it's fine. It's really not a big deal! No one is going to look through the windows at him here. No one is watching him. He's safe, and if he weren't, he would know, because he can see.

...Maybe he could hide under his bed.

Leo gives his head a hard shake. No. He is not going to hide under his bed, because that would be weird, and Leonardo Hamato is not weird.

Maybe he can just... put up some curtains in his room. Just, purely for aesthetic reasons. Yeah, that would look really cool. He could get some blue ones with some kind of sick design. Add some real originality to this place.

And then he could cover the windows and no one could look in unless he wanted them to.

Not that anyone is looking in, because he's home and he's safe and he's okay and he really wants to hide under his bed-

He takes deep breaths. His eyes land on the posters on the wall of the train car.

Maybe... maybe they would look better over the windows. Just... aesthetically.

He moves the posters to the windows of the train car, pressing hard to get the old tape to stick. It covers the immediate windows around his bed, but there are still others, and they're more in the dark, so Leo can't see who might be out there.

Not that anyone would be.

But if someone were, he wouldn't be able to know.

So he grabs towels next, and t-shirts, and anything he has lying around his room, and puts them on the bed. Then he sneaks to the kitchen to find a roll of masking tape.

It's not easy, but after about an hour he's managed to cover every window in the train car with something.

Just... a preview. For how sweet the curtains are going to look. And not for any weird reasons, like being scared.

Because he's not scared. He's home, and he's safe, and no one is watching him from outside the windows.

He lays down in bed and surveys his handwork. The room is even darker now, with every window covered, completely different from the stark ever-present light in that place.

It makes him feel safe and hidden.

No one can look in, and he's shielded by the dark.

(He has no idea how he's going to explain this tomorrow.)

But when he finally shuts his eyes, he sleeps like a baby.

-----

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (here) | Part 4 Part A

#rottmnt #dandy fanfiction #room fic #rise leo #rise raph #rise splinter #rise donnie #rise mikey #rise april #baron draxum #cw internalized ableism #cw vomit

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clazaries · 5 months

Text

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.”

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?”

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.”

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do.

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order.

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful.

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.”

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best.

“Stay sharp.”

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it.

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests.

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military.

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.”

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.”

“Then why isn’t he out?”

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.”

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm.

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?”

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.”

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…”

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.”

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.”

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume.

“Why the fuck are we here then?”

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.”

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--”

“Frankie! Do you copy?”

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup?

“He needs help!”

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?”

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage.

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!”

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle.

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--”

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.”

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos.

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.”

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago.

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself.

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud.

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?”

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?”

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.”

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?”

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily.

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.”

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge.

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece.

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?”

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.”

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?”

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots.

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him.

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers.

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised.

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot.

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--”

“No! No, I-I want to stay.”

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.”

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.”

“How?”

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?”

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him.

Your thighs press together beneath the table.

“Yes.”

“Yes…what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t lie.”

“A…A little, sir.”

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.”

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had.

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.”

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you.

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified.

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer.

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily.

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating.

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority.

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit.

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt.

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in.

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.”

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum.

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.”

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter.

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…”

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off.

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself.

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts.

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.”

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?”

“No, but--”

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.”

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close.

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes.

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him.

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.”

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.”

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise.

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway.

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.”

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior.

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries.

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years.

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you.

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly.

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point.

You sigh. “I know.”

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.”

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—”

This again. “But Frankie--”

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.”

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that.

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.”

“I promise.”

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.”

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.”

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.”

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cartoon-brainrot · 6 months

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I posted these on Twitter one by one, but I was waiting to have the full collection to post them here!

I saw a lot of people draw the MLP as trolls, so I wanted to give it my own spin!

You’ll notice I didn’t just slot them in the main 6 genres, mostly because I just tried to find the genre that would fit them the most! As much as I love funk fluttershy or rarity, I don’t think their music style fits them <3

Fluttershy was the first one! I went with Classical-Metal, (although I debated for folk for quite some time) mostly because I thought that would suit her the most- and because she’s a metalhead in EG! Her hairstyle is taken from one of the outfits she used when she models for photo finish!

PinkiePie was so obviously Hyperpop I didn’t even think about it twice! The music, the colours, the style, the excessive accessories- it all fits her so well!

Applejack is country, I couldn’t take that from her. Just pure old country! I had some trouble with her hair, cause I wanted it to be big and poofy like Delta or Holly’s, but the first sketches weren’t quite right. I changed it at the last minute and I’m glad I did, because now I absolutely love it! And yes, her hat is more like a hairband, it’s missing the top- that’s where she slides the ponytail into!

Twilight was classical- I had no doubts from that, but I thought being a mix between techno and classical would fit her very well! I gave her a sort of gown-like tailfin, and her wings also work as extra fins! All in all, I wanted her to look like a mix between an angel and a jellyfish! Her hair is lighter because it!s always subtly glowing- and also because dark hair wouldn’t work for either classical (who have cotton candy shades) and techno (whose hair is always glowing)

Rarity is still a debate between Classical-Pop and Swing! I thought classical pop was great for her, especially because of her songs, but swing was SUCH a good style and genre for her! A lot of her outfits always have that vintage vibe, and her hairstyle reminded me of the headdresses they used in the 20s-30s!

Rainbowdash is PopRock, obviously. She has goggles for when she flies and her earrings are clear! The pop trolls are all brightly coloured so I kept the rainbow hair instead of using less colours, but I dimmed them so that she would blend in better with the rock theme!

And yes, all 6 of them have their elements on them! It’s just that they’re not all visible!

Twilight has it on her chest, Applejack and Rainbowdash have them on their belts! Pinkie pie has it on a hairclip, Rarity has it on a pin on her dress and fluttershy has it on her back!

#my art #my little pony #trolls art #trolls fanart #trolls au #trolls world tour #trolls #rainbow dash #twilight sparkle #rarity #applejack #fluttershy #pinkie pie #mane 6 #mane 6 redesign

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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✰ 𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐏 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have my head between your legs.” - Simon gets bored during a very special medal ceremony. Chest Candy isn't exactly what he's after when there's something much sweeter between your legs.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. This is so self indulgent it’s ridiculous. Anti-Monarchy (sue me), cheeky Simon (my favourite kind), vague dirty talk, oral (f receiving) you see PART OF Simon’s face, vague allusion to p in v sex and cream pie. Inspired by this article I found.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

The Crimson red carpet stretches down the aisle to the medal platform, an uncomfortable reminder of the colour of the blood you had to spill to get here. A sea of uniformed SAS colleagues stands before you, making The King look distant from where he handed a medal to those worthy of the chest candy. The golden lighting is giving you a headache, and this ceremony feels as though it's taking forever. He's just a man-

"If we weren't in public right now, I'd have my head between your legs."

Simon's gruff voice so close to your ear has you jumping out of your skin, wide eyes gazing up at him through your lashes as you try to steady yourself from the shock. Was... Was he dirty talking you in the middle of the ceremonial halls of Buckingham Palace?

"Simon-"

"Never been one for pomp an' pageantry," he speaks over you, keeping his voice low as to avoid a very pointed look from Captain Price. Despite leaning down ever so slightly for his whispers to be heard, his eyes stare straight ahead, moving lips concealed by the worn fabric of his ski mask.

"This isn't pomp, Simon. It's Buckingham Palace," you remind him pointedly, a little hiss of frustration bubbling in your throat. Ghost had the habit of choosing the worst times to pull this bullshit-

"Exactly my point, love."

Admittedly, when you saw The Times article a few months ago, you threw up in your mouth. 'SAS get medals in secret palace ceremony'. While each of you had taken a vow to protect (what was then) Queen and Country, years on the field had twisted the priorities of each of the members of Team 141. You could ask any of them why they serve, and it certainly wasn't for this family.

What you honestly hadn't expected, however, was the team's invitation. The invitation, written on a thick, grained card with an embossed royal seal, detailed the team's bravery in the Gulf of Mexico, redirecting the missile aimed towards inhabited land. Ghost had scoffed at the idea of going to Buckingham Palace, but Price had been adamant that all of 141 would be there.

"You know, he's not even served a day in his life," Simon subtly nods towards the medals resting at The King's breast,"' Least Harry saw action."

Keeping your eyes aimed towards the ceremonial stage, you swallow back a grimace at Simon's truthful observation. Sure, he wasn't wrong, but it took everything in you not to dare Ghost to say it to the monarch's face.

Because you're sure as shit that he would.

"Whatd'ya say?" Simon whispers, his voice dropping a tad lower and dripping with eroticism, "There's an open door at your six, Delta. Make it worth your while."

Before you even check over your shoulder to see if his observation is accurate, you're turning on your heel, whispering to the king's guard patrolling the open double doors that you need the toilet- that you are desperate.

One of those admissions is true.

✰

"What took you so lo-ng?!" You gasp out as Ghost's tongue curls around your sensitive clit.

"Recon, love," he muses, the rumble of his voice against your throbbing cunt making you throw your head back against the wall of the bathroom stall, "Couldn't just follow after you into the women's loos, could I?"

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper, pushing your fingers into Simon's buzzcut hair and shoving his face deeper into your cunt. His words had shot straight to your clit when he entered the bathroom, eyelids heavy and voice as rough as glass on gravel.

"Eyes shut, panties down."

When his bare lips and nose pressed to your wet pussy lips, you could have cum right there, threats of a fierce orgasm roughly pushing up against the base of your spine. You wrap your thighs around his head now, wailing out his name as your eyes roll back.

"Shhh," he mumbles against your soaked cunt, but it's so hard to take note of his warnings when they're drowned out by even louder sloppy, messy sucks of your sensitive flesh. He's swallowing your juices down, groans ricocheting off the bathroom walls.

"Fuck, Princess," he's never used that name for you, and you know it's only because of the frankly ridiculous circumstances, but your cunt clenches around his tongue when he shoves it inside of you anyway, "Mhmm, so fuhgin' wet."

He's slurring his words as he plunges his tongue deeper, but he won't shut up. A chorus of "good girl" s and "like that" s and "c'mon" s have you pushing your hips up into his face and grasping at the smooth walls of the bathroom stall.

"Oh my God, Simon!" You sob weakly, tears welling in your eyes as he sinks his fingers into your throbbing cunt. He finds your G-spot instantly, far too acquainted with each curve and crevice of your body—too many reccy missions with his hands down your pants.

"Hah," he pulls back, breathless pants rumbling in his chest. The sound makes your back arch, chasing his lips again with your pelvis, "Gonna swear allegiance to me?"

His corny joke is almost lost on you; eyes rolling back into your skull as you grip at his short hair between your curled fingers. "L-Last I checked, yo-you were on your knees for m-me!"

It doesn't matter that you squeak out the last word of your ballsy sentence; it lands exactly as you intended it to. Simon stalls for a moment.

You don't mean to. You don't! But your eyes snap open at the sudden stalling of the blissful sensation. Simon's amber eyes gaze up at you from his position between your thighs. They frame his face, covering his ears. Your pubic bone smothers his lower visage, covering the bridge of his nose to his chin.

Squeaking, you squeeze your eyes shut. Blonde. Simon's blonde, and a white scar runs down his left eyebrow and eyelid.

"Naughty," you hear him smirk at your startled reaction, a breathy, exhaled chuckle fanning across your wet pussy lips, "Guess I'll have to fuck you so hard that you forget what you just saw."

When you return to the ceremonial hall, the guards on the door keep their eyes uncomfortably fixed on the crimson carpet. You wish you could say that your shaking legs are from nerves when you step onto the ceremonial stage to receive your medal from The King.

The smug gaze of the skull face in the crowd is a reminder of otherwise, his cum leaking into the fabric of your uniform as you bow for the monarch.

Authors Note: Congrats on your coronation, "King" Charles... Would be a shame if Diana made it rain on your big day. ;)

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storydays · 10 months

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Floyd X Male!Country! Pop! Troll

After coming back from the dead (a frightening experience to be honest,) while resting in Rhonda on the way to Pop Village, something sparkled in Floyd's peripheral vision. Glancing down, he looked at the ring on his hand. He smiled softly, thinking of the one who gave it to him.

"Woah, bro! That's some nice drip! Where'd you get it from?" Clay asked, flopping down next to the magenta haired Troll, catching the rest of the group's attention.

"I got it from someone special." Everyone ooh'ed seeing his light purple blush cover his cheeks and ears.Noticing where they were, he suddenly got a burst of energy. "Wait! We need to make a stop." Tiny Diamond yelped, as Floyd took a hard turn towards Lonesome Flats, aka the home of the Country Trolls.

As soon as they arrived at the entrance of Lonesome Flats, Floyd hopped out of Rhonda towards Delta Dawn's office, ignoring the calls of his brothers to slow down and wait.

He was actually stopped by the Sheriff herself, demanding to know where in the seven hells he'd been.

Floyd cut her off her, looking worried. "Where's (Y/N)?"

The Mayor raised a perfect eyebrow before gesturing to an (h/c) male Troll, wearing a flannel around his waist, blue jeans, and a big white hat resting next him who was sitting under a nearby tree, eyes focused on the journal in his lap, headphones over his ears, a grin on his lips.

Floyd smiled before walking over to the mysterious Troll. He sat next across from them, and took tapped his shoulder.

The Troll smiled looking up before freezing, eyes wide. He slowly took his headphones off, still wide eyed.

"Hey, beau."

"SUGARCUBE!" The other troll screamed, tackling Floyd into a great big hug, into the sun, before setting Floyd down, and moving quickly as he searched him for any injuries, while the sensitive Troll laughed, letting him fret over him.

"What is happening?" John Dory, asked the question they were all wondering.

Delta laughed softly, shaking her head, watching the two before turning to the group to talk to Poppy and Branch.

"(Y/N)...(Y/N)? Beau! I'm okay.....now. My brothers saved me." Floyd gestured to the group, holding (Y/N)'s hand, and leading him over to the others.

"Guys, this is (Y/N)....my fiance." Floyd smiled as (Y/N) waved shyly. For such an energetic Troll, he was still pretty shy.

"Your fiance?!" Everyone gasped looking at (Y/N), who upon closer inspection, was wearing a ring matching Floyd's.

"Yep! Now let me see if I remember whose who..."

----------------------------LINEBREAK------------------------------------

You and Floyd have been friends since he'd stumbled into Lonesome Flats.

You are the town's architect, and try to find new ways to make the town safe and functional for everyone, while leaving space for the town's weekly square dancing.

You are the mix of a country troll (Mama) and a pop Troll (Daddy) and strangely enough are one of the shyest Trolls in Lonesome Flats but everyone knows you and is super kind.

Lonesome Flats is the type of place where everyone knows everyone, so....

Floyd calls you Beau as a nickname bc your daddy ;) and you call him Sugarcube bc this dude has a serious sweet tooth and is incredibly sensitive.

@vacayisland

#dreamworks trolls #brozone x reader #trolls floyd x reader #trolls band together #trolls 3 #branch #broppy #queen poppy #trolls fandom #brozone's back #floyd headcanons

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phoenixblaze1412 · 10 months

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HCs for reader and Dottore who have a child pls? - 🐓

Having a child of his own was a topic that Dottore rarely talks about. He already has his segments of different timelines and ages, why would he need a child when he can create a child segment of himself?

During Pregnancy

Dottore didn't expect for you to waltz into his lab, hug him from behind and suddenly announce that you're pregnant with him going to be a father soon. Even the segments stopped working on their tasks as they stared at you in shock.

You were shocked to see the doctor faint and fell to the floor, the vials he was holding shattered when he dropped it. You were panicking the whole day while the segments reassured you that Dottore will be fine.

The news of your pregnancy eventually reached the ears of the other harbingers. Most of them congratulated you while some, Pantalone mostly, just teased Dottore at how a mad scientist like him could be able to create an infant properly instead of creating it in a lab.

Regrator even gifted him with books like 'Parenting 101', 'How to care for an infant', 'How to be a good father and husband'. Dottore was definitely pissed about it.

The whole pregnancy progress actually went smoothly. With your husband as a doctor and scientist himself, he immediately has a medicine for any pain or cramps that you are feeling.

The only thing Dottore couldn't handle well was your cravings and mood swings.

Sure he experiments on a lot of things, humans and machines for example. But he doesn't experiment on meals. He and his segments could only watch in shock as you eat a Jueyun Chili popsicle. You literally just froze the damn ingredient and stuck a popsicle stick on it.

"Are you sure you're supposed to be eating something spicy while pregnant? I don't think that's good for the baby, love."

"If you don't shut the fuck up, I will stick this up your ass."

He immediately turned and walked away when he saw you bite a large chunk of the food, proving you weren't bluffing. He decided to just let you be, you would come to him later and ask for affection anyways.

Whenever Dottore is busy and can't be by your side, Pantalone is there to be your company at the time. Pantalone would literally spoil you, if you ask him anything you want, he only need to snap his fingers and you immediately get the thing you asked. Dottore didn't liked it though.

"Come now, doctor. She told me you weren't letting her have what she wants most of the time."

"That's because I'm doing it for both her and the baby's health. Besides, she is my wife, Regrator. Go fuck someone and make them pregnant then you'll come to experience what I'm going through."

During Labor

When your time for labor came, Dottore was the one to personally help you deliver the baby. He doesn't trust any other doctors or midwifes. Besides, his segments are also there to assist him.

What he didn't expect though is for you to crack Delta's fingers from gripping too hard. Strangled Gamma when he encouraged and told you how easy it is to just push the baby, when it's not. Even punched Alpha to the gut when he tried to calm you down. Omega and Theta had to hold you down by grabbing each of your arm so you wouldn't hurt anymore segment.

What surprised him even more was when you yelled out curses and threats towards him.

"Just one more push, darling."

"I'm already pushing you fucking cocksucker! If you weren't such a whining bitch, I wouldn't be in much pain! I'll fucking chop your fucking dick off and feed it to the rishboland tigers!"

Dottore could only stand in shock as he held the baby in his hands. He knows he's supposed to be happy since he's holding his child in his arms but your threat made him froze in fear and possibly traumatized.

Epsilon and Sigma gently took the crying infant in his grasp before cutting off the umbilical cord and went to clean the blood off.

In the end, both you and Dottore were tired from the whole event but you two happily held your newborn baby.

Aftermath

Your child was loved by not just the segments, but the entire fatui harbingers as well. Pierro and Pulcinella becoming the grandfathers while the rest of the members are either the aunts or the uncles.

Dottore actually did read the books Pantalone gave him and surprisingly, he's doing great.

Whenever you or Dottore are busy, Dottore would let a segment or two babysit your child. He doesn't trust his fellow harbingers when it comes to taking care of his kid.

One time he let Arlecchino babysit, he came back to see both her and Columbina dressing up your child like it was a doll. It was cute, from what the damselette said, but he prefer his child wearing the same color palette as his.

He is not going to let 'Uncle Childe' babysit. He could already tell that the ginger war freak would try to teach your infant how to hold a weapon at a young age.

You had to convince your husband to not be too overprotective of your child and let the others at least spend a bit of time with 'mini Dottore', Sandrone was the one who gave the nickname.

Your baby's first word was 'Lonnie'. Both you and Dottore had to chase Pantalone around the palace for him being your child's first words instead of Mama or Dada. Luckily their second word was Dada, you were a bit disappointed it wasn't you.

Your child has Dottore's soft, blue, curly hair meanwhile their eye color was the same shade as yours. The only problem was they had the same sharp teeth as your husband. You had to endure all the biting from both your child and husband.

Dottore would be the one who teach your child how to read and learn. He lets you teach them how to write, his own handwriting is barely understandable and he doesn't even have the patience for it.

You have a family picture of you three and another with all the segments placed on your bedside drawer.

There was another time where you and Dottore let the segments take care of your child while you both go out to the city and enjoy dinner together.

You both came back to see your child asleep in Omega's arms while the other segments were trying to wipe away the colorful doodles your child drew on their faces.

Since Dottore is the last one to go to bed due to him wanting to finish his work for the day, he would expect to see you and your child on the bed asleep already.

He would lay down beside you, your child in the comfort of your arms as you both dozed off to sleep. Dottore could only smile and place a kiss on both of your foreheads before wrapping his arms around your figure and pulling you and your child close to him.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dottore x reader #dottore #zandik x reader #female reader #il dottore #il dottore x reader

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amielot · 1 year

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Horse Girl AU Master Post

just in case: my art tag | sideblog @toleima | ko-fi

Everything else under the cut. I will be updating this constantly.

Horse Girl AU (HGAU)! In which Hob busts a wild and abused centaur by the name of Dream out of the circus and attempts to earn that horse's trust. This is difficult since Dream hates humans and wants nothing to do with them. The two go on an adventure.

I post the comics in somewhat chronological order. On occasion I will jump back to add a new beat or scene I wasn't motivated to do at the time so this master post is nice for me to flesh out previous scenes or moments while still letting everyone read things sequentially. ENJOY!

PSA: longer comics are best viewed on desktop so they can be clicked through like an animatic.

Miscellaneous comics

Height chart

A guide to centaur ears

Satellite dishes

Horse Girl AU vs Centaur AU!

Apples ( This has a nebulous location in the AU timeline. It's the first comic I did of them and it helped me establish their character dynamic <3 )

Receipt

Spoil that horse

Spoon

In the Circus

Posters

Manticori

Jailbreak!

On the Run

Don't know I'm here

Rainfall

The barn

Broom system

Tarp

Warmth

Thank fuck he's eating

Horn

Knife system

Two hearts

One pair of lungs

Bray

Ears

Preferences

Dreams

Animal magnetism

Maintenance

Don't hurt yourself ( Brushing pt.1)

That's enough

Hasn't been brushed in awhile (Brushing pt.2)

Hot bath

Touch starved

Nightmares

Kick

Expectations

I don't understand

Herd

Neighbor

Convo

Fey

Morning

Dont make me regret this >:(

Gift

Uno Reverse

The Sheep

Had Fun?

Pouting

Night Visions

Stars

Don't Leave

Sweet tooth

Touch Starved Round 2

Sensitive

The Herd

Desire and Death

Foals

Destruction and more foal sketches

Despair!

The HGAU ask tag

I sometimes drop lore here and I tag it when I do.

Fanart inspired by the AU

I'm gonna fuck that horse by @fishfingersandscarves

Dream horn art by @teejaystumbles

Manticori by @cloudsofcondensation

Horse girl au nsfw by @teejaystumbles

Saddle by @yellobb

Dream Circus Poster by @rexwrendraws

Dream poster embroidery by @embroiderling

The Lamb by @embroiderling

The Centaur and the Phoenix (cw blood) by @dragonnan

Fragile by @embroiderling

Fics inspired by the AU

Old Town Road (AKA The "Hob is a Horse Girl" Fic) by @arialerendeair

Soft Hands by @delta-pavonis

Deep Seat by @delta-pavonis

Levade by @delta-pavonis

Lessons in Not Getting Caught with Your Trou Down by @sleepsonfutons

The Rope by @shadowpuppet-storyteller

All Wound Up by @seiya-starsniper

The Gift by @seiya-starsniper

#pinning this #horse girl au #stabby horse #<-#that's Dream #foolish human #->#that's Hob #housekeeping #it's probably good that I made this

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starrynightmuse · 2 months

Text

Sign of the Times 🏛⏳️ I. Broken Dragonfly Wings

Aemond Targaryen x reader, Library of Alexandria AU

(Title inspired by the Harry Styles song)

Blurb: It's summer in Alexandria, Egypt, and the heat has reached sweltering heights. Children dash toward the banks of the Nile, eager to find relief in the cool waters while ladies fan themselves under the shade of palm trees. Thick mud huts keep families cool under the boiling sun. It would be 1,892 years before the first ice cubes would be invented and nearly two millennia until air conditioning. Even Jesus Christ wouldn’t be born until another 48 years. But you have the teachings of Aristotle and the works of Euclid. You're the first and only female scholar at the Library of Alexandria, the first institute of its kind. All your life has been spent in the pursuit of knowledge — until the arrival of a mysterious young scholar named Aemond.

Series warnings: period typical misogyny, ancient academia, teacher x student relationship (but they're the same age), violence, fire, sexual content (18+), reader is loosely based off of Hypatia of Alexandria, Targaryens x Ptolemies crossover, character deaths, inaccurate history for the sake of storytelling, accusations of witchcraft, debates on fictional religions, Plato, Daemon being a menace.

Word count: 5,380

Series Masterlist

Your heart was racing, terror coiling in your stomach like a serpent, but you refused to let it show as you looked out at the mob of angry faces around you in the pavilion.

“Traitor!”

“Death to the witch!”

“Kill her!”

You knew there was no escaping this. This was the end. Yet, even as fear flooded your chest, you refused to let go of your pride. You held your head up high as Prince Daemon approached you where you kneeled. He looked down at you, his cold eyes gleaming in sick satisfaction.

"I'm giving you one last chance, witch," he said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "Renounce your unholy ways and convert to the Faith of the Seven, and you shall walk away unharmed."

You looked up at him, refusing to back down. You hypocrite, you thought. When you spoke, your voice was steady and firm. "I cannot.”

The prince's expression darkened. He stepped closer to you, his lips close to your ear so that no one would overhear.

“There is nothing left for you. It's over. Save yourself and the crown will grant you mercy,” he hissed.

You spat at his face. "If the right to think is treason, then I embrace it proudly. I refuse to remain supplicant to a crown that fears the power of knowledge and labels it treachery."

Daemon's lips formed into a cruel snarl. He stepped back and turned to the crowd, opening his arms in a dramatic display. "The punishment for witchcraft is death!" his voice boomed. The crowd erupted, snarling and roaring like a pack of lions.

Your heart raced as the people closed in with stones in hand, hungry predators circulating their prey. You took a final deep breath, bracing yourself for the onslaught. The first stone hit you, a dull throb of pain that quickly gave way to sharper, intense sensations as more stones followed. You feel your knees collapsing to the hard floor. In reflex, you cover your head with your arms. You shut your eyes, and the last thing you saw was the memory of a single blue eye.

🏛⏳️

6 months earlier.

There's a buzzing in the air, and not just from the hum of people in the atrium outside. Inside your classroom, a large blue dragonfly lazily flies in circles, your students taking turns swatting at it as it zips by. It’s an epaulet skimmer, or an orthetrum chrysostigma, a common dragonfly found around Egypt. Last month, you helped survey them with a fellow scholar who was putting together an account of all the various insects along the Nile River delta. The research project was commissioned by the Princess Helaena Targaryen herself, whom you've heard was quite fond of natural history.

In the midst of your lecturing, the buzz of the insect feels amplified. In front of you sit nearly fifty pupils, all perched on wooden benches. Most of them are in their teens and early twenties, and all of them were young men with restless energy with wandering minds. While a few showed genuine curiosity, you knew that attendance was merely a formality to half of them, who were only present because their parents were wealthy aristocrats. Yet, you knew it was your duty to broaden their minds and instill some semblance of knowledge into their minds before they go on to graduate and become lords who make decisions that impact hundreds of people.

“Whether you believe in the Seven or the old gods, we accept that the divine has created all that we know,” you say, your voice carrying across the room. “Yet, the mechanisms behind how their creations work are a mystery to us mortals.”

There's a blur of blue near your eye when the dragonfly makes a landing on your nose. You swap it away and continue.

“For example, what are the gears that drive a drought? Elders of the past have said that a drought is punishment from an angry sun god. Holy men today say it is the repercussion of having vexed the Seven. But how, precisely, do these divine beings bring this drought upon us?” You pause, pacing around the room. “Like observing the work of a craftsman, we can observe the handiwork of the gods. We can observe that volcanic eruptions are one tool that the gods use to give us droughts. Likewise, miasma from a plague, which spews vaporous acid into the atmosphere, can cause rising temperatures and dry up rivers. (Modern Fact check: Miasma does NOT cause plagues. They are caused by infectious bacteria and viruses.)

“Every natural disaster has forces, or causes, behind them. Although perhaps only the gods may know the truth of the workings behind these events, philosophers and believers of science have theorized why certain disasters come to be. Take earthquakes, for example. Compared to droughts, it is much harder for us to determine how earthquakes are created. Aristotle, for one, suggested that it is caused by winds in subterranean caves.”

One of your pupils seated on the front row raises his hand. Ebony curls, dark eyes that remind you of beetles, his robes a deep plum that only money can buy.

“Perhaps Aristotle failed to consider that earthquakes could just be Atticus's mother walking to the market,” he says, a cocky grin spreading across his face. His friend gives him a hearty slap on the back, nearly doubling over with laughter.

You offer a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, Flavius."

Some of your students were more mature than others.

Flavius's jolliness is short-lived, however. The dragonfly suddenly decides to dart into his eye and he lets out a startled shriek. He swats at the insect and tumbles forward off the bench. His friend roars even harder with laughter. Meanwhile, the dragonfly falls onto the floor, its delicate blue wings now broken. A couple students in the back crane their necks in curiosity as Flavius stomps his feet on the insect's body, crushing it mercilessly against the tile floor. Tiny blue limbs smear across the tiles, its wings in pieces like shattered glass. A life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

Flavius settles back onto the bench, straightening his toga with an air of nonchalance. "Apologies, miss. Please, continue," he says.

You choose to ignore his interruption, redirecting your attention to the rest of the class.

“When we attempt to unravel the mysteries behind the divine's creations, we begin to understand the natural world,” you say, thinking about the dead bug in front of you, its blue wings, the blue of the Nile, all the species of flora and fauna that have survived for eons thanks to its life-giving waters. “This is why we study the discipline of science.”

“Beyond these walls, I have heard many who deem it to be blasphemy,” a voice interjects.

Your gaze shifts to a young man at the rear of the room. You've never seen him before, not in your classroom nor around the Library. If you've seen him, you would know. With his sharp features, nearly white hair cropped close to his head, and a leather eyepatch covering an angry scar on his left eye — his was not a face you would forget.

“What do they call you?” You ask curiously, piercing blue eye meeting yours. He seemed a bit older than the rest of your students — perhaps in his mid-twenties, around the same age as you. You briefly wondered where he was from. His features stood out in a sea of dark haired Alexandrians.

"I am called Aemond, ma'am," his voice remained composed and respectful. "Just Aemond." There was a refinement in his speech that hinted of a privileged upbringing, yet the absence of a surname intrigued you. Perhaps he was an educated slave, adept at tutoring and managing the finances of the master's household — literate slaves were not uncommon in the Roman Empire.

"And what have you heard, Aemond?" you inquire.

"It is said that scientific inquiry is seen as an offense to the Seven," he responds evenly, referring to the gods. "Questioning their creations is considered sacrilegious." Several students nod in agreement around the room.

You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts.

“It is true that outside these walls, the belief that science is sacrilegious is held by many people,” you say slowly. “Perhaps even now, some of you are wrestling with the idea, torn between conventional thinking and what you are learning at this institute. If this is the case, I implore you to consider this —”

You look out at the faces of your pupils. Some are focused and deep in thought, while others are frowning. A lone blue eye is fixed on you.

"—What act of love is greater than seeking to understand the object of your affection? Mathematics, physics, and astronomy are not merely academic pursuits but they are expressions of love. They are avenues through which we seek to comprehend and appreciate the intricate beauty of our world.” You gestured around the room. “I am aware that some of you are followers of the Seven. Some of you are devoted to the old gods. But science does not seek to refute the existence of one God over another, nor does it attempt to debunk the existence of the divine altogether. Science seeks only to understand.” You look in Aemond's direction. He's watching, listening intently. “In attempting to understand the natural world, we may better love the divine and appreciate their creations.”

🏛⏳️

The remainder of the class concluded smoothly, and due to the sweltering heat, you dismissed everyone earlier than usual. Despite the hour not yet reaching midday, the air was thick with humidity, making the classroom feel oppressive. You had no desire to keep your students in the stuffy classroom for longer than necessary.

As the others rush to leave the room, you notice that Aemond was kneeling down and using a handkerchief to clean the dragonfly off the floor.

“Thank you,” you say to him earnestly. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he delicately holds the insect through the thin white cloth. He picks up a broken piece of an iridescent blue wing, the shimmer catching the light.

"It's an epaulet skimmer," you remark softly. But you're not looking at the bug, you're looking at him.

"Orthetrum chrysostigma," Aemond responds, using the scientific name. You regard him with curiosity.

“My sister has a fondness for insects," Aemond explains. "She is extremely gentle with them. She maintains an extensive collection in her room — beetles, caterpillars, dragonflies, and the like. But she only gathers them once they've passed on. Her heart is too big to confine them before they've lived a full life." He gazes at the broken wing in his hand with a hint of sadness. You suspect that he is thinking of more than the fate of the squashed bug.

“Some cultures believe that dragonflies were once dragons who were tricked by a jackal to change shape into insects,” you say, looking at the wing in fascination. “Once they became a dragonfly, they couldn't transform back. As a result, they represented change and illusion.”

You notice that Aemond's gaze is now fixed on you, a blue eye that reminds you of iridescent wings and the shimmering surface of the Nile on sunny days. You think of mirages in the desert, blue lapis lazuli on polished gold rings, the holographic shells of scarab beetles.

“They must've been very grand in their past lives,” he remarks.

There's a short silence as you observe him, unsure of what to make of this strange new addition to your class. As your gaze shifts from his eyepatch to his eye, you notice that he's studying you too. Suddenly, you feel very exposed, as if he was somehow reading your entire life story just by looking at you.

Breaking the tension, you extend your hand. "I realize I haven't properly introduced myself. It's been a pleasure having you in my class," you say, stating your name. He accepts your gesture, clasping your hand in a firm shake.

“You're the daughter of Theon. Your father is the greatest mathematician in all of Alexandria,” Aemond says. “I know who you are.”

“Do you study mathematics?”

“No. History and philosophy,” he replies. “But I've read enough across all the disciplines to know who the greats are.”

“I don't think I've ever seen you around here before,” you note.

"I just started my studies here," he explains. "I arrived last night."

"Where else have you studied?"

“Nowhere else. All my education has been from tutors hired by my family at home.”

"If you don't mind my asking, where do you come from?"

He hesitates. “I've been around,” he says at last.

🏛⏳️

That afternoon, you decided to teach your next class in one of the classrooms overlooking the sea. Arriving early, you unlatch the tall, arched windows, hoping to coax a gentle breath of ocean breeze into the room. As the soft light of the late afternoon filtered through, you arrange your teaching materials as the first of your students trickled in.

The class was on Euclidean geometry. As it happens, this was one of your favorite subjects to teach. You loved to move around the room, using various objects — such as a discus, a sphere, and even a pineapple — to illustrate geometric shapes and their properties. It was more than just memorizing formulas; it was about seeing and understanding the spatial relationships and practical applications of mathematics in the physical world.

Two thousand years from now, Euclidean geometry would be the foundation for computer graphics, radiology, and geographic information systems. Without Euclid, you wouldn't have video games or anime. There would be no x-rays to help doctors treat broken bones. Without Euclid, there would be no Google Maps, nor would you be able to stalk your crush's location on Snapchat.

Abruptly, you are cut off mid-lecture as a series of bold knocks echo off the door. You excuse yourself and open the door cautiously, finding yourself face-to-face with six armored men adorned in gold cloaks. You step out into the atrium.

"What is your business?" you ask, your gaze sharp and guarded.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen wants to speak to Theon of Alexandria. I'm told you're his daughter,” the guard at front says firmly.

“My father is indisposed. Whatever business you have with him, you can discuss with me.”

A sudden laugh rings out across the atrium. Every movement in the hall comes to a standstill as scholars pause their tracks and turn their heads. In front of you, guards quickly part ways for a tall man with long silver hair. His armor clinks as he strides towards you, his eyes mischievous like those of a jackal, reminding you of the ancient depictions of Anubis on temple walls. Adorning his shoulders is the same golden cloak worn by his men.

It was the unmistakable Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother of King Viserys and the consort of the crown princess Rhaenyra. But to the smallfolk, he is known as the merciless commander of the City Watch.

Daemon looks at you like you are the scum on his shoes. “I don't have time for games, girl,” he says mockingly. “Where is your father?”

“Like I've said, he is indisposed,” you repeat, meeting him with a steady gaze.

“I have come a long way from the palace,” he says, offering a false honeyed grin. “You will fetch him for me.”

You give a smile that mirrored his. It was common knowledge that Prince Daemon frequented the company of his mistress in the city more than he did his own wife at the royal palace.

"I speak the truth when I say my father cannot be here right now, and I apologize on his behalf. However, I am willing to assist you,” you assert calmly.

"This does not concern you," Daemon retorts dismissively. "I am here on business concerning your father's governance of this... academic institution."

"I am a professor here and a senior member of the Library of Alexandria," you counter, maintaining your composure. "After my father, you will find no one more knowledgeable about the affairs of this institute than I am."

Daemon scoffs, his tone condescending. "There are matters too serious to discuss with a woman.”

“Then I'm afraid you will have to come back another day, my prince.”

“Where is your father?”

“He is sick. Unless you have a direct order from the king, I would prefer not to disturb him from his much-needed rest."

The unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air — the Library is under the protection of the crown, and Daemon, despite his authority, is not the king. The prince's expression darkens, a sneer painting his features as his knuckles grip around the handle of his sword on his waist. You find yourself locked in a tense staring contest, both unwilling to yield. Moments tick by in silence, each waiting for the other to give in. Then —

“Very well,” he concedes, letting go of his grip on the sword. But you knew from his expression that this was far from over. Daemon casts a disdainful glance around the atrium as if the place offended him before turning and walking away from you. His gold cloaks follow him, their armor clanking all the way to the main doors of the library.

It is only when the last of them exited onto the street that you allow yourself to release the breath you've been holding.

🏛⏳️

“Daemon Targaryen? What was he doing here?” You hear Cregan before you see him.

You're in the far corner of the main reading room, kneeling before a crate with a new shipment of scrolls that came in from Greece. Gently opening the lid, you discover a signed note from the head of the Platonic School of Athens. Ἕν οἶδα ὅτι οὐδὲν οἶδα. Αὕτη ἡ γνῶσις ἐμοῦ ἐστιν, it reads at the end. One thing I know, that I know nothing. This is the source of my wisdom. It is a quote by Socrates.

Cregan emerges from behind a shelf, his gray eyes wide with exasperation.

“I can't say that I haven't expected this,” you say to him, picking up a scroll and lightly dusting it off. “It is no secret that Daemon puts up with us only because of the pharaoh.”

“Well, yes. But to barge in here and demand for the Professor—” he means your father Theon.

“He's been sending us threats for months.”

Cregan paused. “When did this start?”

“Four moons ago, when King Viserys reinstated him as Lord Commander of the City Watch.”

Daemon had been the commander of the city watch once before, but that had been years ago, and back then he was more interested in dealing with criminals in the worst parts of the city. But after some scandal with the Princess Rhaenyra, Viserys had exiled him to Rome. Now, he was back and had regained both his old post as leader of the city guard and the Princess Rhaenyra, whom he took to wife. However, this time, Daemon was turning his policing to the University of Alexandria, more commonly referred to as simply the Library. Apparently, scholars are the new criminals.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Cregan asked, clearly frustrated.

“I didn't want to burden you with it," you reply honestly. "You've been occupied with your research with Princess Helaena these past four moons.”

Cregan rubs his eyebrows. “What has he been threatening?”

With a sigh, you rise to your feet, making space on the shelf for the new scrolls. Cregan joins you, handing over scrolls from the crate as you arrange them carefully in their designated spots on the shelf.

“He wants to shut down the Library if we don't — and I quote his words — ‘tone down on the science’,” you explain. "He's pushing for censorship, insisting that everything that is taught and published here must be 'safe' for the public. He claims it's about protecting the moral well-being of Alexandrians."

Cregan snorts derisively. "I wonder what his wife thinks of his moral well-being."

"That's an ad hominem attack, Cregan," you chide gently. But you're smiling.

“We're the best scientific research institution in the Mediterranean,” he says. “And, let's face it, we're probably the best in the entire world. We owe it all to King Jaehaerys's proclamation over 50 years ago, protecting our intellectual freedom. Even Daemon Targaryen can't derail something like that.”

“Daemon doesn't like anything he can't control,” you say. “Nor does he like taking no for an answer.”

“He's a cunt,” Cregan muttered angrily. “His word isn't law but he sure does want to act like it. Did you hear he's been trying to ban all Northerners from entering Alexandria? Unless they're slaves, that is. It's utterly absurd. He's a Northerner himself. His entire family hails from the north—well, not the North, but north of the Mediterranean. Valyria is a small city-state in Greece. Still, that's north of us. If he wants only true Alexandrians in the city, maybe he should consider leaving as well." The Targaryens, although originally from Greece, had become the longest-reigning dynasty in Egypt, despite their non-Egyptian origin.

"What does Princess Helaena think?"

"Of Daemon?"

"Of the North."

Cregan blushes slightly. "She's mentioned that we should visit there together someday," he admits. “For research purposes, of course,” he adds quickly.

You grin. Cregan has been your closest friend since childhood, and you swear you've never seen him as happy as he's been the past few months.

"She wants to see the direwolves and the aurora borealis,” says Cregan. “I promised her I'd show her around Winterfell when we go." Winterfell, Cregan's hometown, nestled in a far-off corner of the world where snow and frost dominate most of the year — a large contrast to the sandy dunes of Egypt.

“You like her,” you mused.

“Don't be absurd,” Cregan says, but he's failing miserably in hiding a smile.

There's a rustling among the shelves behind you, and the next thing you know, you're face to face with a single blue eye that reminds you of ocean water and iridescent wings.

"Sorry, I was told that the texts about Plato are in this section?" Aemond asks.

"Oh. Yes. Absolutely," you reply quickly, gesturing around you. "I mean, they're all here. Everything on this wall is Plato. We've just received a new collection of his works from Greece and we just finished cataloging and setting them up. They're on this shelf. Here." Your words stumble out awkwardly, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Perfect,” Aemond says, looking at you. Neither of you move. Cregan eyes the two of you with amusement.

“Well, I was just about to head out,” Cregan says cheerfully, sashaying past you. You turn, widening your eyes and mouthing no to him. Cregan simply grins as he disappears behind the bookshelves, leaving you with Aemond.

“You read Plato?” you ask.

Aemond nods. “I am an admirer of his work,” he says. “You were one of my first introductions to him, actually. I read your thesis on him, An Exploration Into the Metaphysics of Plato, when I was sixteen.”

“I can't imagine there would be many copies of that,” you say with amazement. “I wrote it when I was—”

“Sixteen,” Aemond says. You blink. He clears his throat. “I've been a follower of your work,” he adds shyly.

“Oh. I'm flattered.” You’re blushing.

“Is it true that you started studying at The Academy when you were fourteen?” He means the Platonic School of Athens, founded by Plato himself over 300 years ago. Most scholars called it The Academy. It is the first university to ever open in western civilization.

You nod. “I learned mathematics and astronomy here, but my father wanted me to get a hellenistic education on top of it, so he sent me to Greece. I stayed there for four years before returning to Alexandria.”

“I have a brother who studies there,” Aemond shares, leaning against a bookshelf. “My mother, being an Athenian herself, insisted he be sent there. He writes to me sometimes, telling me about the professors he works with. I had considered studying there myself.”

“What made you choose Alexandria over Athens?”

Aemond smiles. “I'm at the center of the world here. It seemed foolish to want to go anywhere else,” he says, his gaze sweeping the library around him. After a pause, he asks, “What made you want to teach?”

“The fear of oblivion,” you reply. "It's the realization that everything we do, everything we learn, and everything we create could be forgotten someday. Teaching, for me, is a way to combat that inevitability. By sharing knowledge, by shaping young minds, I can hope to leave a lasting impact — a legacy that outlives me."

Aemond nods thoughtfully. "So it's about leaving a mark on the world?"

"In a sense, yes," you affirm. "It's about contributing to something greater than myself, ensuring that knowledge endures beyond individual lives and fleeting moments."

He smiles faintly. "That's a noble pursuit."

"It's what drives me," you conclude. As you look at each other, you feel his gaze tracing over your face with a strange emotion. Awe? Admiration? Before you can decipher his thoughts, a scholar approaches the shelf behind you, prompting you to awkwardly step aside.

"I hope you find the resources on Plato you're looking for," you say to Aemond, refocusing on the moment. You pause. "We're hosting a seminar on Plato's metaphysics tomorrow afternoon in the Rose Hall. You should join us."

Aemond smiles. “I’d be honored to.”

🏛⏳️

Daytime in Alexandrian summers can be hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, but when the chill sets in at night, the city transforms into a completely different land. It is under the cloak of darkness that Alexandria truly comes alive.

You’re wrapped in a headscarf, its tail fluttering in the gentle wind from the Mediterranean as you navigate the narrow streets of the night market. Oil lamps and torches cast a soft, flickering glow as shadows danced across buildings decorated with a mix of hieroglyphs and hellenistic art. On the streets, you hear people speaking in both Greek and Egyptian, but also Persian, Moroccan, and other various African and Asiatic dialects. Various aromas filled the air— spices mingled with the savory scents of grilled meats and the sweet notes of baked pastries and delicacies from the far corners of the world. It was the New York City of the ancient world.

Weaving between stalls adorned with colorful fabrics and gleaming trinkets, you spotted one of the gold cloaks from earlier that day. Upon noticing you, he gave you a brief, curt nod before turning his attention sharply towards a group of rowdy children who were blocking the path of a passing wagon.

You make your way to an apothecary stall, securing the medicine your father needs before turning to leave. Suddenly, a hooded figure trips over a wooden crate and crashes into you, causing both of you to tumble to the ground. You fall flat on the cobblestones, his weight on top of you. Your basket with the apothecary vial shatters on the road.

“Ow!” he yelled. You struggle to push him off and get to your feet, then reach down to help him up, steadying him as he sways unsteadily. His hood falls back, revealing a mess of unruly white curls.

Prince Aegon Targaryen. You’ve seen him a few times while going around the city. The eldest son of Queen Alicent, known to frequent the streets of Alexandria often. Aside from Daemon, he was the only royal that most of the smallfolk could recognize by appearance.

"Prince Aegon," you say cautiously, helping him steady himself. "Are you alright?"

He blinks a few times, focusing on you with bleary eyes. "Why, hello," he slurs slightly, attempting a lopsided smile. For a prince, he seemed dirtier than Diogenes and his barrel.

"Let me help you," you insist, guiding him away from the scattered shards of glass. You maneuver him towards a nearby bench, ensuring he sits down safely.

"I’m alright, I’m fine," he murmurs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He groaned and vomited on the ground next to him. You pat him on the back awkwardly as he empties his stomach.

“Did my mother send you?” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“My mother. She sent you, didn’t she? I can’t catch a break these days,” he grumbled. “The woman is a menace. She’s become crazier since my brother got exiled. I can’t even drink in peace now. She’s sending her spies everywhere.”

You frowned. “I’m not a spy, my prince.”

Aegon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sits back heavily on the bench. He tilts his head up at you, scrutinizing you, and then he sighs and hungs his head.

“Forgive me,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m tired of the games. Tired of the scrutiny. I’m tired of the standards that she sets for me, and I’m tired of her disappointment when I fail to meet them. Can’t she see I don’t want any of this? Can’t she just let me be?”

You hesitate, unsure how to respond to the prince's candidness. He was clearly drunk and you’ve only just met him, and you’ve heard unsettling rumors about him. Stories of his frequenting brothels and fighting rings, of fathering illegitimate children and neglecting them. But in this moment, he seemed far from the crooked prince that people whispered about. He seemed like a child in need of comfort.

“Your mother worries about you,” you say gently. “She only wants what’s best for you.”

He scoffs bitterly. “Does she? Tell me, have you ever had a mother who would rather marry you to your own sibling for political gain than let you live your own life?”

You shake your head slowly. “I cannot say I understand fully, but I know you carry a heavy burden.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be free of it.” Aegon leans back, staring up at the night sky with weary resignation. “My brother was lucky. I’d do anything to exchange places with him.”

You recalled hearing news of Queen Alicent’s second son, who had been condemned to work in the mines of Nubia as punishment for the murder of his nephew. The usual penalty for murder was death, and much worse if the victim was a royal, but since the criminal was a prince himself, it changed a few things. The Nubian mines were typically reserved for lesser crimes in Alexandria.

“The one who was exiled to Nubia?” you asked Aegon.

He chuckles bitterly. “My brother didn’t get sent to Nubia. Mother loves him too much for that.”

You stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. You had a feeling that you weren’t supposed to be hearing this piece of information. Yet, Aegon didn’t seem to expect a reply. He’s looking up at the stars, as if he wished to fly off into the heavens and leave his miseries on the ground.

“Thank you,” Aegon finally said, breaking the quiet that had settled between you. Thank you for listening, thank you for not judging, thank you for watching out for my drunken mess. He rose to his feet, a bit unsteady but more composed than before. He took out a pouch of coins. “This is for… what I broke,” he said, gesturing to the remnants of the vial around you, shards of glass glittering under oil lamps. You thought of the broken dragonfly wings from earlier in the day.

You accepted the pouch gingerly. What he gave you was worth much more than the cost of the medicine, but you didn’t want to offend him so you decided not to mention it.

“Should I call the guards to escort you back to the palace?” you asked.

Aegon blinked, his gaze drifting momentarily. “No, no,” he said, waving dismissively. “They’re my uncle’s people. They don’t like me.”

"Will you manage on your own?" you pressed gently.

Aegon straightened his cloak and mustered a tired smile. "I always do," he said.

With that, the prince turned and started to walk away. You watched as he disappeared into the narrow streets, his figure gradually blending with the shadows.

Chapter II: Coming Soon

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd x you #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond x y/n

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sentientgolfball · 10 days

Text

Devotion

Part 1/3 of how Rain and Dew got together and perhaps also their first time

Read here or on Ao3

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Before Dew could become fire he had to make sure the new water ghoul would fit the needs of the Ghost Project.

Behind heavy wooden doors decorated with golden sigils stands four beings dressed in uniform. They have been working all evening for the ritual to come. When the full moon is at its highest point, a ghoul will be summoned. Dew is not entirely sure he is ready for it. He has only been Topside for a little over a year yet once that water ghoul pops out of the circle, he will be a mentor. He swallows thickly, the mask and the cloud of incense making it hard to breathe. He cannot be getting nervous now, this is his idea after all.

He is the one who went to Sister Imperator proudly claiming he will be the fire ghoul they need. He is the one who twisted the Clergy's arm until they agreed to do the elemental transition, refusing to heed the warning of Delta. He is the one who agreed to wait, just long enough to make sure the new water ghoul is a good fit before he is burned down to his very core to be rebirthed. At the time it seemed like a great deal, he would get to become fire and thus be closer to the Morning Star and all he had to do was make sure the new water ghoul could pluck a few strings. Now that he is staring at the summoning circle though, he is starting to realize he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

He shifts on his feet, the tip of his finned tail twitching between his legs. He vaguely knows about summonings, he was present for Mountain’s after all, but this one feels different. It somehow feels more intimate, knowing whoever pops out of the Pits will be his replacement. Knowing that he alone is going to be responsible for deciding if they will fit the needs of the Ghost Project; if not the Clergy will proceed with a fire ghoul summoning. He is solely responsible for not just his fate, but the fate of someone he has not even met yet. It makes his stomach churn and he has to fight to keep his fins from flaring.

He tries to focus on what is happening around him. Anything to take his mind away from how in a few short moments everything is going to change. He watches Omega and the Sibling of Devotion converse as they prepare the necessary ingredients. Salt water, fresh water, rain water, and moon water all ready to be poured over the sigils painted on the floor. Knowing this is exactly how he was brought Topside is a weird feeling. He pictures Mist standing in his spot; was she just as nervous as he is now? Probably not. She was a Ministry ghoul long before she was involved with the Ghost Project. Who knows how many summonings she’s seen, how many water ghouls she’s helped adjust to a new world? Is she angry that he is here instead of her? He hopes not. If he messes this all up he will need her. He always needs her.

His attention is stolen when the sound of muttering fills his webbed ears. Dew glances to his left to see Cardinal Copia quickly flipping through a gigantic book that looks like it is ready to turn to dust. He looks about as nervous as Dew feels, eyes wide while he scans over the ancient passages. He huffs as he watches him nearly drop the tome. He may not have known Terzo for long, but he still cannot believe this is the best the Clergy has for a replacement.

Copia must feel Dew staring because he looks up from the book, catching his eyes behind the silver mask. Dew tenses when he closes the book and walks over to him. He offers Dew a weak smile.

“It is exciting, no?”

“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Dew says bluntly.

“Ahah well yes but ehh it is still exciting.” He fidgets with his hands as he talks.

“Didn’t you summon those air ghoulettes like last week?”

“Si. Yes I did.”

“Then why are you so?” Dew gestures to Copia.

Copia sighs, “the rituals are easy to ehh mess up. I do not think I could live with myself if I accidentally destroyed an innocent being.”

Dew scoffs at the word innocent, but he doesn’t say anything. There is a long moment of silence before Copia speaks again.

“Are you not afraid?”

“Afraid?”

“Si. I am well aware of your ehh deal with Sister.”

“Why would I be afraid? All I have to do is make sure the new guy is competent enough to hold a bass,” Dew says with more force than he intended. He does not understand why the Cardinal felt the need to approach him. The longer this conversation goes on the more Dew wants to yell at him to fuck off. He doesn’t need some sweaty human trying to be friendly when there is so much on his mind.

“Apologies I ehh I suppose you are right. Your task is much easier than mine.” Copia offers him a lopsided smile.

Dew glares at him through the mask. Easier? What a joke. All he has to do is provide a little blood and maybe say a few words. Dew has to do everything else. Of course he’s afraid. Who cares if the ritual is easy to screw up, it’s even easier to ruin a person. A faulty ritual can be blamed on a number of factors, but a person? Dew would be the only one to blame. Why did he think he was cut out for this? He should not have taken this deal. He should have demanded he be made into a fire ghoul so someone more experienced could be there for this new water ghoul.

He cannot back out now though. Omega takes a deep breath, the scent of ozone filling the air when he exhales. The moon is at Her peak. It is time. Dew shuffles back into a corner, staying out of the way so the others can work. He is only here for formality. Copia, Omega, and the Devotion will be doing the actual rites. He is thankful really, he has no idea how much help he would be with the moon calling out to his own water. He can feel it responding to Her presence, but he cannot give in. He has to be present. He cracks his neck, eyes following the bustle around the room.

The blinds that were previously drawn tight are thrown open, allowing the moonlight to stream in. Copia makes quick work of extinguishing the candles in the room so that it’s only Her light. The Devotion steps up to the circle of sigils. In one hand she has a leather bound book, in the other is one of the jars of water. As she begins to read the ancient passage Omega’s voice joins her. He repeats the same words only in Infernal instead of English. Dew’s ear twitches at the sound of the familiar language. It is different from what he spoke when he was in the Pits, yet close enough to make something in him twist. He wonders if this is some type of quintessence dialect of Infernal or perhaps some ancient form of the language.

As the Devotion finishes the passage she begins to pour the first jar of water. She starts at the first sigil, letting the contents spill counter clockwise to create a circle. She grabs the next jar from the stone altar, not pausing as she starts the next passage. Omega’s voice continues to drone along with her as sparks of quintessence begin to ripple over his body. She draws the first two lines of a pentagram with the next jar. The process repeats until every last drop of water has been used. Each time a new line is drawn Dew can feel something. It’s heavy. It’s strong. It sits in his gut like a stone at the bottom of a river. He doesn’t remember feeling like this when Mountain was summoned.

When the last jar is emptied Copia approaches the circle of water. Omega picks up the dagger that had been sitting on the altar. He holds it in both hands, giving it his infernal blessing before handing it over. Like a mirror of who he was moments ago, Copia takes it from him with steady hands. He removes the glove on his left hand. There’s already a cut on his palm, just barely healed over. He brings the dagger to his palm, the edge placed right over the mark. He mutters a prayer in Italian before drawing the blade quickly across his skin. Dew’s nostrils flare when the metallic scent of blood hits his nose. His fangs throb. Every fiber of his being is telling him to go drink his fill, until there’s nothing left. He has to dig his claws into his arm just to keep his head clear. He will not be the reason this ritual fails.

Copia turns his hand down, letting his blood drip into the center of the water pentagram. Omega and the Devotion finish the final passage as the ingredients combine. It's silent. The only sound is Dew’s breathing from under the mask. They wait. The tension is palpable as the seconds turn to minutes. Nobody moves.

Copia opens his mouth to speak right as a fat raindrop lands in his eye. He gasps and brings his non-bloodied hand up to wipe it away. He looks to the ceiling as more begin to fall. Everyone in the room begins to relax as the drops pick up in intensity. Everyone except for Dew. Something is wrong. He can feel it. There’s something in the water. Something that’s not supposed to be there. As the shower turns into a storm his stomach churns. He rips his mask off and rushes over to the circle.

“Close it!” He shouts over the pounding of raindrops.

“Stay back. An active circle is volatile.” Omega holds an arm against his chest.

Dew pushes on it, “You have to close it now!”

“Dewdrop why would we—“ Omega’s pupils dilate when it finally hits him. The taste of something else.

He turns back towards the circle fully prepared to force it closed. But he’s too late. The drops begin to swirl, the shape of a body begins to form. Dew watches with a mix of awe and horror as the ghoul fully materializes. The moment it happens the ghoul falls to the floor. Unconscious. His dark hair is wet and clinging to his face. The bioluminescent stripes on his shoulders and tail are pulsing with each breath. An oceanic variant. His gills are flared, they flutter each time a raindrop hits them. Dew stares at him. He can’t look away. He doesn’t want to look away. He wants to reach out and touch him. He’s so enraptured he doesn’t notice the black smoke spiral that’s formed in the circle.

He finally looks up when the sound of sizzling fills the air. A smoky hand has reached through, its claws digging into the wood of the floor. A head appears next. Most of its features are obscured by the thick cloud of smoke, but Dew can smell the fear. Omega scoops up the unconscious water ghoul as a torso starts to form. Dew is frozen in place. He doesn’t know what to do as this creature made of smoke takes form. He’s not even entirely sure it’s a ghoul.

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as the thing finally pulls itself all the way through the closing circle. His gills flare when its featureless face turns towards him. It takes a step forward, hand extended. Dew doesn’t know if he should try to fight it or run from it. He does know he needs to protect that water ghoul though. He lets the thing approach him, slowly backing away from it. If it keeps its attention on him then maybe the Devotion will have a chance to come up with a way to banish it.

It doesn’t work that way though. A sharp hiss cuts through the panicked silence. Dew whips his head towards the sound only to be met with a vicious sight. The water ghoul is awake and pissed. Omega is clutching his forearm. There’s blood staining the ghoul’s mouth, dripping down his chin. Copia tries to get to Omega’s side but the ghoul swipes at him when he moves. He snarls at both of them, showing off rows of serrated teeth.

The commotion captures the attention of the smoke creature. It slowly turns towards the water ghoul and Dew panics. He tries to get its focus back on him; hissing and calling out to it but to no avail. He looks towards the Devotion only to see her back turned. She has candles lit, pouring oil over a small silver plate and muttering something quickly. Dew curses and snaps his head back towards the creature just in time to see one of the residual raindrops drip onto its outstretched hand. It stops moving when it hits, a strangled sound emanating from it accompanied by the sound of sizzling. Dew’s eyebrows raise.

“You don’t like water do you?”

He looks up at the ceiling to see it’s still slick from the initial summoning, occasional drops falling. He swallows before closing his eyes, letting his element come to life. He focuses on what energy remains, tapping into it to recreate the downpour. He can feel the pull. He’s never been more thankful for a full moon in his entire existence. He’s not sure he’d be able to do it without Her. He furrows his brow, extending his hand towards the ceiling. When he’s sure he has a hold on the water that remains he quickly pulls his hand down almost as if he was pulling on a rope. All at once a sheen of water splashes down making a loud splat when it hits the floor.

The creature falls to the ground, the same strangled sound filling the air. It’s barely audible over the sound of crackling, like water poured on sun baked pavement. Dew opens his eyes to see steam rising from its body as it writhes on the ground. His brief moment of victory melts away when the strange sound begins to morph into something more familiar. A scream. Dew watches in horror as the smoke begins to dissipate, revealing the figure of a ghoul.

He’s not a water ghoul, that’s for sure. At first Dew assumes he’s quintessence, the grayish purple hue of his skin standing out. But then he notices the patches of shimmering gold all over his body. A hybrid maybe?

He takes a tentative step towards him. He’s still shaking, head tucked between his legs and forehead pressing against the floor. Dew doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but what else is new? He just knows he needs to do something. He crouches down next to his huddled up form. He hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. The ghoul stops shaking, slowly raising his head to look at him. Dew sucks in a breath. His eyes are black and white. He’s not a hybrid. He’s a multi ghoul.

Is it over? His raspy voice whispers in Infernal.

Dew doesn’t get the chance to respond because the next thing he knows Omega is yelling at him.

“Dewdrop move!”

He turns just in time to see the water ghoul struggle out of Omega’s hold. He launches himself at the multi ghoul, eyes wide and lips pulled back in a snarl. Dew is knocked back, landing hard on the floor. The water ghoul snaps his fangs dangerously close to the multi’s face. He’s only stopped by the firm hands pressing against his chest and shoulders. They struggle against each other for a moment before the multi makes a move. As quick as lightning, he traps one of the water ghoul’s arms against his side. He bridges his hips with a hiss, rolling them over in one smooth motion. He wraps his arms around the water ghoul, keeping him tight to his chest as he flails.

The multi ghoul’s eyes begin to shift; black and white melts away replaced by yellow and orange. The scent of cinnamon and campfire fills the room as the multi’s fire sparks to life. Dew feels sick. He jumps up, fully prepared to join the fight.

“Wait.” Omega comes to stand beside him.

Dew looks between him and the tangle of ghoul on the floor, “What do you mean wait? They’re going to kill each other!”

“No they are not. Look.” Omega motions with a flick of his tail, hand still tightly wrapped around his injured arm.

Dew turns to look at them again, stomach still churning. The water ghoul is still struggling, but slowly he begins to settle until eventually he stops all together. He visibly relaxes, resigning himself to the hold of the multi ghoul. The multi doesn’t make a move to retaliate any of the aggression. He just sits there keeping him in the warmth of his fire.

“What in the absolute fuck?” Dew narrows his eyes.

“You learn not to question the things that stop a scared ghoul.” Omega shrugs and takes a step forward. There’s a gleam of purple from the holes of his mask. He stares at the two new ghouls for a moment before a satisfied hum rumbles through his chest.

“Alright Cardinal Copia. They are your responsibility now.”

“Are you…are you positive?” He looks pale and his hands have a slight shake to them.

“Quite.”

He swallows, “Very well then…Dewdrop would you mind ehh…?”

Dew jumps a little when his name is called. With all the excitement he completely forgot he actually has to do something now. He shuffles over to the ghouls on the floor, staring down awkwardly at them. He offers the water ghoul a lopsided smile before sticking his hand out. The water ghoul sniffs it before taking it. Dew hoists him to his feet. He’s taller than him, more broad. His eyes never leave Dew. He looks at him with an intensity that makes him feel like he’s going to be eaten alive. But there’s also something else in his gaze, something Dew can’t quite place over the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. Curiosity maybe? He’s not sure. He tries to ignore it, he has to at least pretend he can handle his new task. He can’t freak out just because he’s being stared at.

Dew keeps his eyes trained on Copia as he tentatively approaches. The water ghoul doesn’t look away from Dew until Copia is right in front of him. He looks at the Cardinal with a blank expression, waiting to see what he does next. Dew just hopes whatever it is it doesn't involve more fang.

Copia clears his throat, “You gave us quite the scare there pesciolino.”

The water ghoul blinks at him.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Ehh heh right…well…I would like to be the one to formally introduce you to the Ministry. You will be joining us in the Ghost Project. Helping spread the Old One’s message, si.”

Silence.

Copia shifts, wringing his hands, “Si okay how about a name? A new name for your new life? You caused a rather big storm so…”

Dew holds his breath. His naming. Sure, he saw Mountain receive his name, but that doesn’t change the fact that this moment carries so much weight. This is a name that will echo through every hall in the Ministry, through every branch of the Church, to every corner of the globe. The Cardinal will offer him the name and he can choose to accept it or not. If not, he will receive a placeholder title until he finds the perfect thing that fits. Names hold power, after all. Dew still remembers how it felt to receive his. How everything just clicked into place when Terzo addressed him. He glances at the water ghoul from the corner of his eye.

“…we will call you Rain.”

Something in his gaze shifts when Copia speaks the name. It’s almost imperceptible the way his eyes soften, but Dew notices. He can’t help the little smile that spreads across his face. Rain. Rain. Dew likes it. Rain is unpredictable, it can be a torrential downpour or a soft shower. It’s fitting for the ghoul that lashed out at everything that moved only to be stopped by a hug. A rather violent, unorthodox hug but still.

“Welcome Topside Rain.” Dew finally turns to look at him.

“What about me? What are you going to do with me?” The multi ghoul chimes in. He’s still sitting on the floor, propped up on his hands.

There’s a beat of silence as everyone turns their attention towards him. It’s a unique situation, summoning multiple ghouls at the same time. Though the Cardinal seems to have a talent for it considering he somehow managed to get two air ghoulettes out of one circle. But that was different. Two of the same element can be useful. It’s not exactly difficult to get a second set of keys or find a job around the Ministry if one doesn’t make the cut. A multi ghoul though? It’s unheard of. The only other multi ghouls that exist within the Ministry are the Special and Cowbell. That Chimera is a freak of nature even by ghoul standards. Hiding in the walls, only coming out to roam the halls in the dead of night or when the Clergy needs its assistance. Cowbell is just an earth ghoul for all intents and purposes. He himself did not even realize he was a multi ghoul until he came Topside.

There is no procedure for multi ghouls. There is no standard. They are rare and unpredictable.

“I am fully prepared to do a banishment ritual,” the Devotion breaks the silence.

The multi ghoul’s eyes go wide and he tenses. Dew holds his breath. That decision is up to Copia. He alone can decide whether or not to keep him Topside or throw him back like a fish that is too small. Dew has no reason to be concerned for this stranger, but the Pit is not exactly a kind place. Maybe he did have a good life Down Below, but considering he risked destroying himself to claw through a summoning circle Dew is confident in assuming it was not.

Thankfully, Copia looks just as disturbed as the multi ghoul at the suggestion. He walks over to him and holds out his hand. The multi hesitates for a moment before taking it. Copia helps him to his feet. Dew stares a little dumbfounded at his size. He’s taller than Aether. Probably close to Mountain’s height when he’s glamoured. Suddenly he does not feel so small standing next to Rain.

Even when the multi is stable on his feet, Copia does not drop his hand. He looks up at him, a gentle smile on his face. He clasps his other hand overtop the multi’s.

“We are not going to just get rid of you. If you made it through then you are meant to be here. We will find a place for, si. I can promise you that,” Copia speaks earnestly.

The multi ghoul returns his smile, relief flooding his features.

“What do you say? Will you join us…Shadow?”

He freezes and purses his lips, “Shadow?”

“Si, a new name for—“

“Yeah yeah new name for my new life I heard that part, but I am nobody’s shadow.”

Dew has to bite his tongue to not laugh at the look of dread on Copia’s face. Rain raises an eyebrow at him. Omega nudges him when he walks past him.

“Don’t worry Cardinal Copia, this was bound to happen with the amount of ghouls you have been summoning. Not every name can be a winner.” Omega approaches the two.

“Since you rejected your summoning name you will be given a placeholder until you decide on something for yourself.”

He turns to look at Omega.

“You will be known by your element. You are Multi.”

“And I get to pick my own name?” He asks.

“Correct. This is just a formality.” Omega confirms.

He shrugs, “Alright I can live with that.”

“Welcome Topside Multi.” Omega nods at him.

With that the two new summons are given their ceremonial robes, a simple garment made of black silk, and the remains of the ritual are cleaned. Four becomes one as each group splits to take care of what comes next. Copia and Multi leave to visit with the Clergy. They need to be informed of the additional ghoul so they can figure out where he fits in. Omega leaves for the infirmary to get his arm patched up. As powerful as quintessence ghouls are, even they can’t fix themselves. The Devotion stays behind to oversee the cleaning. Dew and Rain make their way to the Papal ghoul den.

Dew speaks the entire time, the need to fill the silence evident with the way he points out every little statue or stained glass window they pass. At this point he has no idea what he is saying, but he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He glances at Rain occasionally, trying to gauge his reaction to the world around him. His expression remains neutral and Dew takes it as a win, at least he didn’t seem unhappy or scared.

When they get back to the den it is empty, or at the very least no one is in the common room. Dew can smell one of the air ghoulettes nearby, the citrus and honey tells him it’s the shorter one. Cumulus he thinks is her name. He leads Rain into the hallway, turning down the right side. They walk past Aether’s door, stopping in front of the next one. Dew turns the knob and motions for Rain to follow him inside.

The room is furnished but devoid of any personality. There is a queen sized bed, desk, nightstand, and vanity dresser. This is the first time Dew has been in here since he cleaned everything out. This used to be his room. It is one of the only rooms in the ghoul den that has a bathtub designed for soaking. The other one is in Mountain’s room and he couldn’t exactly give his up, he doesn’t fit into regular tubs. When the decision to make Dew fire was finalized he had to move out so the new water ghoul would have the ability to soak without having to trek to the bathing pools. It feels weird giving his old space to a stranger, but he can’t complain. Soon enough he will have no use for hiding underwater.

“So…this is your room. I know it looks super boring right now, but once you start to find things you like you can do whatever you want to it.” Dew floats around the space.

Rain sits on the edge of the bed, a noise leaving his throat when he feels the plush mattress.

“Oh yeah, the beds are so nice. Beats sleeping on moss by a long shot. But if you think that’s cool you should check out the—“

“You can leave now.”

Dew snaps his mouth shut when Rain’s deep voice fills his ears. There is a beat of silence as Dew processes the words.

“What?”

“You can leave.”

Dew blinks. He wants him to leave. It’s barely been an hour of Rain being Topside and he already wants Dew to leave. Has he seriously fucked it up already? That has to be a record even for him. If Rain does not even want him around to settle in, then how is he supposed to figure out if he’s what the Ghost Project needs? He swallows thickly, mind racing with what he should do, with what Mist would do. The way Rain’s dark eyes look at him though tells him he should just listen.

“Uh yeah…well if you need anything I’m uh the door on the right.” Dew just nods and then walks out, closing the door behind him.

He stands outside of Rain’s room for a moment, letting what just happened wash over him. He sighs and walks to the common room. When he turns the corner he sees Mountain and Aether sitting on the couch. He forces a small smile when they notice him enter.

“So how’d it go?” Aether asks, scooting over and patting the space between him and Mountain. Dew can tell he’s tense just by the tone of his voice.

“You patched up Omega didn’t you?” Dew asks as he walks over and settles between the two bigger ghouls.

“Not like anyone else could,” Aether sighs, “Is he really that aggressive?”

“No I mean I hope not. He wasn’t as bad as the air ghoulettes, but well you saw Omega’s arm.”

“Where is he now?” Mountain asks, taking a sip from a steaming mug.

“He’s just…in his room. Hanging out I guess?” Dew shifts to slump against him.

“You guess?” Aether raises an eyebrow.

Dew groans, rubbing his hand over his face, “I dunno he kicked me out the moment he could!”

The two bigger ghouls look at each other. They stay silent, letting Dew continue.

“What did I do wrong? I mean his first words Topside were telling me to fuck off.”

“I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong Dewbug,” Mountain assures him.

“Yeah,” Aether runs a hand through Dew’s hair, “Summonings are rough and we have no idea what was happening to him before. He just needs to get used to everything. I mean Mountain didn’t even speak until we were halfway to our first show.”

Mountain rolls his eyes and takes another sip from his mug.

“So I should just what? Let him be alone?” Dew huffs. That doesn’t seem like something a good mentor is supposed to do.

“Not necessarily,” Mountain hums, “but at least give him time to settle.”

He sighs and closes his eyes as Aether’s fingers continue to rub against his scalp. They’re probably right, he just needs to let Rain come to him or anyone else for that matter. He can still recall his own summoning. He was always so on edge, didn’t trust a single person. He didn’t start to feel comfortable until Mist took him out to the lake and swam with him. He still thinks about what they talked about under the waves when he gets stressed. But Rain isn’t him. Maybe he does just need to be left alone and he’ll sort himself out? The thought alone makes something in Dew twists, but he shoves it down.

“What’s his name?” Mountain eventually asks.

“Rain,” Dew says, eyes still closed.

Mountain doesn’t get the chance to respond before the doors of the den swing open, amber and spice filling the air. Dew can feel Aether shift around to look at the sudden intrusion. Mountain wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer with a growl in his throat.

“And that’s Multi,” Dew supplies, completely unfazed.

“A pleasure.” He grins at the three ghouls on the couch.

“Who are you?” Aether rumbles.

“That little sprite there already answered that question.” He points at Dew.

Aether and Mountain both turn their attention towards Dew for answers. He shrugs.

“Copia has a knack for double catches.”

“He’s new too?” Mountain glances back up at him.

“Yes. He is.” Another voice rings out.

Cirrus enters the den, stopping just next to Multi.

“I cannot believe you let a new summon wander around in the middle of the night by himself,” she snaps.

Dew flinches, a sudden pang of guilt flaring.

“Sorry…” he mumbles. He feels like he should apologize. He was the only one of them who was present at the summonings. He just assumed Copia would take things over but it appears he was wrong.

Cirrus just shakes her head before making her way through the common room and turning down the left side of the hallway.

“You know I think I like her.” Multi’s eyes track her as she leaves.

The three ghouls stay silent. Dew thinks she’s intense, though he supposes that’s all she knows how to be. He doesn’t know much about her or Cumulus, but he does know that Cirrus used to be the leader of her flock. Up until a week ago she was responsible for the lives and safety of who knows how many ghouls and now she gets a memory foam mattress. He tries not to take it to heart when she snaps, just like Aether told him, but some days it feels personal. Maybe he has a talent for new summons hating him?

Mountain sighs and nuzzles his face into the top of Dew’s head, “It’s late. I’m going to turn in. Do you want me to show you to your room Multi?”

He shakes his head and plops down on the loveseat, “Nah. Think I’ll hang out here.”

“I’m gonna head out too,” Aether kisses Dew’s forehead, “Omega wants me to work the early shift tomorrow.”

Dew feels a stab of disappointment as both ghouls mumble their goodnights to him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with Multi, it's just that he wants the comfort that only those two can provide. It has been a very long and exhausting day and he wants his packmates. Though Multi is his pack now he supposes. But he doesn’t know Multi. Not like how he knows Aether and Mountain. Sure he could follow one of them back to their nest, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’s too wired from everything that has happened. He would just be alone, replaying the last few hours over and over as the other slept soundly. So he stays put, stretched out on the couch while Multi stares at him.

“I never thanked you.” Multi is the first to break the silence.

“Thanked me?” Dew cracks his eyes open to look at him.

“Yeah back in that room when I was all…” he gestures vaguely at his body, “you saved me.”

This grabs Dew’s attention. He sits up, turning his body to face Multi.

“I was trying to kill you. How in the fuck did I save you?”

“Well I like to think it’s obvious what my strongest elements are.”

He’s not wrong. His grayish purple skin and the splotches of gold scream quintessence and fire. But that’s where multi ghouls are different from hybrids. They have every element flowing through their veins, not just two. Sure there are imbalances, one or two or even three elements can be more present than others, but still, they are all in there to some capacity.

“Uhhuh.” Dew nods.

“Can’t feel my earth and water for shit. Never could, probably never will.”

“And so you jumped into a summoning meant for a water ghoul?” Dew deadpans.

“Had nothing better to do.” He shrugs, fang filled grin still on his face.

“Oh so you’re stupid. That’s good to know.”

“I like to think of it more as willing to take new opportunities,” he laughs, “but it did hurt like nothing else. Could feel myself falling apart, that is until you dumped all that water on me.”

It’s silent for a moment as the revelation hangs in the air. Dew shifts in his seat. He’s never been good with praise or gratitude. It always makes him feel like he’s lying, like he somehow tricked whoever into believing he's a responsible and competent ghoul.

“Well it’s good to know at least one new summon doesn’t hate me.” Dew tries to joke.

“Who? Rain? Please, that little fishy was all by himself when The Light snatched him. Who knows how long it’s been since he's seen another ghoul?”

All by himself. Somehow knowing that doesn’t make Dew feel any better. Actually, it sort of makes him feel worse. Rain was presumably left alone in the Pits and even now that he’s Topside he’s alone. Dew has half a mind to knock on his door, just to see if maybe he has changed his mind in the last hour. He doesn’t though. Rain was the one who asked to be left alone. Maybe he prefers it that way? It’s not uncommon for oceanic water ghouls to live by themselves. That would be just great if they happened to summon a loner for a band position.

“So…how did things go with the Clergy?” Dew asks. He doesn’t want to think about possibilities anymore.

“You’re looking at an official member of the Ghost Project…whatever that means.”

“No shit they actually let you join? Just like that?”

“What? Didn’t think those humans would like me?”

“It took the Cardinal two days to convince them to let Cumulus actually in instead of just as backup. How the fuck did you manage that?”

“They offered me the spot and I said yes.” He shrugs, twining his hands behind his head.

Dew narrows his eyes. He may not know Multi well enough to see his tells, but scent is never wrong. He’s lying. Dew can smell the subtle shift in that amber and spice scent of his. It became muddled. Muted. Replaced with something bitter. But what part is he lying about? Is he not actually in the band? Did the Clergy not actually offer him anything? Dew can’t tell. He is curious though.

“So…what are you gonna be doing then?” Dew asks. He’ll find a way to pull the right thread.

“Guitar.”

Dew freezes. What the fuck does he mean guitar? Aether is already on rhythm and Dew is supposed to be lead. He’s supposed to be. That was the fucking deal. Lords Below he is quintessence and fire. He could be either. They wouldn’t get rid of Aether…would they? Multi must sense the shift in his demeanor because the corners of his mouth twitch up.

“And backing vocals. And whatever else little Cardi needs. Imperator’s words, not mine.”

Dew relaxes slightly, but he’s still tense. He may have only been here for a little over a year, but even he can tell the Clergy likes to play games. He was there when Terzo was ripped off stage after all. Forcibly removed from the position of Papa for reasons that still are not clear. He would not be surprised if Sister actually did give him a deal. One of the only times Special appears is when the Clergy needs it. Maybe Multi will be the new Special? Dew’s tail twitches at the thought. Dew suddenly does not feel like pulling anymore threads.

The two sit in silence for a long time, occasionally breaking it with conversations of Dew’s favorite things he has discovered since being Topside. He tries to not let his mind run wild and he begins to find Multi an interesting person to talk to. It’s comfortable. It’s easy. But eventually everything catches up to Dew. His eyes are dry and he swears he can hear his bones creak when he moves. He slowly stands from the couch after the next lull in their chat. He stretches and looks towards Multi.

“Think I’m gonna go sleep. You wanna be shown to your room now?”

“Nah I’m fine out here.”

Dew raises an eyebrow, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Dew can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but he doesn’t force him. Maybe he should, but his mind feels sluggish.

“Well you can pick any room that’s empty.” Dew murmurs before turning and heading down the right side of the hallway. He doesn’t get far though.

“Hey Dewdrop?”

He stops, turning around to look at Multi.

“For the record, this new summon doesn’t hate you.”

Dew blinks and turns back around. He ducks his head so that his hair falls over his face to hide the smile that creeps onto his face.

“Goodnight Multi,” he throws over his shoulder.

He barely has the mind peel himself out of his uniform when he gets back to his room. He does not even bother with braiding his hair like he normally does. He will be annoyed in the morning when he has to brush out knots and tangles, but right now all he cares about is crawling under his blankets and burying his head under a pillow. Once he’s out of his clothes he does just that, forgoing pajamas. Not a single patch of skin is visible in the mess of his nest. The only thing that shows he’s even there is the vaguely Dewdrop shaped lump curled up in the middle of the bed.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep does not come easy at first. He is almost hyper aware of the fact Rain is just on the other side of the wall. Talking with Multi nearly made him forget about his shortcomings with the new water ghoul, but now that he’s alone it’s all he can think about. He thinks about the possibility that Rain was a loner in the Pits. If that is true Dew is fucked to put it simply. There is no way a loner is going to fit the needs of the Ghost Project. Even if he ends up being a magical prodigy on bass, it completely ignores everything else that goes into it. He has to be constantly surrounded by other ghouls. Not even ghouls from his pack, but others that the Cardinal may interact with. He’s not just a band ghoul. He’s a ghoul that was summoned by a high ranking Clergy member. He has innate responsibility that goes beyond plucking a few strings and showing up to rehearsals. If he cannot perform the more social aspects there is no way the Clergy will let that fly. Dew will not be able to become fire. He hopes to any Lord that is listening that Rain is not a loner and he just does not like him. At least then he can get what he wants, who cares if he’s hated?

Sleep eventually claims Dew as his thoughts turn silent. For the first time in a long time, he dreams of the Pits. He dreams of what used to be his home. He dreams of the shining lake he was chased out of when he was deemed a hindrance to his school. He sinks down, down, down below the waves, unable to reach the surface no matter how hard he kicks. Just as the light disappears though he blinks and he is in Aether and Ifrit’s arms sitting on the dock of the Ministry’s lake. Both of them are whispering in his ears, but he cannot focus on them. He can only focus on his reflection in the water. It is not him. It is a silhouette with red glowing eyes, staring back at him. He reaches out to touch it. It feels almost familiar. He needs to see what happens. The moment he does the dock disappears and he’s thrown right back into the cold, dark depths.

He wakes up with a start, sitting up so fast the pillow over his head gets launched across his room. He blinks and shakes his head, brow furrowed as he looks around. He turns towards the window, early morning light filtering in through the blind before glancing at the clock on his nightstand.

“Figures,” he grumbles to himself.

Even when he is exhausted he cannot sleep past sunrise. He could try to roll over, burying himself back in the warmth of his blanket nest, but he knows he will not fall back asleep. Once he is up that is it, he cannot go back. He does not know why, maybe it is because he is a light sleeper who knows? All he knows is that it sucks. The only other people that get up this early are the Ministry fire ghouls, called awake by the sun Herself. He knows well enough that Ifrit would rather sit in bed and watch Zephyr sleep than do anything else. He would sooner cut off his own fins than hang out alone with Alpha, so he is used to spending mornings alone.

He sighs deeply, running his hands over his face before rolling out of bed. The chill of the room is the only thing that reminds him he did not bother with pajamas last night. He digs around in his dresser, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants to head to the kitchen. The den is quiet as he walks through the halls, though he is not complaining. Sometimes it is nice to simply exist in a space without having to make yourself known.

It is routine for him. He goes to the kitchen to grab a before breakfast snack to chew on in his room while he waits for everyone else to wake up. He could go down to the feast hall or figure out how the stove works, but why bother? He does not like to eat meals alone. He would much rather go hungry. The silence is nice at first, but the longer it stretches the more his skin starts to itch. So he grabs a bag of dried seaweed and turns right back around to curl up and scroll on his phone while he waits. He pauses when he sees Multi still sleeping on the loveseat. He looks uncomfortable. He is sweating and he reeks of fear. Part of him screams to go wake him up, but the part of him that is still half asleep wins. He makes a mental note to prod at him later and heads back to his room with his snack in hand.

When he gets to the hallway though, something makes him stop. It's faint, but he can hear commotion coming from Rain’s room. It does not sound just like he is waking up, it sounds like a struggle. He can hear the sound of his deep voice, though he cannot make out what he is saying. He stares at his door, chewing his lip. Mountain, Aether, and Multi’s voices all overlap in his head telling him the same thing.

Leave him alone. He asked you to leave him alone. He wants to be alone.

He should listen. He should just ignore it and walk right into his room. He makes it one step past Rain’s door before turning around and grabbing the handle. He is almost surprised when it pops right open. Thank the Lords Rain has yet to discover locks. The room is dark save for the dim light of the sunrise. At first, Rain is nowhere to be seen and Dew’s stomach flips, but he quickly notices the door to the bathroom is open. He walks over, flipping the light on when he steps through the threshold.

Rain is on the ground next to the bathtub clawing at his gills. He glares up at Dew, but he can see the panic in Rain’s eyes. Even if the mask was not slipping, Dew can smell the sharp scent of fear in the air. He drops to his knees, coming up beside him. Once he is closer he can see just how dry the skin around his gills are. He can see dots of blood where the skin is cracked. The sight makes him feel sick.

“Shit fuck okay hold on just hold on.” He reaches up to turn the faucet on.

The moment the water sprays out Rain practically leaps forward. He crawls into the tub, sticking his head under the running water so that it covers his gills. Dew can see them flare and pulse as he sucks in air. How could he be so stupid? Rain is an oceanic water ghoul. He has never existed out of water before. Dew did not even think to explain that he needs to soak. It is second nature to him as a freshwater ghoul. A ghoul designed to live on both land and water. He let something so important slip his mind and now Rain’s gills might be damaged. He really has fucked up in record time. He swallows. He needs to fix this. He needs to get out of his head and actually be there for this ghoul.

He sits up on his knees, reaching into the tub to plug the drain. Rain’s hand darts forward, grabbing his wrist. Neither of them move. He keeps his head down under the faucet and Dew just stares at him. He can feel his claws prickling against his skin. Dew cannot pull away even if he wants to lest he shreds his own wrist. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, pushing down every instinct he has. After what feels like an eternity, Rain slowly lets go of Dew. He still does not look at him though. When he fully drops his hand, Dew plugs the drain.

“Now you can soak,” Dew mumbles.

At the sound of his voice, Rain turns his head. Dark blue peeks out from behind wet strands of inky black. His eyes search Dew’s face and that feeling from the summoning room returns. He still cannot place it, the look he gives him. It makes him feel like the rabbit locking eyes with the wolf moments before the chase begins. He is not confident he will survive if Rain decides to spring. But he will not run. If this is what it takes to become fire then he will do it. He will prove his devotion.

When the water is high enough to lick against the gills on Rain’s abdomen, he turns his attention away from Dew with a noise of surprise. He leans back in the tub, resting against the cool porcelain with his knees to his chest. Dew does not think he has ever seen a ghoul so big look so small. They sit in silence, the only sound filling the room is running water. When it’s high enough Dew flips it off. He wants to talk to him but he has no idea what to say. He picks at the grout in between the tiles as a million things race through his head. Should he apologize? For what? Leaving when he was asked to? He cannot exactly ask how his first night was, it is pretty obvious given they are in this situation to begin with. Even he is not stupid enough to ask about his life in the Pits. That is a story he has to tell on his own, if he ever tells it.

He keeps tracing the lines of the tiles with his claws until something catches in the corner of his eye. The bag of dried seaweed. He completely forgot about it when he saw Rain’s condition. He flicks it with his tail, pushing it close enough to him that he can grab it. He can feel Rain’s eyes on him as he struggles to open it.

“Stupid fucking,” he mutters as he tries to pull it open, “forget it.”

He puts the corner of the bag into his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth. When he looks up again Rain is right at the edge of the tub peering at him with big eyes. Dew nearly jumps at the sudden proximity, Rain’s face about only a foot away from his. He can see his nose twitch as he scents the air. He looks between him and the bag before tentatively extending it to him.

“Want some?”

Rain mirrors him, looking between Dew and the bag a few times before hesitantly reaching forward. He takes a handful before pulling back, putting a bit more space between himself and Dew as if he would suddenly change his mind about sharing the food. He watches Dew stick some in his mouth before darting his tongue out to taste it. Dew has to fight back a smile when he sees his pupils dilate. Maybe he can coax him out of his self isolation with food? He’ll have to beg River and Lake to catch some fish for him. And then beg Mountain to cook it. He thinks it would be worth it just to see any expression on Rain’s face other than a snarl. He wants to know what he looks like when he smiles.

The thought catches Dew off guard, makes him pause. Who cares if he ever smiles as long as he can hold a bass? That is all Dew needs right? That is all he thinks he needs, but sitting here staring at Rain without his hair covering his face as he tries Topside food for the first time something else blooms. He does want to see him smile. He wants to see him laugh. He wants to see him comfortable. He does not just want him to be his replacement, he wants Rain to be his friend. Suddenly he cannot live with the idea that Rain hated him the moment he stepped out of the circle. Unfortunately Dew has never been great when it comes to his emotions so he ignores it. He has too many things to worry about and one of them does not need to be if Rain likes him or not.

He is pulled from his thoughts when a deep voice fills the silence, “Why did you help me?”

“Huh?” Dew blinks.

“Why did you come back here to help me? Why are you sharing your food with me?”

How the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“I…heard you struggling and I got concerned. What type of ghoul would I be if I let you die the first night you’re here?” He tries to keep it light, almost joking.

“A smart one.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not.” He pauses when he hears himself. Rain raises an eyebrow at him.

“That’s not what…nevermind. The point is you’re Topside. You don’t have to fight to survive anymore. You have a pack now.”

It’s subtle the way the corners of his eyes soften, but it is there. He still looks tense, but Dew does not expect him to magically adjust just because he was a decent person to him. As long as he does not try to claw or bite anyone anymore Dew will take it as a win.

“Can I have more of those things?” Rain eventually mutters.

“All yours.” Dew hands him the entire bag. Rain does not take it at first though. “Seriously, it's fine. The others should be getting up soon so that means breakfast.”

With the affirmation, Rain takes the bag from him. They sit in silence while Rain eats, but for once Dew does not mind. It gives him a chance to think. He needs to find the thing that will actually help Rain. Mist did that for him. He can do it for Rain. Maybe he should take him to the lake. Although River and Lake are usually out there and something tells him throwing him out there with more random ghouls probably is not the best idea. Why is this so hard? He taps his claws against the tiles, trying to come up with literally anything. All the while the scent of cooked meat slowly filters in. Mountain must be up. Maybe he can help.

Dew stands, stretching his back with a pop that makes Rain visibly cringe. He eyes Dew with that unfamiliar look, “You’re leaving?”

This takes him by surprise. Clearly Rain does not like other ghouls, and now he is concerned where Dew goes?

“Uhh yes? Was gonna go see what’s cooking.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Dew flexes his fingers. He might as well take a chance, what’s the worst that could happen?

He extends his hand, “You can come if you want.”

“The other ghouls will be there too won’t they?”

“Yeah. Well. It’s early still so it will probably just be Mountain for a bit.”

Silence.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No one is gonna make you.”

Rain nods, pulling his knees back up to his chest.

“I can…bring you a plate? If you want?”

He nods again.

Dew smiles a little, “I’ll be back.”

He leaves Rain’s room, shutting the door behind him before heading to the kitchen. Multi is awake now, no longer on the loveseat. Instead he is sitting at the table watching Mountain who is staring down at the pan in front of him with his arms crossed, spatula in hand.

“Hey little sprite,” Multi greets when he sees him.

Mountain blinks, looking up from the stove when he hears him, “Morning Dewbug.”

He hops up onto the counter, nuzzling against Mountain’s shoulder, “What’re you making?”

“Sausage and potatoes.” He replies as he presses the spatula down against the meat, sizzling growing louder as he does.

Dew hums, “Can you make me two plates?”

Mountain cocks an eyebrow, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

“What? Am I supposed to let the new summon starve?”

“Oh the little fishy let you back in?” Multi chimes in.

“Yeah…something like that.”

“Few more minutes and it’ll be done. I made extra so bring him as much as you want.”

Dew stays sitting on the counter, legs idly swinging while he zones out. Mountain and Multi are talking, but he does not pay attention to their conversation. He is not really paying attention to anything, letting his stream of thought flow. He is only snapped back into reality when Mountain nudges him. He blinks and shakes his head, eyes flicking up to meet Mountain’s.

“Foods ready.”

Dew can see four plates dished out and sitting on the table over his shoulder. Multi is already digging into his. Dew smiles.

“Thanks Mount.” He presses a kiss to his cheek and hops off the counter.

He takes the plates from the table, wincing a little at the heat. He carries them back to Rain’s room, using his tail to open the door. He is surprised to see Rain out of the bathtub. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, hair still wet. He looks tense when the door first opens, but he minutely relaxes when he realizes it is Dew.

“I know it’s not fish, but it’s meat. I know it’s weird but trust me it’s so fucking good.” Dew hands one of the plates off to Rain.

Dew takes a seat at the desk, turning the chair around so he can face Rain. He hopes he will eat it. He remembers when he was first summoned he refused to eat anything besides the bag of raw shrimp he found in the bottom of the fridge. It took Mist weeks to get him to try something else, something that was not seafood. He watches Rain eye the sausage, poking at it with his claws before picking it up and sniffing it. He takes a bite and visibly grimaces. Dew is sure he will spit it out, but he just chews it slowly.

“You don’t have to eat it. I can ask Mount to make you something else,” Dew assures him.

Rain shakes his head, “No it’s…fine. I can eat it.”

Almost as if to prove his point, he scoops up some of the potatoes and pops them into his mouth. Thankfully he does not seem to have as much of a visceral reaction to them as the sausage. Dew wants to say something, but he also does not want to push his luck. It is amazing Rain did not just kick him out once Dew turned on the tub for him, so he is not going to test his limits. As long as he does not get sick Dew is happy. He will ask Mountain to make something special for him when dinner rolls around. Maybe he will even ask him to make his favorite smoked salmon dish. He is sure that is something Rain will like.

“What happens to me now?” Rain eventually asks as they both eat.

“Uh well we have a week before you have to start rehearsal? I think? I didn’t really pay attention so in the meantime I guess you just…hang out?” Dew has the sudden realization that perhaps he needs to learn how to plan ahead.

“Rehearsal?” Rain cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah I mean that’s why you were summoned. To play bass for the Ghost Project.”

“I was summoned. To play human music. In a human band. Summoned from Hell itself to be in a band.”

“Well when you put it like that it sounds crazy.”

Rain blinks at him.

“It’s really not so bad,” Dew shrugs, “I think it’s really fucking fun.”

“You’re in it too?”

“Yeah I…used to play the bass.” Dew can feel the fins on his arms twitch. Technically he is not wrong. If Rain is deemed worthy then he will have no reason to ever pick up a bass again.

“Used to?”

Dew nods, “Can’t do it anymore so they uh they summoned you. I’m here to help you get used to it.”

It is that he doesn’t want to talk about his planned elemental transition, it is more so he does not want to burden the new summons. It is bad enough dealing with Mountain, Aether, Ifrit, and Zephyr, he does not need people he barely knows pitying and worrying about him too. If he just never mentions it then he will never know how they look when tears fill their eyes if something goes wrong. He knows he will be fine, but if his time with them is brief then he only wants to know them with smiles.

Rain hums, “So those other ghouls. They’re in the band too?”

“Yeah. Everyone in the den has played at some point or another. Mount and Aether are still in it,” he pauses, “and I guess those two air ghoulettes and that multi ghoul as well.”

“Him?”

Dew nods.

Rain scoffs but does not say anymore. Interesting. That is going to be something he digs at when he is not so afraid of being kicked out again.

The two talk for a while longer, empty plates long forgotten. Though, it is mostly Dew speaking with introjections from Rain every now and then. Dew ends up suggesting he meets the rest of the pack, but Rain is quick to shoot that down. Instead, they settle on something much simpler. A tour of the Ministry. They both get dressed after Dew steals some of Mountain’s clothes for Rain and they head out. He really cannot say if he is cut out for this whole mentoring thing, but watching Rain’s face fill with wonder as he shows him around makes something swell in his chest. He is more than happy to be the one Rain falls to.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #dew ghoul #raindrop ghost #rain x dewdrop #swiss ghoul #golfball writes

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fettuccin-e · 1 year

Text

Forever Feels Good

A/N: So yeah. its more santi smut. I rewatched triple frontier recently and yknow how oscar and pedro look absolutely scrumpdiddlyumptious so i had to write some happy, domesticated santi because HE DESERVES SOMETHING GOOD

Description: Sometimes, Santi can't believe that he's actually yours, that you're his. And, as a good husband, he just wants to make his beautiful wife feel good. (w/c: 3.1K)

Tags: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x reader, afab!fem!reader, Santi really likes that she's his wife, pretty domestic, alcohol consumption, oral (r!recieving), unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), breeding kink like quite a bit of breeding kink i may have a problem

Santi sometimes forgets that he’s actually married to you. That it’s his ring on your finger, that he lives in a home that the both of you share.

There’s a part of him, a big part, that looks at you and knows that you’re too beautiful to really be his. With your bright smile and glittering eyes, smoothing out his rough edges and giving something to live for again. It doesn’t feel real, even after years of being married, introducing you as his wife to all of his coworkers and friends, fixing up a house you bought together, living a perfect little white picket fence life that Santi had only thought was a fantasy while in Delta.

He watches you with rapt attention across the bar, grabbing your fruity drink from the bartender while you chat with Frankie at the pool table.

You’re laughing hard to a story that Frankie is telling, Santi’s beer clutched in one of your hands while you brace the other on Frankie’s shoulder. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are crinkling at the corners with your grin, and Santi can’t imagine anyone more perfect.

As your laughter eventually dies down you gaze at Santi across the room, probably unaware that he was already staring, and the breath is nearly knocked out of his lungs as your eyes meet. Your wide smile melts into something softer, intimate even in a room full of people, and his already weak knees want to give out.

He forces himself to walk on shaky legs across the room, setting your drink on your table, fingers itching to touch your soft skin. He spins you around when he reaches you, pinning your back to his front and wrapping his strong arms around your waist while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck.

Your perfume is strongest there, the smell of you invading his senses and swimming through his desperate mind. He vaguely senses Frankie walking away to talk to Will, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Not when he has his wife in his arms, your hair tickling his nose and you giggle echoing in his ears.

Santi presses a kiss to your neck, unable to help himself. “Look so pretty tonight, princesa. Y’wanna let me take you home?” he murmurs quietly into your ear, hearing you suck in a soft breath.

“I don’t know how my husband would feel about that, handsome,” you giggle, and he tugs you just a little bit closer.

“C’mon, baby, I’m sure he won’t mind one bit,” he chuckles lowly. “Can’t let a pretty thing like you go without being taken care of like you deserve.”

“Hm,” you sigh, leaning back against his strong body, “you drive a hard bargain, don’t you?” You reach a hand back to wind your hand into his hair, tugging him up to meet your lips in a sticky kiss. “Promise to take care of me, baby? I’ve been told that I can be greedy. Gonna need you to make me cum as many times as I want.”

Santi feels lightheaded, his vision blurring at the edges. “Fuck, hermosa, anything. Anything you want, you’ll get it, promise I’ll-”

“Hey, lovebirds!” you hear Benny call from the pool table, stick clutched in his hand. He’s disarmingly loud even in a room full of people, your head snaps ahead from Santi’s lips, and you can feel the groan rumble in your husband’s chest at the loss. You smirk to yourself involuntarily, pride blooming in your chest at the fact that you’re the one that can bring Santiago Garcia, ex-military grump with a will of fucking steel, to his knees with a something as simple as a little kiss.

“You guys gonna get a room or what? Think of the kids!” Benny continues, laughing. Frankie chuckles with him, Will smacks him on the back of the head.

“Turning a little green there, Miller!” you fire back, smiling all the while. “Been a while since you got any? Celibacy is not a good look on you, man.” Frankie laughs harder at that, and even Will chuckles, and it’s Benny’s turn to smack his brother on the back of his head.

You turn your head again to whisper up into Santi’s ear, “As much as I hate to admit it, he might be right.” You shift your hips back, just a little, pressing your ass tight against the bulge of his dick in those tight pants he always wears. Santi curses.

“You wanna get out of here handsome?”

“Please,” Santi groans, and you laugh softly at his eagerness before you’re grabbing his hand and walking him to the door of the bar, nodding a goodbye at Frankie as you do.

He’s on you the moment you walk through the door of your shared home, pressing you hard against the door with a thick thigh between your legs, pressed tight against your hot cunt through the material of your panties under your skirt. He licks into your mouth like he’s starving for it, like he’ll never get to again, like it’s not the cold metal of his ring on your finger, pressed against his cheek as you cup his jaw.

“So, so fucking pretty for me hermosa, my god. Got everyone in that bar looking at you, but you’re mine, yeah? My wife, fuck-” Santi says into your mouth, choking on the last word, bucking up into you.

“Bed, Santi, please,” you whine, head spinning with the taste, the smell, the feel of him under your fingertips. Six years of marriage, and you’re both still obsessed with each other the same way you were when you both first met. Clutching into each other like the other will disappear at any moment, like every second together has only been a wonderful dream. He grins into your mouth before taking your hand again, breaking into a jog through your little house and into your bedroom, the both of you giggling like teenagers.

You make him feel young, Santi thinks, laughing into your mouth as he lays you gently onto the mattress. Even with his creaky knees and graying hair, you manage to make him feel young. He presses himself against you, and you mewl, your hips moving in desperate little grinds against the bulge in his jeans.

“Santi, please,” you choke, gasping softly as his zipper catches on your clit through your panties. You’re clenching around nothing, suddenly so unbearably empty that you could cry from it.

Santi shushes you gently, running his hands under your shirt, rucking it up over your chest. You raise your arms to help him along, and Santi wastes no time in divesting you of your shirt. He tosses it behind him carelessly before leaning down again to lick into your mouth, utterly addicted to the taste of you.

There’s something about Santi that brings out this part of you, this desperate, needy part that you’d never felt before knowing him. He makes you feel ravenous, animalistic as he towers over you, kissing you like a man possessed.

You reach down to grab his shirt in a fist, shoving it up his stomach until he finally smiles against your mouth, breaking away from your kiss to yank his shirt off, tossing it in the same direction he threw yours. He moves down, trailing hot, sticky kisses and bites to your neck, your collarbone, right between the valley of your tits.

His thick hands curl around your back, his calluses scratching along your soft skin, raising goosebumps in their wake as he unclasps your bra, dragging it down your arms and leaving you bared to him. It should feel vulnerable, exposed, but you hear Santi groan softly under his breath at the sight of you, and you feel anything but vulnerable. Fuck, you feel powerful, stunning under Santi’s burning gaze.

He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it feverishly while his other hand, warm and rough, tweaks the other harshly. You can’t help how your back shoots up, how a choked moan escapes your throat. Your hands tangle in his hair, a terribly sexy mess of grey and black, holding him to your chest.

“Fuck, oh God, Santi, Santi, need you so bad baby, please. Please,” you mumble, your mind already hazy as Santi switches nipples, his eyes closed and lost in you. He brings his free hand down, down, under your skirt, and presses a thumb harshly over your clit through your panties. The friction of the cotton is harsh against your throbbing clit, but Santi rubs quick little circles into you, reveling in the whines that escape unbidden from the back of your throat.

“So fucking pretty, princesa. Mi amor, god, mi vida. You’re my fucking life, you know that? So gorgeous, angel, and all mine. Fuck, can’t believe you’re mine, baby.” Santi mumbles against your skin, finally releasing your nipple from his mouth. He continues peppering tiny kisses down your stomach, staring up at you as he does. His mouth doesn’t leave your skin even as he brings his hand up from your clothed cunt, tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You can feel how soaked you’ve gotten, the way your thighs are slick with your arousal.

“Fuck, hermosa, what’s got you this wet, huh?” He grunts, his voice gravelly and rough.

“You, Santi, it’s all- it’s all you. Since the bar, baby, since before the bar. Fuck, always want you, Santiago, ‘m ready for you all the time.” You tilt your hips up with your words, your entrance throbbing and so desperate for his touch.

“God, bebita,” Santi groans. “Such a fucking slut, huh? You would’ve let me fuck you right in that bar, yeah? Just let me tug you into the bathroom and fuck you as hard as I want. Would've done it too, sweet girl, you get me so fucking hot. In these,” he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, and you twitch as you feel him breathe a warm gust of air right over your desperate pussy. “In these fucking little skirts you like to wear, god. Got the sexiest girl in the fucking world, yeah? Everyone wants you, but I’m the one who gets to have you. I get to have you for the rest of our lives, mi amor.” He’s so close, so fucking close to wear you need him most. “I get to fuck this sweet pussy for the rest of our lives, baby,” Santi breathes.

You nearly scream as he licks a long stripe up your cunt, lapping up some of the mess you’ve already made of yourself. He sucks your clit into his mouth, sucking at it hard and unrelenting. The sensation of it is almost too much, and your thighs clench around his head quickly, before Santi brings a hand up to grab at your inner thigh. He pulls you apart, keeping you spread for him as he licks and sucks and plays with you until you’re already shaking. He keeps you spread with only one of those strong hands, pressing his tongue harshly against your sensitive little clit, and you suddenly feel the thick presence of his other hand, a calloused digit sinking slowly, so slowly into your cunt.

“Santi, Santi, oh fuck, Jesus fucking Christ baby, it’s so- shit, it’s so,” you can hardly get the words out, especially as he crooks his finger up and presses it against your g-spot without any trouble. Santi groans against your clit, sinking yet another finger inside you along the first.

You should be used to it by now, after so long together, but every single time Santi fucks you, it’s like he’ll never get to do it again. He throws himself, his mind, body, his fucking soul, into only making you feel good. It’s nearly sacrilegious, how he worships you, praying with his tongue at the altar of your body.

But it’s not enough, not when you know how it feels when he’s inside, not when you’ve been thinking about his thick cock stretching you out until you feel like you’re about to break. You tangle a hand back into his hair, tugging him harshly away from your pussy. He keeps his fingers inside, spreading you apart as he looms over you, meeting your lips in a sticky kiss. His lips are sticky with your arousal, but you can’t bring yourself to care, gasping, “Please, baby, Santi fuck me, ‘m so empty, need to be filled up, need you to stuff me full.”

Santi grins, smug against you as he presses a third finger into your tight cunt, relishing in how your body jerks hard in response. “Just a little longer, baby,” he mutters, “Gotta make you cum first, right? Wanna feel this pretty pussy clench around my fingers, fuck baby, you’re so sexy. Want you to cum, princesa. Cum like you fucking deserve.”

You choke on a gasp as he hammers hard into you, overwhelmed tears filling your eyes as he abuses your g-spot with a practiced hand. You can feel your orgasm building inside, threatening to drown you in it’s severity, as Santi leans down again, whispering harshly, like it’s a threat, “Be a good little wife for me, baby, and cum. Now.”

And you can’t do anything but that, whining high as your pussy clenches and gushes all over Santi’s hand, your hips jerking wildly. Santi is murmuring little praises into your ear, but you can hardly hear him over the ringing in your head, the effort it takes to breathe properly again.

“You okay, mi amor? Need to stop?” Santi whispers, petting his hands across your thighs, calming, but your eyes snap open all the same.

“Santiago Garcia, if you leave me here without getting fucked, I’m filing for divorce.”

Your statement shocks a quick laugh out of your husband, but he leans down to kiss you all the same. “So greedy, mi amor,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you giggle as he stands quickly, shucking his pants and boxers off before kneeling between your spread legs again.

You gasp softly as he notches the head of his cock against the entrance of your abused cunt, winding your arms around his neck to tug him close. He presses in slowly, agonizingly slow, and you gasp against his mouth.

You’ve had Santi for years, but taking his cock always feels like the first time, all over again. He groans so lowly it almost sounds like a growl, holding your hips up to meet him as he finally bottoms out inside you. So deep he feels like he’s in your fucking stomach.

“Shit, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans over you, his eyes clenched shut. He draws his hips out and shoves back in quickly, and you can’t do anything but gasp wetly, nails digging into his shoulders as he breaks you open around his cock. “So tight for me, always so fucking perfect.”

“So big, Santi,” you slur dazedly. “Stretching me out so good, it’s so fucking deep, baby.”

“You like me deep, bebita? So deep I’m in your fucking guts? Gonna fill you up, princesa, shit. Get through that fucking birth control, yeah? Get you,” he fucks into you again, hard, “get you fucking pregnant, sweetheart.”

“Oh God,” you whine, mind swimming with the overwhelming mixture of Santi over you, surrounding you, inside you. Fucking you full of him, enough to render your IUD useless, get you pregnant no matter what. “Fuck, Santi, please.” He works himself in and out of you, his thick hands holding onto your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You want it, baby? Want me to fuck a baby into this little pussy? Shit, you’re sucking me in baby, so fucking desperate for it.” He shifts closer, just a little, lifting your hips further into the air to throw you hard onto his cock, and he can’t miss your sweet spot like this. His perfect cockhead just jams into your g-spot at an angle like this, and Santi knows it. “My needy little wife, you wanna cum on this cock? C’mon, do it. Wanna see it baby.”

Tears are finally escaping, leaking slowly from your eyes as Santi fucks into you like only he can, practiced, harsh, unrelenting. You can faintly hear yourself babbling, a mixture of praises, and pleases, and Santi’s name.

Santi brings a hand from your thigh to press a thick thumb to your over-sensitive clit, and you want to fucking scream. “C’mon baby, show me how good I’m giving you this cock. Show me how good I fuck this pretty pussy.”

“Yes, yes, yes, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good, gonna cum, oh god, gonna give you a baby, Santi, oh god, oh my fucking god-” you gasp, unable to get a full breath into your lungs before you’re cumming again, nails digging hard enough into Santi’s back that there will be marks, marks that Santi will tease you about later when he looks in the mirror, but you can’t care. Not when it feels like your body is on a live wire, muscles and nerves strung taught and pulled apart.

“Just like that, sweet girl,” Santi groans above you, his hips stuttering into you. “Fuck, just like that, so fucking tight for me. Fuck, you’re mine,” he mutters, barely even speaking to you at this point. “Can’t believe you’re fucking mine, mine forever.”

He’s lost in it, muttering to himself, and you tug him down, trying to ground him back to Earth against your lips as you whisper, “yours.”

Santi kisses you hard as he cums, emptying himself inside you. He wraps you in his strong arms, the both of you shaking softly against each other as you breathe through the aftershock of both your orgasms. He slips out of you at one point, and Santi takes the opportunity to roll you onto your sides. It’s quiet between the both of you for a few minutes as you brush a hand through Santi’s sweaty curls, and he brushes a thumb over your cheek, wiping any tears away.

“Love you so much, Santi,” you whisper after a while, and Santi smiles wide, wider than he ever had before he met you.

“I love you too, baby, more than I can describe.”

“Do you- do you think we could start trying? For a baby?” you whisper, tentative. There will be a bigger discussion tomorrow, about the future, especially if you throw children into the mix. But you need to know, for now.

“Mi amor, mi cielito,” Santi whispers, pecking you softly on the lips. “I would love nothing more.”

#breeding kink popped out a little with this one #BUT HAVE YOU SEEN SANTI #i wanna give him babies #also domesticity #he deserves it #anyway #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia smut #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia fluff #pope garcia x reader #triple frontier x you #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader

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