#some light Roman angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crownofgildedlilies · 11 days

Text

tellin' myself i can always do with out it -> cool about it [3]

in which: a son of jupiter can't remember the life he lost to time and circumstance. or the daughter of mercury he lost, too.

pairing: jason grace x daughter of mercury!roman!reader

warnings: cursing, angst, threats of violence, actual violence

word count: 6.6k

a/n: I simply cannot talk enough about this fic. also, reminder, this has a nonlinear plot!

one two [three] four

Thunderstorms sent your blood singing.

The drop in temperature, the racing winds, the sound of torrential rain and striking lighting. You loved it all. When you were little, sometimes the only sense of stability and routine you had would be the clap of thunder following the bolt of electricity arcing from the skies.

You loved thunder.

But thirty seconds ago, there hadn’t been a cloud in sight.

You had noticed the change in the air instantly, maybe even quicker than your half-siblings seated around the Mess Hall table with you, arguing over where the best vacation spot would be, if demigods could safely vacation.

"Somewhere warm!"

"Somewhere with a view!"

"Somewhere with lots of tourists to pickpocket."

"This is why us kids of Mercury have a bad name, Reggie."

The storm was centralized over the field set aside for War Games, which piqued your curiosity even more, because you knew Jason volunteered to oversee the group assigned to clean the shrapnel from the grass.

There had been some disgruntled comments over the fact that you hadn’t been assigned clean-up duty, considering it was entirely your doing during the last games that led to so much damage on the field. Jason had stepped in to settle the issue, and somehow ended up leading the group.

He's always sticking up for her, a daughter of Mars named Janis that followed after Octavian like a leashed dog had muttered. It’s not fair that the Praetor has favorites.

And though Janis had meant to insult you, you took the comment with a smile full of sharp teeth. Because you couldn’t exactly deny that you were one of Jason’s favorites, and the fact was so far from upsetting.

"All you, Centurion," Your half-sister snickered, shoving your shoulder in the direction of the vicious storm. And really, you couldn't deny that you were probably the only one capable of breaching the gale force winds to calm the source at its heart.

Meaning, no one but you could get close to Jason when he was in such a state.

"Pride of the Praetor!" Another sibling shouted as you stood, and they should have counted themselves lucky that you were more worried about finding Jason and not launching the remains of your lunch at them in retaliation. Your face flushed, but you didn't give any reaction beyond your middle finger extending over your shoulder as you turned to leave.

You would be lying if you said that you didn't walk just a little faster than typical towards the source of the storm. The alarms hadn't been raised, so it wasn't an attack, but the wind had picked up and rain was hammering the ground in an almost perfect circle, a ring of soaked Romans clad in purple standing at the edge.

"It's bad, this time," Rico, a fellow member of the Fifth Cohort, winced when he saw you approach, his dark hair stuck up in every direction from the wind, his hands wringing the rain from hem of his shirt. "Like, bad. You sure you want to go in there?"

You made a low sound in the back of your throat, almost like a hum, more similar to a warning. Through the haze of the rain, you could see Jason hunched on the ground, right in the eye of the storm. Head tucked between his knees, shoulders heaving with his heavy breaths.

"You think this is bad?" You settled on asking, tone almost scoffing. Rico shot you a glance, like he couldn't believe careful, curated Praetor Grace could get much worse. "You should have seen him after Krios almost killed me."

Rico shuddered at the mention of the Titan, killed only a few short months back. Or maybe it was at the memory of war, but maybe it was at the memory of how Jason had nearly torn down all of Mount Tamalpais after the battle, searching for your injured body in the rubble.

"Henry almost got blasted just now." Rico tried to counter, after a moment, nodding his head in the direction of the storm crackling with lightning every few seconds.

"Henry probably deserved it," You said flatly, not missing a beat and tugging an elastic from your wrist to tie back your hair. It wouldn't do you any good, flying around in your face while you fought to get to Jason through the storm.

A dozen feet to your left, Henry let out an offended 'hey!', but you had already grit your teeth and stepped into the bubble of chaos.

Towards Jason. Always, to him.

Rico murmured something about you being crazy, probably for being stupid enough to dive headfirst into one of angry Jason's thunderstorms, but you had never really seen him as a scary son of Jupiter.

The myths about the king of the gods were… less than flattering. Egotistical, paranoid, cheating, lying, lord of the heavens, Jupiter.

But your Jason? He was all that was good in the world.

A protector, a fighter, a total sweetheart. Real pretty, too.

And yet, as he sat in the middle of swirling winds and torrential rains that no one wanted to get close to, you saw his father in him.

The anger, the depths of power. It was, always, all in Jason. Hidden, yes, under his bright smile and caring temperament, but there, nonetheless.

The anger wasn’t enough to scare you off. You weren’t sure anything about him would be enough to do that. Besides, hadn't you shown him time and time again just how relentlessly angry you could be?

And he still stayed. Still paid for your coffees in New Rome and let you borrow his books on military strategy, which you would have found unendingly dry if it weren't for his annotations, written in blue ink in the margins. Sometimes, you found yourself reading his thoughts more than the actual text.

Once, he’d written your name at the bottom of the page, next to a star, and when you had asked him about it he had flushed and claimed it was a reminder to himself to ask your opinions on the strategy listed.

You could have kissed him right there. You should have.

He wasn’t a bad guy. He just had rotten luck in fathers and temperament when pushed too far.

So you planted your feet in the dirt and fought against the winds and rain to get to him. You didn’t even care that you had an audience, or that your clothes stuck to your body with the sudden onslaught of rain and storm chilling you to the bone.

All that mattered, ever, was Jason.

Reaching where he sat, tucked tightly in on himself, you dropped into the spot beside him, so close your knee dug into his thigh.

The moment you joined him, he turned to face you with red-rimmed eyes, and the sight was enough to clench your heart in a cold, fearful fist. Anger knitted his brows together, a wolf’s snarl on his lips, but it all softened when he saw it was you beside him.

You had expected him to be angry, yes, but you had rarely ever seen the total fury that now shone bright in his eyes.

"Jase?" You had to shout to be heard over the wind, but your voice still came out quiet. Instantly, the winds died around you, though they raged in the greater circle around the both of you that you had already fought through, creating a bubble of peace and serenity between you and nosy Roman onlookers.

Silence roared in your ears, a dozen sets of eyes burned holes into your back, waiting to see how Fifth's most violent calmed New Rome's most powerful.

"I don't—" Jason started, voice tight, but you stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Hold on," You murmured, then twisted in your spot to face the drenched crowd at the edge of the storm. They couldn’t hear you, not as wind and thunder still raged around the bubble Jason had granted you, but they could see you.

More importantly, they could see your middle finger, raised once more.

Fuck off and leave us be, you said in your own form of sign language.

Rico got the message first, started shoving the other Romans in the direction off of field and back towards main camp without further prompting.

“There. Better.” You hummed, turning back towards Jason. You knew things were bad, this time, like, bad as Rico had so eloquently put it when Jason didn't even humor you with a teasing, chastising grin.

You're not going to make any friends that way, he had once shook his head and smiled, fist knotted in the back of your shirt between your shoulders as he practically dragged you away from Octavian's gaggle of brainless bruisers. You had long since given up on trying to fight back against him, because he was bigger and stronger and had thoroughly kicked your ass in sparring once that day already.

Good. I don't need any other friends. I already have you, you had spat, letting yourself be led like a feral kitten picked up by the scruff of their neck by some heart-of-gold animal rescue volunteer.

Might not have me forever, Jason had suggested, and you dug your heels so deep into the ground you actually managed to force him to stop.

Don't even joke about that, Jason Grace, you had seethed, voice tight, and you had watched the panic cross his face at the lethality of your glare, the silent promise of what you would do to him if he kept making comments about his exit from your life.

Sorry, soldier. Won’t happen again, he had promised. I’ll be by your side forever.

Point was, even when he didn't exactly approve of your actions, he still granted you the privilege of his scar-flecked smile.

“Jase,” On instinct, your fingers carded through his soaked hair, moving it off his forehead for just the chance to touch him. “Baby, what happened?”

“You only ever call me that when you’re worried,” He pointed out, dodging the question. You frowned, tilting your head towards him involuntarily, as if you could physically see what was bothering him if only you moved closer.

"I am worried." You told him flatly, still trying to get him to meet your eye, wondering if maybe it would be affective if you tried to physically smooth away the anger living in the knot of his brows. "Forecast said we weren't supposed to have rain until next week."

"I don't want to talk about it," He grunted, holding his head between his hands. You told yourself it was because he was growing overwhelmed by his fury, not that he did so to stop your fingers from brushing comfortingly across his skin.

"What did Henry do?" You took a shot in the dark.

"Henry?" He asked, momentarily startled out of his frustration by the sudden, out-of-place question. He lifted his stare towards you, confusion briefly breaking up the anger displayed across his face. "Nothing."

"Right, remind me to apologize to him later." You kept your voice light, praying to gods that only ever picked and chose when they listened that he would take the bait and grin along with you.

It didn't work.

"Don't make me kick your ass for keeping secrets from me," You puffed out your chest like you ever had any hope of being intimidating to Jason. Sure, a good chunk of Camp Jupiter groaned and lamented when they learned they were going up against you in the War Games, but Jason had never.

He ducked your gaze, and your patience started dangling on a very thin thread, so you leaned to the side and placed your chin on his shoulder, proving to him that you weren't giving up so easily. Not that he needed the reminder. He had once seen you, for weeks, track down the legionnaire that had unintentionally taken your unassigned assigned seat in the Mess Hall, slightly inconveniencing her every chance you had.

Romans were known for their relentless dedication, after all.

"Jason Grace," You tried again, forcing a feigned disappointed edge to your voice. Your next step was to start whining, then maybe you would set your hand on his leg, the shortest inch above his knee. That always got him flustered, and you enjoyed rosy-cheeked Jason far more than you cared to admit. "Give me a name, at least. I wanna know who we're mad at."

He sighed, and even though he still wasn't looking at you, you took that as a victory.

"Damien," He huffed the name, hands flinching into fists atop his knees and scar flexing as he spoke.

"Oh, that dick," You cursed, grinning, because sure Damien might have been the most obnoxious son of Venus you had ever met, but he was leagues above Octavian in terms of summon a thunderstorm types of anger inducing. Jason grunted, in agreement, and you dug your chin harder into his shoulder, a silent reprimand for not looking at you. Maybe you should kiss him there, as punishment. "Why are we mad?"

We. It wasn't even a question. If someone pissed off Jason, chances are you were already plotting their demise. And if someone pissed off you? Well, that was just an average Tuesday, but Jason still had your back.

"Don't make me say it," He pleaded, the broken edge to his voice shattering through both his anger and your chest, rocking you to your core.

"Humor me." You asked, because the alternative was tracking down Damien and beating the truth out of him, but you had searched out Jason with the intentions of helping him calm down, not riling him up more.

Even if you were probably going to find Damien the moment you left the field, anyways.

He sighed, again, and lifted his stare to yours. His blue eyes were still cracking with lingering fury and rain raced down the slant of his nose, dripping off the end and falling into the soaked grass.

They said lightning never struck the same place twice. But Jason's did, scorching your heart each time he caught his gaze against yours.

And maybe that was only a metaphor, or all in your head, but his real lightning blasted a crater into the dirt thirty-some odd feet to your left, in a spot you were pretty certain had been the same one in which he had used a bolt to shred apart a water cannon during War Games, once.

“It can’t have been so bad." You reasoned, because if you stayed silent any longer, you would have done nothing but stare into his eyes for the rest of time. "I hit Damien too hard over the head during training a few weeks ago for him to think of clever insults.”

Jason offered you a dry chuckle then, darting his stare to his fists, still clenched atop his knees. Without thinking of the consequences, you settled your hand over one of his.

"He called you annoying,"

"I am annoying," You stated plainly, face twisted in confusion. While Jason had always refused to play along with your whole self-depreciating bit, he had never gotten so worked up over it. "That can't be all he said."

"I'm not saying the rest," Jason shook his head, clenching his jaw so tight you had to knot the hand that wasn't covering his fists in the hem of your shirt to keep from tracing the carved edge of it. "But it was... horrible stuff. And I would have beat the shit out of him, right here in the fields, except that new boy, Sammy, was watching all of it."

Any other day, you would have grinned and called out the Jason Grace for cursing and fighting, but the anguish in his voice was almost too much to bear. Clearly, he wasn't only mad about what Damien said about you, which was a relief.

You could fight your own battles. You didn't need the praetor doing that for you, no matter how pretty his smile was.

And you knew what he was worried about, too. Sammy was the camp's newest arrival, and the youngest they had seen in a while at only nine. You had seen him around, wobbling lips and watering, frantic eyes.

Sammy was scared, of camp, of the monsters he had already seen, of the big kids with big swords he saw at every turn.

You couldn't blame him. You had been the same way, too.

"He looked... so scared when I started yelling," Jason's voice shuddered, his face once more pinched in anger and anguish. "I didn't want him to be any more scared, and especially not of me. I'm his praetor, and I got worked up and scared him. He's going to think I'm some brute he can't trust, and—"

"I'll talk to him, later," You interrupted, because as much as you talked badly about yourself, you couldn't stand when Jason did the same. "Alright? I'll make sure he understands that Damien is a dickhead and you are the sweetest, smartest, safest fucking person in the world, who just happens to have a built in lightning show attached to his emotions."

Slowly, the remaining thunderstorm tapered out, until even the light drizzle disappeared and you were left with your golden boy under the rays of sun, just like the forecast had predicted.

Jason's shoulders briefly shook with a silent chuckle, the corners of his lips curling up the slightest bit as he turned to face you, eyes still rimmed with red but not quite as distant anymore.

"Maybe don't use those exact words. The kid's only nine." He teased, bumping his shoulder into yours and causing you to roll your eyes, a familiar and well-loved chain of events.

"I was worse when I was nine," You countered, taking his fist from his knee and pulling into your lap, eyes tracing the outline of his skin against yours.

"I can imagine," He fired back, voice quiet, distracted, as he watched you slowly ease his fist open, splaying his fingers and pressing your palms together, heels lined up, so you could see just how much larger his hand was than yours.

An old trick, but it made your face warm all the same.

"Fine," You hummed, studying how nicely his hand slotted against yours. "I'll tell him that you're the most dedicated praetor to exist—Reyna included, so she doesn't get mad at me. I'll tell him that you insist on checking my armor for me at the start of battle, even though I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

You sent him a pointed look, because you were capable of doing your own armor, but it was more a part of Jason's routine than any distrust of your skill, anymore.

"I'll tell him you walk me to my bunk each night to make sure no one is ever messing with me, even though the teasing comes after you leave." You made that comment just to watch him flush, finally threading your fingers through his. "And I'll tell him that your hands may summon lightning, but they are also kind and gentle and not meant only for hurting."

You turned to face him, but he was only watching how your hands fit together like they were always meant to, a conflicted look on his face. Lips slightly pursed, you had the sudden urge to kiss his pearly scar.

It was far from the first time you had dreamed of doing so, but never had you felt so close to saying fuck it and committing.

Instead, because you knew your self control hung on a thread, you leaned close to his ear, voice dropping and warm breath brushing against his damp skin.

"Besides, I think it's hot when you get all protective of me," You whispered, then blew a puff of air into his ear that had him flinching away from you, startled by the sensation.

Your head tilted back in a laugh so loud it would have carried all the way back to camp if Jason's winds had willed it. There was a flush on his cheeks, lips moving as he grumbled out complaints about you, none with any real heat, none that ever crossed any of the boundaries that protected your heart.

Still, you jumped to your feet and sprinted away from him, knowing his retaliation would be swift, imminent, and lethal. As expected, Jason stood, too, ready for the chase.

He was smiling, though. So you considered it a victory.

There had been some complaints, some valid arguments made, when you declared that you would be joining the party that would follow the Greek trireme.

"You won't be able to make the hard choice, when it comes to it," Rico had murmured, voice dropped low. Dakota wasn't stupid enough to say it to your face, but you knew he felt the same. Most of the legion did.

How could they not?

The hard choice in question involved killing Jason Grace, and you had yet to remove the key to his bunk room from around your neck, even as you readied your eagle for flight while Rico desperately tried to talk you out of it.

"Centurion, just listen to me, for a second!" He pleaded, your back to him. Takeoff was any minute now, you knew, and if you wasted time kicking Rico's ass for what he was suggesting about your Roman loyalties like you wanted to, you would miss it. Besides, you couldn’t even convince yourself where your Roman loyalties laid. "You don't have to do this to yourself—"

"Legionnaire," A commanding, familiar, and almost haunted voice called out to you. Reyna. "Leave us."

Rico nodded his head and left, and for a horrifying moment you thought that Reyna would tell you that she was ordering you to stay behind. That she bought into the fact that Jason had, of his own free will, left with the group that had destroyed the only home he ever knew, the one he knew held you.

And maybe he didn't exactly remember you, but you had to trust that his instincts ran deep. He would never hurt you.

"Rico has a point," Reyna stated, and the only thing tethering you to your body was the massive but you heard silently tacked onto the end of her sentence. "You and I both know what's at stake here. Beyond Jason Grace, beyond the borders of camp."

"Gaea is rising. And she won't care whether we're Roman or Greek when the killing starts." You confirmed. You hadn't stopped to let yourself think of anything other than the news of war the Greeks had brought. What it meant for you, for your chances of tracking down Juno and pummeling the shit out of her until she relented and gave you your Jason back.

It was a good distraction, you had to admit. And you trusted the Greeks, because Jason trusted them.

"Then I know you will do what is necessary when we find the trireme." Reyna nodded, and just as fast as she appeared she was gone, leaving you with more questions than answers and a heart made of lead.

Reyna's words echoed in your mind on a loop, all the way to Charleston.

And suddenly, you were standing in the harbor, searching through the chaos for Jason and the others, hoping against hope that after the Roman chariot had just collided with Jason midair that you would find him in one piece.

That you would find him.

Because you were certain no one else received Reyna's cryptic message.

You opted for a sword, because you always found it more useful during single combat than a lance. The moment you jumped off the back of your eagle, you had slipped from the group, knowing that you couldn't even convince Dakota that you were doing the right thing.

Fort Sumter was one hell of a piece of military history, and if you had cared much at all about American history you would have been jealous that Jason had already visited the site once before, instead of being jealous that Reyna had been the one to go with him.

But, standing on the paved walkway, your back to the trireme with Jason, Frank, and the Greek named Leo at your front, you were jealous of the screaming mortals, able to run away from the scene, guilt-free.

Jason was ten feet in front of you. The only time you had ever been on the opposite side of battle than him had been in drills. It hurt, far more than you would have thought, to have Jason hold his sword out and study you for weaknesses he should have already known about.

You favored your right side, moved your feet around too much. Dropped your elbows, too. He should have known about those factors, because he had been the one to point them out to you.

"'Morning," You called out, voice tight and knees locked, shoulders back and shield raised. And though Jason trusted him for reasons you were yet to understand, you couldn't help but pin your glare on Leo and snarl. "You blew up my city."

Children lived there. Families you knew and vowed to protect, who had humored your constant streams of questions about Jason's whereabouts and never, ever, made you feel like a monster.

You sure as hell felt like a monster, then, at the look on his face.

"If it helps, I didn't mean to," Leo called back. You barely remembered hearing him when he had spoken back in New Rome, but his tone was the same. Light, joking, not taking a damn thing seriously. Or maybe you didn't know him well enough to hear the strain in his voice.

"Maybe when I kill you, it will be an accident, too." Gods, it was like you were ten again. Making threats you didn't mean, hating people because people had always hated you.

How quickly had you reverted to the person you had been before, when Jason was no longer around to calm your temper.

"You don't mean that," Jason commented, though it sounded more so like a question than the truth that it was. "I don't know how I know, but I do."

You wanted to scream and swing your sword because Jason did know how he knew that. Years and years of following at your elbow, of teasing and conversations and comfort taught him when you were being serious and when you were bluffing.

"The killing me part or the accident part?" Leo asked, darting a glance to Jason as Frank looked like he wanted to be anywhere but beside him. "Because I'd like some clarification on which part she doesn't mean."

"We need to get to that ship," Jason ignored Leo, his stare locked on you so tightly you wanted him to close his eyes. "Please,"

"It's three against one," Leo glanced at his friends, confused, pulling a hammer from his tool belt you were beginning to realize was magic. "Frank doesn't even need to go elephant mode, and we're home free."

"Are you kidding me?" Frank glared at Leo. You could only watch the boys carefully, hands never wavering on your sword or shield as they decided on their plan of attack. You didn’t want to hurt any of them, but you would if they tried you. "You've never seen her fight. We'd be dead before I could even think of an animal to become."

"She's got powers?" Jason murmured, like the idea didn't sound right to him, but the possibility was still there. There was shouting in the distance, Romans trying to find where the three traitors standing before you had ended up.

"Skill," You clarified. And maybe your Mercury blessed speed might have counted for a power, but you would never wield it against him maliciously. You would never wield anything against him. "We've got about two and a half minutes before someone finds us, and I stop being so nice."

"Nice?" Leo questioned, darting another glance to Jason. "Bro, first Khione falls in love with you and tries to freeze you forever in her palace, then Medea wants to get me and you to kill each other because you've got the same name as her old boyfriend. Now, your old girlfriend thinks it's nice to threaten to murder me? Dude, what is it with you and scary girls?"

"Leo," Jason hissed through clenched teeth, and you knew he saw the hurt and shame and embarrassment crash over your face, but what you didn't know was if he knew what it all meant. "Shut up."

"Yeah, maybe I'll try that."

You didn't have it in you to see the humor in the situation.

"If you know me as well as Hazel claims, then you'll understand why I need to leave." Jason reasoned, taking a step towards you, and gods if you weren't trying your hardest to not be bitter.

How had you forgotten about Hazel? The sweet young girl who had been the only one on the trireme that had seen you and Jason together, and then your downfall after his disappearance. If he had wanted to ask about you, she had plenty to say, no doubt.

But Hazel had only ever seen the two of you from afar. She hadn't been privy to the ways you and Jason had seemingly shared a mind and soul.

"I know you better than anyone, Jase." Your voice was more ragged than it had been the last time you had spoken. Somehow the conversation and Jason's almost indifference had taken a physical toll on you. "Apparently, better than you know yourself."

"Look, I'm sorry for not remembering." He apologized, as if any of it was his fault. The wolves, the bullies, the monsters, and the wars. The gods that always needed his help for just one more thing, dangling the promise of a few months respite in front of his face like it was a reward instead of the norm.

Your lip curled in a snarl, then softened into a frown. Anger had always been easier than vulnerability for you, but never when it came to Jason.

"They will kill you if you're caught," You warned, because maybe he didn't remember that, either. Almost of its own accord, your sword lowered. "Then they'll kill me, for this."

You stepped to the side, nodding your head in the direction of the trireme in the near distance. Leo and Frank took off at a sprint past you, but Jason's pace was slower, stopping at your feet like he had never once feared the weapon in your hand.

No matter how many times you had pointed it at his throat during trainings.

"Thank you," His voice was sullen but strong, like he was upset it had come to such a point though he would never back down. Little soldier Jason, always doing what he must despite how he felt.

You wanted to berate him. To take his face between your hands and hold him until he remembered you, your touch, just how deeply you meant to him. It was embarrassing, really. How much Roman training did he manage to override in you, with only his stare and few words?

"Save the world for me," You ordered, deflecting. Giving directions to others was easy. You were a centurion, after all. But making yourself listen? That was a trick not even Jason had quite figured out, yet.

And now, maybe he never would have the chance to keep trying.

"Gods, I wish I remembered you." He muttered, voice almost pleading. The sound was like Aphrodite herself cracked open your chest and carved out your heart. You had half a mind to track down Juno that very moment. "When I get back, we'll figure this out."

When I get back.

Because he was still leaving you.

This time, at least, you would know where he was. But the Ancient Lands were forbidden from you. If something happened to him on such a wildly dangerous quest, you might break off to find him, sure, but you had no way of getting to him.

You might have known where he would be, but he was still just as removed from you as before.

"Do me a favor?" You tilted your chin up defiantly, the same way you always did whenever someone questioned you. Jason nodded, like the sweetheart he was, had always been, eager to help you with whatever you needed. "Don’t think about me any more than you have to."

Because you weren't naive enough to believe that his missing memories of you wouldn't be wildly distracting for him, especially after whatever Hazel shared, and you couldn't live with yourself if he got hurt on his quest.

"I can't just not—" Panic flooded his devastatingly handsome face, obscured only by a few scrapes that would heal in no time.

"Go," Interrupting, your gaze settled on the Fort behind him, shouts from your fellow Romans growing louder, closer. If he stayed, you would have no choice but to fight him when the others appeared.

You didn't give him the chance to argue, turning from him before he could hurt you more.

It was easy enough to fake your injuries, considering you already had real ones nobody knew about.

Your battered ribs were already a mess of bruised skin and you simply exaggerated the limp you had been sporting since the giant army attacked New Rome.

But then Octavian, Dakota, and Rico joined your cluster of Romans after the trireme fled into the open water. They were soaked from no doubt an unintentional swim in the harbor, and maybe you could have have been more convincing.

You were claiming you had tried stopping Jason, Frank, and Leo, but they simply got the better of you. Some of your party believed you. Most refused to comment.

Octavian, of course, refused to shut up.

"He should not have been able to get past you, Centurion!" The augur chastised, like anyone, anywhere, would have been able to stop a determined Jason Grace.

You had said it before, and would say it a thousand times again. The world should have been grateful Jason was not as cruel as his father.

"You let Percy get past you," You countered, chin raised and glaring. "And you weren't alone."

"How did you end up alone, searching for Jason?" Octavian purposed, taking at step closer to you. Somehow, with a control of yourself you had never felt before, you didn't draw your sword from the sheath at your waist and hold it to his throat. "Perhaps looking to follow him? We all know how much of that you did back at camp."

Reyna stepped forward, but so did you, each one of your muscles clenched tight and ready to snap.

"Perhaps no one followed me. I'm our best shot at getting to Jason, aren't I?" You tilted your head to the side, two inches at most, in an act so condescending Octavian turned purple. The implication was there, that he would never be able to capture Jason, because Jason couldn't stand him.

But you?

"Do you really think that’s the same Jason Grace that was in love with you?" Octavian sneered. "The Greeks have changed him for the worse. Whatever future you had planned for yourself with him is gone."

From the time you were a small child, you had lived in a perpetual state of anger. Sometimes, it was simmering low under the surface, barely seen through your smiles and loud laughter. Sometimes it showed itself in short bursts during battles or Senate meetings when other members got too mouthy.

And sometimes, your anger burned so hot you couldn't see straight.

The last time it happened, you had found out a stupid son of Mars named Mark had been harassing little Sammy.

Another, younger, camper had told you of the bullying one evening while you readied to meet Jason for dinner. You had calmly stopped what you were doing, exited the bunk house, and trekked all the way to the Mess Hall on your own.

You didn't even say a word to Mark as you tackled him to the ground, he on his back and you straddling him to lay punch after punch to his face.

You had expected to take him to the ground, but not so soon. Mark's inability to fight was suddenly made very clear, highlighted by the fact that he had been trying to harass a nine year old kid instead of someone in his own weight bracket.

You might have sent him to the infirmary unconscious, instead of on his own two feet, if Jason hadn't arrived. Sweeping in like the hero he was, pulling you off Mark and muttering promises to fix whatever had happened.

I've already fixed it, right Mark? You had spat at the dazed son of Mars, the entire Mess Hall watching in silence as Jason struggled to lead you away, untold violence almost a promise in your eyes. No more beating on children, 'cause it sucks to be the weaker one, huh?

To someone who didn't know what had just happened, you calling Mark the weaker one looked a little ridiculous. He was twice your size.

But you were twice Sammy's size. And you threw a punch a hell of a lot better.

You spent the night in the brig, had to dig trenches for a week, but Jason had held your chin in his hands and told you that he would have done the same if it were him, so it all evened out in the end.

Whatever future you had planned for yourself with him is gone.

Octavian had pushed you past your breaking point.

You launched forward, hands gripping the edges of his armor to pull him close so you could get in his face without him being able to get away. He tried, struggling to wriggle free and pull your hands off of him, but you held fast.

"If you ever talk to me that way again, I will gut you like one of your stuffed animals." You hissed a promise, fury contorting your face into something that had sent plenty of enemies running on the battlefield. "Let's see if you can read the auguries in your own entrails."

Octavian was spluttering out half-sentences, shocked by how lethal your voice sound, when Dakota and Rico managed to haul you away from the augur. Your friends each had an arm locked around yours, and you struggled to free yourself, anger and venom still dripping from your every movement.

"Let her go," Reyna ordered. At once, Dakota and Rico dropped you, and you wasted no time in pinning them both with glares. You knew they were only trying to help you, but you had felt so far beyond help, lately. "We need everyone for our next step."

She sounded tired, weary. You wondered if you were the only one who heard her.

"Next step?" You heard someone ask, and somehow the question seemed to take several years off of Reyna's life. You remembered how haunted she had looked when she spoke to you before leaving camp, and now you wondered if she knew it would come to this all along.

Because you had studied war strategies for years. You knew what came next before Reyna had the chance to say it.

"We go North. To Camp Half-Blood."

a/n: tried to do an anger parallel with them, but idk if it worked so well bc duh jason's not there to comfort reader at the end, like she was to him. they just get each other so well! also, if you asked me to be on the taglist, and ur not, plz let me know! I could have sworn somebody else asked but I cannot for the life of me find the notif

tag, you're it! @aezuria @tayswiftlovebot @bonnie-tz @folklorefantasies14 @sunshine-of-ur-life @irwinchester @bellamysnatblida @saph-nic @auroraofthesun1 @helloimamistake @maybxlle @p-rspective @lauptimist @dontstopxx @apollosfavkiddo @ebony-reine-vibes @poppysrin

#jason grace #jason grace fanfic #jason grace x you #jason grace fanfiction #jason grace x reader #jason grace x y/n #heroes of olympus #pjo tv show #pjo fandom #pjo

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mydearlybeloathed · 4 months

Text

𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you decided to create a real life frosty the snowman for estelle blofis, a regular camp visitor. it goes... unexpectedly.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jason grace x fem!boreas!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6k (wow)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: child of boreas reader, female reader, snowmen, ethically ambiguous magic, more plot than fluff im sorry, tooth rotting fluff towards the end, daddy issues i think maybe, serious angst ngl, i will never be normal about jason grace, canon who?

𝐚/𝐧: this had no reason to be so emotionally taxing but here we are

Being the boyfriend of a Boreas kid meant two things happened every night: one, sneaking you in from your lonely cabin to his lonely cabin, and two, sleeping with nearly a hundred different blankets.

Normally, he fell asleep easy despite the chill, but there was a lot of work waiting for him back New Rome. Jason knew this holiday at Camp Halfblood was only making that work pile up, but he tired, so he didn't care just yet. He could let the anxiety catch him after Christmas. Plus, the longer he was away from work the longer he was with you.

Jason had been away doing Roman things for at least two months, and Iris Messages and the occasional phone call weren’t cutting in anymore; despite your cold shouldered father, you were as clingy as all get out. Not that Jason minded (he was clingy too).

The next fall of New Rome University couldn't seem to get there any slower. You were both going to be there, thank the gods.

Jason started to grin at just the thought, his eyes skimming all over your peaceful face as you breathed in and out slowly. The two of you were practically buried under all the blankets, and he would have been miserably hot if it weren’t for his amazing cooler system of a girlfriend.

“You’re staring,” you suddenly sang out softly, a mischievous smirk taking your face.

Jason’s heart sped up. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Creep,” you mumbled.

He reached over to caress your cheek, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. You leaned into his touch and twisted in the blankets, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling into his chest.

He pressed a light kiss to your hairline and rested his arm on your waist. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

You blinked blearily up at him. “Christmas. I’ve been working on something.”

“Care to share?” Jason had known you long enough to know you were serious about Christmas surprises. This time of year your powers were strongest, and you always took advantage of that.

You lightly patted his chest and snuggled deeper into bed. “Mhmm. When it’s ready. Can’t let anything get out or else Mr. D will so shut it down.”

Jason was officially intrigued. “What exactly… never mind. I'd rather sleep easy.”

You leaned up to kiss his jaw. “Good choice.”

He caught your lips before you could get back to sleep, cupping you cheek in his hand and drawing you close for an everlasting moment. The thundering mosaic on the ceiling was as annoying as ever, and he swore he could feel the statue of his dad staring holes into him.

So Jason pulled the pile of covers up to hide the two of you away, thriving off your little giggle as he pulled you in once more.

જ⁀➴

A week till Christmas, and you finally felt ready to cast the enchantment. Giddiness ran through your whole body all morning, along with some nerves, of course.

It all began when you heard Chiron reading a story to some of the littler campers. They were year rounders and were feeling homesick, whining and crying so much their counselors couldn't get anything done. So, he read to them, taking some Christmas storybook from Athena Cabin and frantically narrating the tale of Frosty the Snowman.

You’d been coming by to drop off some paperwork from your well-enough paying job in the Big House, lamenting being unable to find a suitable gift for Percy's little sister Estelle. She'd be coming to camp for the Christmas Day bonfires with her mother and father, and you had yet to find something she would like.

As you dropped off your papers you heard the older of the littles cry out that she wished it would snow in camp. Another then exclaimed he wished they had their own magic snowman.

Mr. D was in the next room over, promptly laughing and popping the kids dream bubble. You weren’t having that, not one bit. And suddenly, you had your perfect gift.

The only reasonable solution was to learn how to create a magic snowman.

(Jason would later call you crazy, which is basically a declaration of love, you think.)

You sat alone in the dim lighting of your cabin, which you shared with no one but the dust bunnies. Boreas didn’t really hoe around much, which you supposed was nice, aside from the fact that it left you no roommates. Nights used to get lonely before you and Jason started saying fuck to the rules.

Little snowflakes danced around your palms before they went spiraling into the air and exploded into dozens of flurries. Slowly, bit by bit, the snow started to pile up all around you, creating a blanket of white across the floor. You had the snow down, now, you just had to trust you had your sorcery skills down.

A knock on the cabin’s skylight startled you.

You smiled, calling up, “What’s the password?”

“Jason has the coolest girlfriend ever.”

“Not quite.”

There was a sigh. “Shiver me timbers.”

“Access granted,” you sang in reply, an all too satisfied smirk planted on your face.

The skylight creaked open, letting in the moonlight as well as your boyfriend. He shivered instantly. No matter how high you set the thermostat, the Boreas cabin was always freezing. Not that it ever bothered you, anyway.

A snow flurry landed on his nose, sending Jason into a sneezing fit. “Still working?”

“Mhmm.” He watched as you tried and failed to hide a yawn.

A little smile sprouted on his face as he rolled his eyes. “All right. Bed time.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t baby me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m afraid I can’t sleep without you,” he said softly, holding out a hand with such a pretty look in his eyes. If he kept on looking at you like that, you might as well fall in love with him already.

“Fine,” you sighed, plopping your hand into his and letting him haul you to your feet. “Only because you can’t function without me.”

You wrung your arms around his neck and flushed yourself against him, his arms tight around you and a cute blush in his cheeks.

A light breeze kissed your cheek as he rose off the floor, keeping one arm around your waist while the other pushed open the skylight.

“Air Jason, taking off,” you said, doing your best to mimic a pilot’s microphone and failing miserably. Jason loved it though, an airy laugh bubbling from his lips as the night air met the pair of you with no regret.

“You’re such a dork,” he muttered into your ear, eliciting a poke to the ribs from you. Jason dropped a few feet in the air and nearly sent you into cardiac arrest, a scream leaving you as your legs clambered to wrap around his waist.

Jason was laughing for gods’ sake, shushing you as he picked up speed to reach Cabin One before the harpies caught you. “Sorry, sorry.”

In through the open window and down to the floor, the wind carried you all the way, a soft caress on your skin as if the air meant to comfort the two of you. You were going to ask him if he felt it too when a wave of exhaustion found you, and you started to lean into Jason, not letting him go even when your feet touched the ground.

He rubbed gently circles into your back, his chin coming to rest on your head, eyes closing. You were cold to touch, as always, but Jason would gladly get frostbite just to hold you forever.

Eyes soft, you caught corners of glittery lights in your peripheral, turning to find a Christmas tree that had definitely not been there a few hours ago. A smile split onto your face as you rushed up to it, admiring the rainbow lights and mismatched ornaments.

Jason must’ve gone through the Big House attic to find all these. You picked off an ornament of Olympus, a selfie of a smiling Apollo and a less than pleased Dionysus staring out from the little city of the gods.

“It’s perfect,” you said, spinning back around to find Jason there.

He had that look in his eyes. You know, the one that takes all the air out of you and leaves you craving nothing more than his very presence. “One more thing.”

You followed his gaze to the ceiling, lip slipping between your teeth to contain your smile. “Mistletoe?”

His hand came to cup your cheek, eyes dipping low. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

How could you argue with that? Without warning you lurched forward and sent Jason stumbling back, lips meeting his in a feverish moment.

જ⁀➴

Dawn was encroaching on the camp.

There was barely a noise all across the Long Island Sound, aside from the sea meeting land, the ruffling of the harpies’ feathers, and the contented snores coming from each cabin. In the stables the pegasi huffed and dealt with the faux antlers stuck to their heads. Mr. D sat snoring in a rocking chair on the Big House deck.

The tall and proud Christmas tree at the center of camp stood looming over Hestia’s fire. Her warm face could be spied through the flickering flames, if one looked close enough. Beneath the tree’s branches were boxed gifts, some from attentive godly parents, but most placed there by Chiron (he never bothered correcting the campers when they assumed Santa Claus came in the night).

Garlands and wreaths hung from every doorway. Mistletoe was easy to find from the awnings of the Aphrodite Cabin. Poinsettias bloomed over the rooftop of Demeter’s Cabin. The smell of cookies and candy canes wafted out from the camp kitchens, the dryads tossing bits of flour and sugar at each other as they prepared something special.

It was a Camp Halfblood Christmas if you’d ever seen one.

The only thing missing was snow.

You stood on the hilltop overlooking the center of camp, embracing the December chill. The magical borders prevented outside weather from affecting the camp, but they did nothing to stop weather coming from the inside.

Flexing your palms and shaking them out, you let out a breath that crystallized in the frigid air. The water in the air bended to your will, the clouds gathered at you command. You didn’t pretend to understand weather and the science of it all, you just knew that when the water in the clouds got cold enough…

Your concentration was unrelenting even as the first few snowflakes drifted down from above, following the current of air down the valley of camp. You would need a lot more than that. Glancing at the sun peeking up over the horizon, you pushed past your growing fatigue.

There would be snow that Christmas Day if you had anything to do about it.

જ⁀➴

Jason noticed right away that the familiar warmth of your freezing body was missing from his side. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he rolled over and noticed that your shoes weren’t at the foot of the bed.

The whole cabin was freezing, but without you, it was just getting on his nerves. He was ready to get up, throw on a coat, and maybe just start yelling your name to find you wherever you’d run off to.

That was when he looked out the window. Jason’s jaw slacked, his eyes pleasantly wide and bright as a laugh tore out of him. He jumped up and didn’t bother with shoes as he flung open the cabin’s door and ran into the snow.

Everywhere a white layer of snow sat heavy on benches, picnic tables, the cabins—nothing was safe from this Christmas Day miracle.

He laughed again and raked his hands through his hair. So this is what you’d been working so secretively on. Jason really should have guessed sooner.

The sound of boots in the snow caught his attention and he glanced over to see Piper hurling a snowball at Leo’s head. Leo sputtered when the snow hit his face, a sly grin all over his face.

Piper laughed behind her hand and noticed Jason struggling to pull on sneakers in his doorway. She dodged a melty snowball from Leo’s warm hands and jogged toward him. Her voice was tangled with a smile. “Did you know she was planning this?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. All around camp kids were racing outside, slipping on the icy snow and tossing on any warm clothes they could find. You were still nowhere to be seen. “Have you seen her?”

Piper shook her head and made to say something when a handful of snow was dumped down the back of her shirt. She gasped and whirled around, shivering despite the hot anger in her eyes, and took off after a cackling Leo without another word.

Snickering, Jason took another look around, sighing when he couldn’t see you in the midst of excited campers.

He turned around to go grab a jacket when a soft noise caught his attention. Some kind of grunting, followed by a startled yelp. Jason started to smile. He’d know that sound anywhere. He followed the noise around the side of his cabin, tilting his head at the sight.

You were red in the face, using all your might to roll a giant ball of snow, struggling to say the least. Estelle was standing by with rapt attention, excitement written all over her face.

Jason went to stand beside Estelle, kneeling to be at her height. He leaned in to stage-whisper, “Do you think she needs some help?”

You looked up, stopping in the process of pushing your back against the snow, huffing and puffing through your glare. Estelle giggled. “Probably.”

He saw it in your face; you wanted to flip him off, only refraining given the current company. Estelle’s eyes gleamed up at him along with a bucktooth smile. “We’re building a snowman!”

“We?” you huffed, tucking your hair out of your face and behind your ears. “I didn’t know we were pronouncing my name as we now.”

Estelle rolled her eyes. “I’m supervising.”

“Honestly, I think ‘Stelle’s doing the heavy lifting,” Jason teased.

You sighed and turned to face your work. “That’s one layer. Jason, you do the middle.”

Still grinning, he was going to protest before doing exactly as you said, when a voice echoed across the lawn. One of the Stolls (Jason knew they were a few years apart but he still could never remember which was which) was approaching, a snowball in hand.

“Yo, Y/N!” he called. “It’s getting a little soggy over here!”

You smiled like this wasn’t the first time someone had had this complaint, wasting no time in cracking your neck and splaying out your hands. A cold rush of wind enveloped you, a firm crease in your brows, before the another wave of snow rained down from the clouds.

The Stoll brother shouted his thanks, and you meant to offer a smile when suddenly the world got tipsy, everything going black for a split second as you teetered off balance. Jason’s heart dropped and he rushed to your side, steadying you against him.

“Hey, hey, you with me?”

You blinked blankly, though you nodded despite the greenish tint in your cheeks that was quickly fading. Still, Jason wanted nothing more than to sit you down and cast lighting upon anyone who tried to use you like a snow machine again.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, gaining your color back. “Just a bit tired keeping all of this up.”

Estelle was attempting to finish the snowman on her own, promptly falling face first into the snow and sputtering to her feet. You giggled at her expense, not realizing you were still leaning mostly on Jason.

He wasn’t done questioning. “How long did it take to cover the whole camp?”

“Oh, uhm.” Your brows drew together, lips pursed. “A few hours. No big deal.”

You broke away from Jason and went to help Estelle roll along another giant snowball, casting Jason a reassuring smile. He let out a sigh and tried to let it go, going to help with the snowman construction.

The three of you finished the three layers of the snowman’s body, and Estelle ran off to collect the decorations and came back with a box, her brother, and her brother’s girlfriend.

Percy held Estelle on his shoulders, the box of supplies in Annabeth’s arms. You wiped your brow and smiled so brightly upon spying them, that Jason nearly forgot you’d been focusing on continuing the snowfall all along, slowly draining yourself.

Before he could call you out you sprang to your feet and went to pick the carrot out of the box. Annabeth chuckled and said, “I had to fight Blackjack for that.”

“Aww,” you hummed through a giggle. “Poor guy.”

Percy scoffed. “Please, he gets enough carrots. He could spare us at least five.”

Before you even had the chance to reply Estelle had jumped up to swipe the carrot from your hand. A response was barely on you lips when she nearly toppled the whole snowman over trying to stick the nose on its blank face.

You sighed and went to help her, scooping your hands under her arms and lifting her so she could reach its face.

The morning went by as Piper and Leo approached the finished snowman with hot cocoa in hand. Piper sported a grin as she looked at you and said, “Mr. D is furious.”

“I hoped so,” you said.

As Piper knelt to talk to Estelle you once again chose to ignore the weightiness in your shoulders, swallowing thickly to deal with your drying throat, and walked to the near empty box. Inside was a top hat you’d been saving for last. This was what the practice was leading up to.

“Hey, Stelle,” you called. Jason came to your shoulder, brows drawn, and you shot him a smirk. “Have Percy help you put the hat on top.”

She needed no more asking, taking her brother’s hand and dragging him to the snowman. Percy lifted her just as you had, and as Estelle rested the silk top hat on the snowman’s head, you held out a hand, worked some Boreas kid magic, and sent up a prayer to your dear old dad. A flurry of snowflakes shot out from your palm and right to the heart of the snowman.

You waited on bated breath as Estelle’s boot crunched back to the snowy ground, your gaze locked on the unmoving creature of snow. One second, then two, then three, until a minute passed. Estelle ran back to Annabeth and started ranting about something, Percy right behind her as he slung an arm around Annabeth’s shoulders. Piper and Leo engaged in another snowball fight, hot cocoa discarded on the ground.

And the snowman stood still. Your lips pursed with confusion and frustration. Jason appeared beside you again, looking from you to the snowman. “What’re we glaring at Frosty for?”

“Nothing,” you dismissed with a forced grin. You let out a sigh and intertwined your fingers with his, pressing a swift kiss to the back of his hand. “Wanna head inside? You’re shivering.”

He shook his head and slipped an arm around your waist. He was warm and soft and despite how much you loved the cold, you’d never get tired of it. But you couldn’t focus on that right now; you were too disappointed.

That was until he tried to lead Jason back to his cabin anyway, and your boyfriend had a full stop, his eyes slightly horrified while also mystified. Brows pinched, you were on the verge of asking what was wrong when his hand gripped your chin. You flushed deep red at the action, another rush of warmth hitting you, but then Jason was turning your head to follow his line of sight.

A bright laugh escaped you. There, made of snow, two button eyes, and a carrot nose, was Estelle’s snowman. But now, he was living and breathing, the little twig eyebrows on him drawn taut as he examined himself, looking at himself tree branch arms.

The lot around you stood in shock, looking from you to your creation. You laughed again quite like a mad scientist, and dropped Jason’s hand to slowly approach the snowman.

“Hello,” you said, and he considered you with a blank button stare, the line of chocolate chips making his mouth curved down into a frown.

“What am I?” he asked you, dropping his arms to his sides. He looked very contemplative for a snowman.

“A snowman,” you answered brightly.

The snowman hummed. His voice was soft, reminding you of the sound of crackling fire. Ironic. “I don’t think I’m meant to be alive. I feel… odd.”

Your smile started to fade, and you glanced back at your friends for help. Estelle stood awestruck, slowly stomping through the snow to stand at your side. She took your hand and looked up at the snowman with shining eyes.

The snowman looked back at her, going quiet. “Hello.”

Estelle started to smile. “Hi. My name’s Estelle, and this is Y/N. Those are our friends.” She jabbed a thumb back at the others. “Oh, do you have a name?”

He seemed to turn thoughtful, nodding. “I believe it was Perseus.”

Estelle let out a tiny gasp. “That’s what I called you! In my head!” She turned to you in complete and utter amazement. “How did he know that?”

You could only shake you head with a smile, squeezing her hand. “I dunno. Magic?” You couldn’t help but laugh once more, casting a glance up at the sky. The wind brushed through your hair, feeling oddly like a father’s hand ruffling a daughter’s hair.

You’d never met your father, but you doubted he was a cold as the weather.

Percy, Annabeth, Leo, and Piper came to admire the snowman, introducing themselves as he assessed them one by one. Jason hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you side against his, and you practically melted onto him. Your legs felt a tad bit weak.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, whispering in your ear. “You astonish me.”

A smile split onto your face as you turned to kiss his cheek. Percy started to laugh as he looked upon the snowman. “Perseus the Snowman, huh?”

Perseus was holding Estelle’s hand as she rattled on about camp and how cool her big brother was and all about the Greek gods. Perseus listened with unabashed attention, the crease in his twig brows alluding to his curiosity.

Annabeth sidled up to you, unsure how to phrase her question. “Do you… Well, was this smart?”

You gave her an odd look. “What do you mean?”

The wise daughter of Athena settled you with her seriousness. “He’s snow… you can’t keep him that way forever.”

Her words rattled you to your core, and for once, you felt the chill of December.

Morning passed to evening, and you stayed stuck to Jason’s side more by exhaustion than by choice. Not that you minded, but the jelly feeling in your legs was less than pleasant. It took some work to ward off the curious campers from bombarding Perseus, who proved to be a rather anxious snowman.

Christmas Day passed by answering the endless questions of a snowman, explaining everything he could ever want to know.

Piper and Leo had gone off to lead ornament making with their respective cabins, being head counselors and all, and Percy and Annabeth went to make an obligatory holiday call to the latter’s father. Leaving only you, Jason, Estelle, and Perseus.

The four of you were at a picnic table close to the woods, the demigods sat atop the table and the snowman rolled up to the side.

Your energy was slowly but surely coming back to you. With the sun crossing the sky and starting to descend, the need for snow was waning. You hadn’t had a demand for a few hours, and to be honest, you were grateful. Your eyes felt droopy and your shoulders ached. You wanted to sleep, but you had one more thing to keep focused on: Perseus the Snowman.

Jason drew gentle shapes on your hand, letting you lay your head on his lap as Estelle told the harrowing tale of how Percy defeated Clarisse La Rue in his very first game of capture the flag.

You were having trouble looking at your snowman. From what he said when Estelle let out a yawn, he knew exactly why.

“Look at that,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. His button eyes swept across the lawn of camp, where the snow was melting into the grass under the heat of the setting sun. His eyes turned to you, then. “You’re letting it all melt.”

You sat up and crossed your legs, resting your hands in your lap. You blinked at him, a tug on your heart. “Yes.”

He could only stare back at you. “You’re keeping me, though.”

Perseus was very perceptive for a snowman. You smiled at him. “We’re not done talking to you.”

He smiled back. “That’s true. And when we’re done talking?”

Estelle was looking between all of you, a confused purse in her lips. Jason cleared his throat and asked her to get him earmuffs from his cabin. She nodded and ran off, nearly tripping over herself. You sent him a look. “You don’t own earmuffs.”

“Oops,” he murmured through a grin. Perseus was watching the pair of you almost fondly.

You turned back to him and searched for the words to say, but it was all lost on you. Jason continued to rub soothing circles into your skin. All the words you knew suddenly boiled over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think what would happen when… You know.”

Perseus shifted around, a gentle chocolate chip smile on his face as he took in the scenery. “Don’t be sorry. I’m happy to have lived.”

“But… you’re going to die,” you couldn’t help but say, as if he needed reminding.

He didn’t. That much was clear by his smile. “Don’t be sorry,” he echoed. “I’ll be happy to die. Snowmen aren’t meant for longevity.”

Your throat constricted. “It’s all my fault. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You were thinking of Estelle,” he said. “I’ve made her happy. I’m perfectly fine with melting.”

You cupped a hand over your mouth and averted your eyes just as Estelle came sprinting back, chest heaving as she lamented being unable to find any earmuffs.

“It’s cool, Stelle,” Jason said, forcing a smile.

She plopped back down and huffed, looking to Perseus, then the sunset. Perseus glittered in the light, and it took you far too long to realize it wasn’t glitter, but dew.

Estelle, angel she is, noticed it too. “Perseus, are you melting?” Before he could even think to answer she was turning on you, a fire in her gaze. “Make him better.”

You would—gods, all of Olympus knew you would, if only you weren’t exhausted. You gaped like a fish, squeezing Jason’s hand. Perseus the Snowman shook his head. “No, there’s no need.”

He reached out a wooden arm and she gently wrapped her little fingers around the splintered edges of his crooked hand. “I don’t fear death.”

Estelle’s jaw hung slack for an everlasting moment. “Well, I do! Y/N, do it.”

Jason tensed and snapped, “Stelle, that’s not fair.”

She didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Estelle,” Perseus drew her attention back to him. “You’ll make more snowmen.”

She shook her head hopelessly, eyes going glassy. “No, I won’t. I won’t ever make another snowman.”

“How sad,” said Perseus. “Never?”

Estelle wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked at the ground. “Maybe, not never.”

The snowman started to smile again. His button eyes roamed over them all, stopping on the sky, and he sighed. “What a wonderful day to be alive.”

You turned your face so no one would see you crying. Jason's hold on your hand was the only thing sobering you up enough to remain on the picnic table, watching the sunset with your snowman.

The god Astraeus painted the sky with vibrant yellows, pinks, and oranges in a sunset to rival all others. It was too beautiful. Perseus kept his blank gaze settled on it alone, his hand still in Estelle’s. You and Jason sat rigid behind them as time ticked away.

The moon rose expectantly to take its place as the sun started to hide under the horizon. The yellows and pinks made way for the dark blue of night creeping in. Only then did Perseus shift his gaze back to Estelle. “I’m ready now.”

A crease grew in your brow when Estelle nodded, understanding what you did not, and she stood up on the table to reach over Perseus’ head. With shaky hands she reached for his hat, glancing down at him, worrying her lip between her teeth.

All Perseus did was smile. “Merry Christmas.”

The little girl took in a wavering breath. “Merry Christmas.” And she removed the hat, lifting it off his head, and in an instant all hints of emotion left the snowman. Nothing changed at all, but each of you could see it; those buttons held life behind them no longer.

You bit down hard on your lip. “How did you know that would work?”

She shrugged, setting the hat down on the snow. “I didn’t.”

The sound of footfalls on the snow had you turning around. Chiron approached, a sorry look in his eyes, and he stopped a few feet off. “Everyone has gathered around the tree.”

You took Estelle’s hand in yours, steeling yourself and offered her a smile that she slowly returned. Jason moved to walk at your side as you followed Chiron to the center of camp. The tree lit up most of camp, stretching high and out.

Campers were singing off key here and there. A pair of girls was caught under the mistletoe, one laughing awkwardly before the moon eyed one swooped in for a gentle peck on her lips. Gifts were being exchanged. Snow balls were thrown. A snowman was being built by some younger Hermes kids too.

“Hey!” Percy called out, cheeks flushed as he sipped on his apple cider. One arm was slung around his girlfriend who was talking in low voices with Thalia. The lot of your friends were gathered around one of the many little fires scattered around the lawn.

He offered you and Jason each a blue gingerbread man, grinning ear to ear. “Mom made ‘em.”

You looked around for Mrs. Blofis and found her at a nearby table, handing out marshmallows for roasting with Mr. Blofis at her side. Mr. Blofis wasn’t doing much handing out, instead in what seemed to be a deep conversation with Mr. D. The god of wine was gesturing wildly as he regaled some kind of story.

All was well. All was calm. You found it in yourself to actually smile.

Guilt wasn’t very far, wondering truly what you had been thinking bringing a snowman to life, when a particularly harsh bout of wind blew all your hair into your face. You sputtered through a giggle and swiped your hair to the side, your voice faltering when you caught sight of a man standing on the outskirts of the bonfires and chatter.

It couldn’t be. You stepped away from Jason and the rest, approaching the stranger. He stood tall, with a suit that glittered like snow. Two purple wings arched from his shoulder blades. What could your father want with you on Christmas?

“Hi,” you said, not sure where to start.

He stirred like he was uncomfortable. “Yes, hello, daughter.”

You had the heart to grin. “Merry Christmas.”

Boreas nearly scoffed before he corrected himself with a nod. “You as well.”

The silence to follow was tense. You motioned with your hand vaguely. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

You weren’t sure how to feel about meeting your father. You’d imagined this moment countless times, but it all led up to this anticlimactic reveal that was more amusing than aweing.

“There is,” he huffed. “I thought I would let you know your little magic act didn’t harm anything.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, heart dropping.

“I mean that the snowman is not dead,” Boreas informed you. “The snowman itself was never alive, I suppose. I’m impressed, I should say. You managed to catch a snow spirit and wrangle it into that snowman. Normally, snow spirits don’t get lives… You did a good thing, I suppose, giving that spirit one. He remembers it all. Perseus, as you called him, is living free and wild, as a snow spirit should be.”

You hadn’t realized your eyes were watering, relief coursing through you. “Oh, thanks gods. I’m not murderer.”

Boreas chuckled softly. “You’re not.” He averted his eyes, raising a hand and pausing, unsure, before he settled it on your shoulder and met your eyes. “I’m… proud of you. I don’t have many children. You’re certainly one I don’t regret.”

You blinked up at him, reaching to awkwardly pat his forearm. “Thanks, Dad.”

He nodded stiffly, backed away, and with a last Merry Christmas, he vanished in a flurry of snowflakes. One landed on your nose and gave you an ever rare shiver.

Jason’s arm wrapped around you, his warmth enveloping you like a nice blanket. “You good?”

Nodding, you leaned your head on his shoulder. “Very.”

Curfew was extended that night, much to the herpes disappointment. Treats and drinks were devoured by greedy children and finally, at the end of the night, Chiron gave the word and a stampede of kids ran to tear open the gifts they’d been eyeing for weeks.

After the younger kids had grabbed theirs and the crowd died down, your group moved in to find the gifts with your names on them. Your dad gifted you a snowglobe of camp. You shook it up with a smile, not noticing your sweating boyfriend approach you from behind.

“Y/N?” You turned, smile widening. Jason only got more nervous. “Uhm… I…”

You set the snowglobe back in its box on the ground and stepped closer to him, taking his hands in your freezing ones. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” he blurted. “So much.”

Your grin grew painful with how big it was. “And I love you.”

Jason blushed and took a deep breath. “You’ve been with me through… everything. When I wasn’t sure who I was, when Hera manipulated me and Piper, through the war.” He was out of breath, only one thought on his mind: no words would ever be enough. “I’m so in love with you. I can’t explain how much. Just when I think about it I can’t breathe.”

Your face had fallen into admiration. Jason’s thumb rubbed anxious lines on your knuckles. “I never want to spend a day without you. You deserve everything, I want to give it to you.”

“Jason…” Your voice was shaky, tapering off.

“Don’t worry,” he nearly whispered, moving to cup your cheek. “I’m not asking you to marry me. Not yet.” You giggled and he swore it was better than ambrosia. “I will though. I promise I will.”

You were too busy reaching to take his face in your hands to notice when he pulled something out of his pocket. You leaned forward to kiss the very life out of him, and he would very much have let you, but he drew you back with his hold on your jaw, chuckling when you frowned.

He held up a little velvet box between your bodies. Suddenly you weren’t so interested in kissing him, swiping the box from him with greedy hands and gleaming eyes. You popped the box open, admiring the pretty silver chain laid within. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Here.” Jason turned you around and offered to clip it around your neck. He didn’t waste the opportunity, peppering kisses from the skin behind your ear down to your shoulder, relishing in the little quiver you gave in response. “Merry Christmas.”

Whirling back around, you jumped him, arms flinging around his neck as you crushed your lips to his. You pulled back for barely a second to mumble, “Merry Christmas” before your tongue pushed past his lips, your teeth catching his bottom lip.

“Woah! Woah! No PDA in my camp!” You groaned and ripped away from Jason, rolling your eyes as you cast Mr. D a glare over your shoulder.

Jason wasn’t so cocky anymore, red from neck to nose. “Sorry!”

“I don’t get paid enough…”

You and your boyfriend locked eyes, breaking down into a round of laughter as the grumpy god stomped away.

“Hey!” Piper jumped out of nowhere, Leo hot on her tail. Both were totally buzzed, and all you could do was laugh and wonder how on earth they’d snuck in alcohol. “Come sing carols, lovebirds!”

The pair of you followed the pair of them back to the little bonfire your friends had claimed. Fiddling with your necklace, you eyes scanned across them all to land on Jason, and a rush of adoration hit you like a freight train. You pecked his cheek and watched him stumble over a chuckle, returning a kiss to your hairline.

Then, as you leaned your head on his shoulder, a snowflake crossed your eye.

One by one, the sky became littered with flurries. Annabeth held up a hand as if to catch some. “Y/N, you’ve got to be tired by now. Take a rest.”

You shook you head slowly, confused. “This isn’t me.”

The winter wind kissed your cheek, and you were left at a loss. But Estelle—sweet Estelle, who sat between her brother and Annabeth—she knew. A little grin appeared on her face. “Goodbye, Perseus.”

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 1 month

Note

Hiiiii it's 🌻 anon :)

could I request Jason and New Rome native, legacy gf, who are attending a Roman festival together? maybe something with how they both grew up here and speak Latin with each other 🥺

✮⋆˙ lanterns, guide me home; jason grace x legacy of ceres! reader blurb

content: jason grace x legacy of ceres! reader blurb warning: none! author's note: so painfully soft. actually thats a lie, there is a dash of angst in here. but i love love love this one so much it just- this boy misses home but it's not a place, it's a person. also that title...guys come on, you know its good dont play with me rn

jason was basically buzzing. it was, easily, his favorite day of the whole entire year. consualia, to celebrate the harvest that year or something or other. jason didn't care as much for the meaning as you did. which made sense, considering your connections the the harvest and plants and all that jazz. what jason cared for was how hard new rome always went. resturants stayed open for longer, nearly everybody clambered into the streets and just celebrated each other. and jason's favorite part? the string lights that ran through every block and down every street. you couldn't turn a corner without seeing one and jason could feel the electricity just buzzing off them, surely to match his mood. plus, you and him had developed a tradition of your own back when you were children. he'd only every missed it once, this past year, as juno had stolen him away right before the holiday. his heart squeezed and squished at the thought of you, celebrating alone. he promised to make up for it this year.

"jason!" you cheered as you swung the door of your parent's apartment open. jason went to say something but you, like always, took his breath away. sure, it was a dress he'd seen before, but he couldn't help but feeling like he was falling in love for the first time. gods know what, but something jolted the boy back into action, proudly presenting you with the flowers he'd brought.

"aww, you didn't have to, baby," you cooed but took them from his hand, squeezing them to your chest.

"uh, yes, i did! you think im not gonna get my girl flowers on a day like today?" he taunted with a wide smile that left you laughing.

"whatever. you don't even know the importance of today," you mocked, wrinkling your nose up at him.

"nope, not a clue. i know why it's important to me though," jason mused, smiling down in a way that had you melting. which he got to watch in live time.

"y/n, ill get those in a vase for you, honey," your dad mused, ever the son of ceres, holding his hands out for the flowers, which you reluctantly passed off. jason and your dad nodded at each other and jason went to open his mouth and ask about what he thought about the lastest war games but you were already tugging him down the street.

jason let you lead the way, the pair of you parting from the massive crowds and walking down some desolate street. but you two knew where it led, knowing smiles shared as you turned another corner. in the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. just a fountain, not too hard to find around new rome. but to you and jason, it was everything. it was where you first celebrated consualia together as children, playing hopscotch and other childish games. later, i'd be where you first kissed, once again on consualia. jason had shyly shoved flowers to you, stuttering out that he liked you. and you kissed him, squishing the flowers between your chests. so, every year, the two of you came back, watching others pass by your little bubble of nostalgia.

"i brought aureus coins. ya know, to make wishes on!" you mused, rooting around in your purse. and jason couldn't tear his eyes away from you. you. you. you. his darling girl. who he was robbed of a year with. the tears were rapidly blurring his view of you, his least favorite part of crying. due to recent events, he'd become increasingly grateful for every vivid memory he could make of you and everything else.

"found them! okay, this one's yours and-...oh, jase," you instantly stopped, looking back at jason and reaching your hands out to the poor boy, your coins clattering to the ground.

"i-i'm so sorry. it's just- i-...you were alone last year and i can't stop picturing it," he spit out, every second making it harder to keep the tears in. and you were gracious, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling his chest to rest against your shoulder and allowing his tears to run along your skin.

"it's okay, jase, we're okay. it wasn't your fault. plus, she gave you back to me. one year alone will always be worth that. i got my boy back. i couldn't ask for more," you whispered against the side of jason's head, running your hand through his hair and over his shoulders comfortingly. and he squeezed your waist and held you tight and pressed kisses anywhere his lips could reach, never wanting to part from you again.

the two of you stayed like that, holding and caressing the other with soft hands and gentle words. and jason had the fleeting thought that he couldn't be more grateful for his harvest on consualia this year- getting you back had been the cream of the crop for sure.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #jason grace #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader

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imaginespazzi · 2 months

Text

Part 1: Don't Be A Stranger

Masterlist - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

But if (my) world was ending, you'd come over right?

(In which UCLA anon's roman empire became this writer's roman empire and we've finally reached the beginning)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt/Comfort and a little bit of Fluff

Words: 8.4 K (other parts will be shorter....maybe)

TW: Swearing, Alcohol, Injuries, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Gonna keep this as short and sweet as possible but we've finally, finally gotten to the UCLA fic. A huge shout out to UCLA anon, because this is their master idea. Couple of things, I've never been to LA or UCLA and therefore some things are out of whack. The timeline is also a little out of whack but I swear I will try to keep it as consistent as possible. In the mean time, just ignore some of the inconsistencies pretty please. As always, feel free to let me know what's bad, what's good and what else you'd like to see. I hope y'all enjoy this first part and let's get another W today!

August 2021

where are you

i literally have to be at the airport in an hour paige where are you

dude

are you on your way?

you better be driving and that’s why you’re not answering

PAIGE

i’m sorry about last night i shouldn’t have said that

but you said a lot of shit too so call it even?

this isn’t funny where are you?

i have to leave in 15 mins

are you actually not coming?

wtf????

this is actually bullshit

get over yourself bueckers

wow

fuck you

just landed

thought you might like to know

sorry my plane didn’t crash i guess

September 2021

dude enough okay

can you just call me back??

i just wanna talk

i know you're mad i get it but i miss you

November 2021

hi i’mma be in dc over christmas

nvm

idk why i’m trying again

maybe i should block you

this is kinda pathetic of me what the fuck

December 2021

i thought i saw you today but idk

couldn’t have been you cause if it was

would you really not even say hi?

i’m done trying paige

merry christmas i guess

March 2022

i misz you

lyke a wot

love uuuuu pppppp

even if ur a bwtich

pkese pick up

ignore that

people drunk text exes apparently i drunk text you

wait

i don’t need to tell you that

you already ignore it all anyways

August 2022

i heard about the acl

i’m sorry

idk if it means anything, but if you wanna talk

nvm

***

September 2022

When the doorbell rings, on a quiet Thursday afternoon during a rare moment of alone time, Paige expects it to be a lot of people. One of her parents deciding that they actually weren’t going to leave her alone. Someone else in her family showing up out of the blue to provide comfort. Maybe one of her teammates popping up to keep her entertained. She even thinks it might be some random fan who got too invested and figured out the address for her air BnB. It’s the saddest testament to how broken they are, that the idea of it being Azzi Fudd standing outside her door, never once crosses her mind. But there she is, when Paige opens the door, dressed in ripped jean shorts and a light blue tank top, the girl that had been her best friend, and maybe a little bit more.

Silence stretches between them as Azzi fidgets with her hands and Paige continues to stoically stare at her. It’s been almost a year since they’ve seen each other, even longer since they’d last shared a happy smile. And you’d have to go back to before she’d told her about her future plans, to find the last time Azzi had properly looked Paige in the eyes.

“Hi,” Azzi says finally, mustering up a small smile. Paige doesn’t know if hearing that voice, soft and subdued but still so familiar, fixes a crack or breaks her heart even further. She wills herself to be polite in response, to match Azzi’s polite greeting with a greeting of her own. But there’s clear discord between her mouth and her head, because her words are harsh and hollowed.

“What are you doing here?”

Azzi swallows, smile disappearing as she immediately digs her fingernails into her palms and Paige feels the guilt settle into her stomach. It’s like the night before all over again. If she closes her eyes, Paige can still hear her voice loudly echoing in Azzi’s childhood bedroom. She can hear the angry words that she’d hurled at her best friend, each one like a well-aimed arrow piercing the other’s girl's heart and tearing into Paige’s own soul. Some would call what she’d done self-preservation. She’d call it her biggest mistake.

“I um-,” Azzi sucks in her bottom lip, “I was in the area and thought, maybe I’d check in.”

“How did you even know where I was?” Paige hates how cold and accusatory her voice sounds. It’s a version of herself she doesn’t quite know how to deal with, one that hasn’t ever appeared for anyone other than the girl in front of her, “I know I didn’t tell you.”

Any semblance of calm is gone from Azzi’s face, as she seems to realise that she’s not going to be getting any cordiality from her old friend.

“And we’re off to a great start,” she mutters under her breath before replying to Paige’s exact question, “no you didn’t. Your dad-”

“You talked to my dad?”

“Yeah. I mean you know Drew looks up to Jon and José so much and they still talk and stuff and he came over- Drew I mean- and then your dad was there and we just got to talking and you came up and yeah. He told me and well I live here, kinda, so I thought- well I thought maybe you’d like some company?”

As Azzi’s rambling explanation comes to an end, Paige doesn’t miss the tinge of hopefulness in her voice at the last bit. The younger girl shuffles her feet, as she stares at the blonde expectantly.

“I don’t-” Paige struggles to draw in a breath as the voices in her head argue, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her words are met with silence as Azzi stares at her blankly.

“I- you,” she blinks rapidly, clearly at a loss for what to say at the blatant rejection, “I can’t come in?”

“It’s just- I’ve had a lot of people visit you know,” Paige bullshits, suddenly feeling very exhausted, “and my family were here a couple days and my friends are coming soon and-”

“And I’m neither of those things,” Azzi says, her tone low and breathy.

“That’s not what-”

“It is,” Azzi closes her eyes for a brief second, when she opens them, the flash of hurt in them feels like a dagger through Paige’s chest, “it is like that and it is what you meant and it’s- it’s fine.”

“Az-” Paige chokes out, feeling her lungs collapse when the other girl moves to leave, “please,” and she’s not even sure she’s asking for, but it’s not this. It’s never been this.

Azzi stops and when she turns back around, there’s a determined look on her face.

“I just-” she rubs her face, composing herself before focusing her eyes on Paige, “you’re the strongest person I know. And you’re going to come back from this, better than ever. I know it. The whole world knows it. Because you’re Paige Bueckers. You’re something else. You’re the hardest worker, you’re just- you’re the best.”

“You don’t-”

“Just- just let me finish okay and then, then I’ll go or whatever but Paige, you’re all of those things you know? Strong, brave, the best fucking player- but, it’s also okay if sometimes-, if sometimes you aren’t. It’s okay because this- this is hard, I know it is. So if sometimes you’re not strong or-, or brave- or not feeling like working hard- it’s okay. And if there are moments where you- where you want to give up, that’s okay too. It doesn’t make you- it doesn’t make you any less than what you are. It just makes you human, and it’s okay you know- to be human. It’s okay if- if you hurt and it’s okay if you’re not okay. It’s- it’s okay.”

The two girls stare at each other, eyes shining with tears, as Paige let’s Azzi’s words wash over her. She’s been told a lot of platitudes about her injury, from her coaches to her teammates to her family. And she knows she has plenty of people in her corner, who root for her and who genuinely do believe she’ll have the greatest comeback ever. But the motivational speeches get draining after a while and all she’s wanted to do for the last couple of weeks is wallow. Then she felt guilty about wallowing, that little voice in her head yelling at her to be productive and work on getting back to herself because that’s what everybody expected. Paige hadn’t even realised how badly she needed someone to give her permission to not be okay, not until the only person who’d ever known that part of her, had finally said the words she so desperately needed to hear.

The thing is, when she was younger, Paige used to keep everything bottled inside. She’d always been hyper aware of her privilege and her problems had always just seemed so insignificant in front of her parents’ or her friends. So she’d kept them to herself, trapping herself in a web of her own burdens that sometimes threatened to strangle her. And then she’d met a girl at a USA basketball camp when she was 15, a girl who had gently flicked her fingers and Paige’s walls had fallen like dominoes. She hadn’t even known she was drowning, until Azzi had shown up with a lifeboat.

“I just-,” Azzi breaks Paige out of her trance by breaking the eye contact between them, “I didn’t know if anybody had said that to you yet and I just- I wanted you to hear it.”

In the span of a minute, a thousand and one phrases take birth in Paige’s mind and then die on the tip of her tongue. She opens and closes her mouth, trying to express even one of the myriad of emotions that are swirling like a tornado in her brain. But nothing comes out except a litany of incomprehensible noises. And Azzi seems to find the wrong answer in the silence, giving the blonde a timid nod.

“Take care of yourself P,” her voice catches on the familiar nickname, as she shoots Paige a sad smile, before beginning to walk away. When Azzi chose UCLA, she’d lit Paige's heart on fire. So, Paige had drowned their friendship. And while all this time Azzi has struggled to breathe, Paige has burned but god, is she so fucking tired of it.

“Fuck, Azzi wait,” Paige curses, hobbling to catch up to the brunette, who stops with a sigh but doesn’t make a move to return. Stubborn as always, Paige thinks, continuing her way over. When she does catch up, she’s not fully sure what to say and so, “I uh- I’m out of milk.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows in question, crossing her arms protectively around her chest.

“I can’t drive,” Paige explains slowly, “or walk obviously.”

Realisation dawns on Azzi’s face, “you’re asking me to drive you to the grocery store?”

“I guess,” Paige shrugs, trying to be nonchalant.

“Seems like the kind of favour someone asks of their family, or their friends,” Azzi emphasises bitterly, never one to let go of an opportunity for sarcasm.

Paige flinches, “right, I kinda deserved that one.”

She gets a raised eyebrow in response that very much says “ya think?”

“I’m trying here,” she says quietly, and Azzi’s hard demeanour softens, “I’m raising a white flag Az, calling a truce or whatever but it kinda needs to go both ways.”

“What do you think me coming here was supposed to be?” the younger girl says exasperatedly, but she’s smiling again. It’s the third one Paige has gotten out of her today, and finally, she smiles back. They look a little foolish, standing in the apartment hallway, cheshire-cat-grinning at each other like idiots, but it feels like something has clicked into place again.

“I’ll go grab my wallet, you go heat up the car.”

“It’s like 110 degrees dude.”

“Bro shut up, you know what I mean,” Paige huffs and when it makes Azzi laugh, she feels like she’s floating. It’s not as if she hasn’t been happy in a year because won’t you look at that, her world did keep turning after that one decision. But this is different. She feels airy and light, like she could jump off a cliff and fly instead of fall.

“Well hurry up, I have things to do outside of just being your chauffeur.”

“Poor passenger princess, how the roles have reversed,” Paige mocks and it earns her an ever so familiar fond eye roll and for the first time in a year, she feels free.

***

When she gets downstairs, Azzi’s leaning against her car door, a pair of sunglasses shielding her eyes. The hot California sun shines brightly against her tan skin, and Paige’s heart stutters because fuck, Azzi is golden. She looks every bit reminiscent of the girl Paige still has memorised and yet, every bit the promise of a girl Paige wants to learn by heart.

“Nice car,” Paige smirks, alerting the younger girl of her presence.

“It does the job,” Azzi says, looking up with a smile of her own, opening the passenger door for Paige to get in, “not all of us are raking in NIL deals to get the big guns, but we make do.”

“Steph Curry brand ambassador say what now?” the blonde girl teases as she slides into the car. When she looks up, Azzi’s frozen in place, “what?”

“Nothing I just-” she’s wearing sunglasses, but Paige knows Azzi's trying to avert her gaze, “I’m kinda surprised you know that.”

It’s Paige’s turn to look away, their newfound comfort giving away to that old awkwardness, “I keep up with most basketball news.”

To Azzi’s credit she doesn’t push. Instead, she makes her way into the driver seat without another sound. She’s about to connect her phone to the aux but Paige beats her to it.

“Hey,” Azzi squeals, making grabby hands, “my car, my rules, my music.”

“Nuh-uh injury privileges,” Paige gloats, sticking out her tongue.

“That’s not a thing.”

“Is too.”

“Fine, we’ll listen to your crap music.”

“I resent that,” Paige retorts, as Drake blasts through the speakers. The sound of it makes Azzi groan, and she dramatically bangs her head against the steering wheel. Paige spends the rest of the car ride singing at the top of her lungs. Azzi spends the rest of the car ride alternating between shaking her head and joining in with the singing. It’s like they’re back in 2020 all over again, back before they found themselves in the whirlwind of life, back when they were just Paige and Azzi.

***

Their trip inside the grocery store takes less time than the ride to get there, even if Paige takes her time dilly-dallying in the dairy section, pretending she’s going to get anything other than just regular milk. She’s overly conscious of the fact that their time together might be coming to an end, that this time she might actually have to deal with saying goodbye. But she’s not ready to go back to missing Azzi just yet.

“Maybe you can show me your dorm,” she says quietly, once they're both back in the car, playing with the hem of her shirt. Beside her, Azzi draws in a sharp intake of breath, clearly not having expected Paige to want that of all things. In all honesty, the idea of stepping into the world that had stolen Azzi from her is not all that appealing to Paige but she wants to hold onto this moment just a little bit longer.

“You wanna see my dorm?”

“A chance to see how the non-blue blood peasants live? I’d never pass it up.”

“Non blue blood,” Azzi scoffs, "Ever heard of John Wooden?”

“I was talking about women’s basketball but yeah I have heard of him. I won the award last year. Over you,” Paige smirks, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Not everyone’s a phenom their freshman year,” Azzi retorts fondly, unable to mask the hint of pride in her voice.

“Well we’ll see this year-” Paige stops herself, cold seeping into her lungs, as she remembers why she’s in the stupid state of California in the first place. The lighthearted mood in the car goes tumbling out the window as her words hang like a dagger in the air.

“Paige,” Azzi whispers, trying to wrap that one syllable in comfort. She reaches out to touch the blonde’s shoulder but must think better of it because her hand hovers mid-air for a second, before she pulls it back. Paige is suddenly hyper aware of the fact they haven’t touched yet. It’s a reminder of the fact that whatever progress they’ve made today, there’s still so much they haven’t even begun to unpack.

“It’s fine,” Paige’s voice is steely, “just drive.”

Azzi opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, before simply nodding and starting the ignition. She’s clearly holding back and Paige doesn’t know how to feel about it. There’s a part of her that wants Azzi to push her to talk like she would before, but there's another part of her that knows this new rope they’re trying to string between them is fragile.

They ride in silence to Azzi’s apartment, both of them too caught up in their own thoughts to bother with music this time. As the UCLA campus nears, Paige can’t help but hate it just a little bit. She’s aware she’s being petty. Acting like Storrs, Connecticut is some hub of beauty is probably a stretch of the imagination for anyone but she’s determined to dislike this place out of principle.

“Hmm not too shabby but like where’s the fucking cows?” Paige jokes, as the car comes to a stop in front of Azzi’s apartment building. She steps out gingerly, pretending to inspect her surroundings, making tsk-tsk noises at the most random things.

“I’ve seen your apartment Bueckers, don’t even try,” Azzi retorts.

It shouldn’t surprise Paige to see one of Azzi’s teammates when they enter her living room. It’s just like UConn really in the sense that there’s always someone there when you walk in but something about seeing Charisma Osborne just chilling in Azzi’s space suddenly makes it more real that the younger girl is definitely a UCLA Bruin.

“Oh,” Charisma gives Paige a once-over, clearly not having expected to see her, “hi Paige.”

Paige waves, shuffling her weight on her crutches, unsure what to say. It’s not like she doesn’t know Charisma, they’ve literally won a gold medal together for USA basketball. She’s even met the girl a couple of times after and she likes her, she does. But her bitter brain is focused on the fact that this is one of those girls who had gotten Azzi as their teammate, one of the girls who got to see Azzi everyday. All things Paige had not gotten.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing company Az,” Charisma says pointedly, looking at Azzi and Paige bristles at the use of the nickname. She’s being all sorts of ridiculous but at least she’s self-aware of it.

“Last minute decisions,” Azzi replies airily. The two girls lock eyes and Paige can tell they’re having some sort of unspoken conversation and now the green-eyed envy monster is out in full force.

“I insisted on seeing her dorm,” she says finally, breaking into whatever staring competition the two UCLA guards are having.

“It’s not a problem,” Charisma reassures, standing up from her position on the couch, and coming over to give Paige a tentative hug, “I just didn’t know you were coming. But it’s good to see you, Paige.”

“Yeah,” Paige tries to muster up a proper smile as she leans in to return the hug but it comes out more like a grimace, “you too.”

“We’re gonna go chill in my room,” Azzi says, beckoning to one of the doors in the hallways and Paige obediently follows her, waving a half-hearted goodbye to Charisma. She’s secretly pleased to have Azzi back to herself.

The room is nothing out of the ordinary except it has Azzi all over it. She’s in the pink comforter that is thrown haphazardly over a clearly not made bed. She’s in the unicorn plushies laid delicately over a dark blue couch. She’s in the little flower stickers that outline the mirror on the far side of the room. There’s a wall dedicated solely to pictures and fairy lights on one side and Paige is immediately drawn to it. A familiar ache reverberates in her chest as her eyes flicker over the pictures of Azzi’s family. She’s missed them. Then there’s the photographs of Azzi in her UCLA uniform, her teammates surrounding her and Paige has to resist the dangerous urge to rip those off the wall. Be happy for her happiness, the logical part of her brain yells, not seeming to realise she’d left any chance of that in the dirt a year ago. As she tears her eyes away from those offending pictures, they land instead on a whole other set of photographs and she feels her heart catch in her throat.

It’s a set of three images of her and Azzi, taken at various moments. Paige brushes her thumb against the one of the two of them with their arms around each other at the Minnesota state fair. Azzi’s beaming at the camera and Paige is beaming at Azzi. They look so young, so naive, so happy.

“I’m on your wall,” Paige breathes out, turning to face her best friend, “Fuck, I’m on you wall.”

“Of course you are,” Azzi affirms, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world but she shuffles nervously, giving away the reality behind her stable demeanour.

“I never answered your texts. I didn’t call you back,” Paige lists quietly as the first tear falls from her eyes; she’s been holding them back all day, “and I’m on your fucking wall.”

Azzi looks away, unsure how to deal with the fact that apparently they’re no longer tip-toeing around the past. She doesn’t know how to tell the blonde that there had never really been a second thought about whether or not those photos were going up on the wall.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs finally, “you’re my best friend. You’re always gonna be my best friend. Ride or die right?”

“Ride or die,” Paige repeats in a whisper before she all but throws herself at Azzi, practically moulding herself into the younger girl’s body. Caught off guard, Azzi stiffens for a second, before relaxing into it. It’s late outside and the sun has set, but in this moment, the world shines the brightest it has in a year as two stubborn girls finally find their way home to each other.

***

That night, Azzi asks her tentatively if she wants to stay over and of course Paige agrees. Lying awake next to a familiar stranger, she lets herself finally remember the day things had first started unravelling.

November 2020

“You’ll probably get one of the upstairs apartments, so we probably won’t actually be living together which is good because can you imagine if I had to see your goofy ass 24/7?” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her forehead, as she leads Azzi into her room.

She’s too caught up in her excitement having Azzi at UConn, and planning what’ll happen next year, to notice that the girl in question isn’t participating at all in her enthusiasm. Paige has been waiting for what feels like a year (in reality it’s only been a few months) to finally have her best friend come visit. The minute the car had pulled up, she’d taken it upon herself to start her sales pitch all over again, missing the sympathetic smiles she’d gotten from the rest of the Fudd family as she pulled Azzi away to show her the glories of the campus.

“Did you see my assist to Christyn today?” Paige gloats, falling onto her bed with a smirk.

“It was pretty great,” Azzi concedes.

“It was fucking perfect thank you very much. I set her up perfectly, exactly how she likes it.”

“Right.”

“And then did you see how excited the team was for her? For everyone? Never gonna find a greater group of girls.”

“They seem wonderful P.”

Paige furrows her eyebrows as she catches Azzi still lingering by the door instead of joining her on the bed. The brunette fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater, chewing on her lips.

“Are you allergic to my bed?” Paige waits for some smartass response. When she doesn’t get one, she frowns, instincts going haywire, “Az, you good?”

“I- '' Azzi looks away, swallowing nervously, “I need to tell you something and I- I’m not sure how you’re gonna react.”

“You get a boyfriend or a girlfriend or something in the last few months that I don’t know about?” She says it light-heartedly enough, but the thought of it sends a sharp sting through Paige’s heart. In hindsight, she thinks maybe she could have dealt with it having been that.

“What? No. Just- just don’t- dont take it personally okay. Like you can be upset about it but- but don’t hold it against me yeah? My parents- they said- they said you’d get it. You’d be upset but you’d- you’d get it because you- you get me right?”

Paige’s chest hammers as she watches the younger girl draw in a deep breath, “you’re scaring the shit out of me right now.”

“I’mcommittingtoUCLA” Azzi says all in one breath, the words blending together.

She’s sure she’s heard it wrong. There’s no way. After all this time, after all their conversations, all the pitches, how hard she had worked, there was no way this was going to be the end to all of Paige’s efforts.

“What?” she whispers, crossing her fingers that she has in fact misheard.

When Azzi averts her eyes, she knows she hasn’t, “I’m committing to UCLA.”

The first time Paige and Azzi met was somewhat awkward, what with Azzi’s shyness and Paige being slightly overeager to make a new friend. When they’d become bus buddies, they’d progressed to being casual acquaintances who could small talk and share smiles. And then the flight back to Minnesota happened and everything had changed. Every moment after was filled with conversation or laughs or a comfortable silence. Until this one, where the sudden silence between them foreshadows an ominous future.

“Say something,” Azzi says finally, her voice shaking.

Paige stares at her for a second before, “you named your dog Stewie.”

“What?”

“You named your dog Stewie. After Breanna Stewart who played at UConn. It’s not-” Paige wracks her brain, hands flying animatedly “it’s not Meyers or something, after someone who played at fucking UCLA. You named your dog after a UConn great. How are you going to take him to UCLA with you?”

Azzi stares at her, clearly not having expected that level of questioning of all things. Who could blame her when Paige herself feels a little insane.

“This is a joke right? You’re fucking with me? Ha ha ha very funny,” she claps deliriously, “hilarious prank seriously, like hats off you’ve outdone yourself but enough okay? Say sike right fucking now.”

Azzi makes a strangled noise, “it’s not a joke Paige. That’s- that’s my decision.”

“Then change it,” Paige yells, catapulting off the bed.

“Paige-”

“Have you told UCLA yet?”

“I wanted to tell my family and you first.”

“Oh wow, how kind of you. How fucking generous of you to do that Azzi,” Paige bites back sarcastically and Azzi flinches.

In a flash, Paige’s expression goes from angry to desperate, “you still have time to change your mind . Please just- just think about it again okay? You still have so much time and you know what, stay here for a couple more days. Spend time with the team, with the coaches, with me and you’ll see-. UCLA just sounds nice you know? California, the sun, I get it, of course it’s tempting. But just- just stay here okay? And you’ll see this is where you belong,” she leaves the, with me, unsaid.

“Paige,” Azzi’s voice cracks. She takes a step toward her and then pauses. It’s the first time in a long time that Azzi’s hesitated when it comes to Paige. It won’t be the last. And when she looks at Paige through her long eyelashes, tears threatening to fall from her dark brown eyes, Paige knows she’s lost.

“No,” she’s pacing now, chest heaving up and down in a combination of frustration, anger and misery, “this is not fucking happening. We’re not doing this. I made you a whole recruitment video. Did you watch it? Do you know how long it took me to make it? Has the last year been a fucking joke to you?”

“Of course not-”

“Don’t even. Because clearly- clearly it has. Must’ve been hilarious watching me beg and plead with you when you already fucking knew you were going to committ somewhere else.”

“That’s not fair,” Azzi’s voice rises at the accusation, “I had no idea where I was going until a couple of weeks ago. You can’t seriously think that low of me.”

“Not fair? You know what’s not fair, Azzi? We’ve been talking about playing together, about finally being on the same team, the same fucking state, for years. What’s not fair is you throwing all of that away on a whim.”

“I’m not committing to UCLA on a whim. This is my whole future we’re talking about. You don’t even know how much thought I’ve put into it. And I’m choosing what’s best for me. You can’t hold that against me Paige. You can’t.”

They stand on opposite sides of the room, taking in harsh staggered breaths and glaring at each other. The tension in the room is electric as the string connecting them frays. Paige and Azzi bicker, they don’t argue. Or at least, that’s how it used to be.

“Az?” their stare down is broken by a knock on the door as Katie Fudd lets herself in. Immediately, as she stares between her daughter and the girl who’d become just as important, Katie knows what has happened, “we’re going back to the air BnB, are you staying here?”

The answer should be obvious, like it used to be. Of course she would stay here. It was meant to be a no-brainer. But before Azzi can say that, Paige intervenes and the string snaps.

“She’s going with you,” the blonde says firmly, before turning her back. She won’t let Azzi see the tears, she won’t. For her part, the brunette stares at Paige’s back silently for a couple of seconds, before a mask of determination slips on.

“Fine. If that’s what you fucking want,” Azzi sneers before brushing past her mom, eager to get away and hide her own tears.

When Paige turns back around, Katie is already looking at her. The older woman walks the length of the room and pulls the younger girl into a hug that she readily melts into. Paige sniffles as Azzi’s mom soothingly rubs her back.

“We’re driving back tomorrow morning,” Katie whispers quietly into Paige’s hair, “I know you’re mad sweetheart but come say goodbye okay?”

And she does. She shows up with only half an hour or so remaining before Azzi leaves, but Paige shows up. They hug stiffly, exchanging maybe a sentence or two but in that moment it’s enough. They’ll call later when Azzi gets home and it’ll be awkward for a little bit but they’ll break through. They’ll figure out a way to go on without having to talk about the “big thing”. They’ll hold on as long as they can, until they can’t anymore.

***

September 2022

After the night Paige stays over at Azzi’s apartment, they're attached at the hip for the next few weeks, just like old times. They’ve fallen into a routine of sorts. Azzi shows up without fail every day after practice to pick Paige up from her rehab, and then the rest of the younger girl’s time is Paige’s. The first time she’d seen the brunette leaning casually against her car, Paige had had to stop herself from jumping into her arms. She’d played it as nonchalant as possible, joking about Azzi being stalker, but inside, she could feel it again, the dangerously familiar tap of this is all I’ll ever need.

On days Paige doesn’t have rehab, Azzi still shows up right on time on her doorstep with a board game or food or something. It’s gotten to the point where every time the doorbell rings, Paige opens it expecting Azzi. The couple times it’s not, she tries and fails to hide the disappointment on her face. It earns her an eye roll from the delivery guy but it’s worth it for the laugh it elicits from Azzi when she tells her the story. They fall back together as if they’d never fallen apart. And what’s more terrifying than finding out that she’d never truly gotten over old Azzi, is realising how easy it would be to fall in love with new Azzi.

When Caroline, Nika and Piath come to visit the weekend after, all three of them can immediately tell that something's changed. Their teammate seems lighter, as if she’s finally found a sense of calm. But their incessant prodding and raised eyebrows are only met with shrugs from a tight-lipped Paige. It isn’t until Azzi calls, and Nika snatches the phone out of Paige’s hands, gasping at the callerID, that they finally figure out why their point guard has a new kick in her step.

“You should invite her out with us tonight,” Caroline is the first to speak, giving Paige an encouraging smile.

“Carol,” Nika hisses, “we can’t just invite the enemy.”

“She’s not the enemy,” Paige defends immediately, “we don’t even have a rivalry with UCLA.”

Nika scoffs indignantly, “of course she is. She picked a different school over us. Over UConn! That’s weird. Who even does that?”

“Lots of people do,” Caroline, who occasionally texts Azzi (albeit she’s kept that somewhat of a secret), supplies helpfully, shrugging when the Croatian glares at her.

Piath nudges Paige when she notices the other girl has gone quiet, “ignore Nika. She doesn’t mean it, you know that. If you wanna invite her, invite her.”

And she does, she wants to so badly. It’s insane really because it hasn’t even been a full day since they’d last seen each other but Paige swears something inside her has been missing since. There’s something awfully terrifying about letting Azzi back into the UConn version of her world, the world that the younger girl had once rejected. Still, if they’re going to try this again, she supposes sooner or later, it’ll have to happen.

“Put her on speaker,” Nika orders when Paige grabs her phone back from her.

“Nika,” Caroline, younger only by age, warns, pulling the other girl away, “we’re supposed to be cheering her up, not making life harder.”

Azzi answers on the third ring, her voice teasing “miss me already?”

Yes, Paige thinks, sometimes I think I miss you even when you’re right here next to me, sometimes I think I’ll miss you forever. But she doesn’t say any of that.

“Not a chance,” she scoffs instead, “besides you called me first.”

“Butt dial.”

“Mmmhmm I’m sure.”

“Shut up,” Azzi laughs and Paige is glad her teammates aren’t here to see the goofy grin that appears on her face at the sound of it, “I just wanted to see if we were doing something tonight?”

“Yeah- umm- you remember I told you about the girls coming down this weekend. They- uh- they wanted to go out tonight and uh- you could come along?”

There’s a pause on the other end and Paige knows Azzi’s going through the same thought process as her.

“I don’t wanna intrude on your time with your team P-”

“You wouldn’t be intruding,” Paige cuts in immediately and although she figured her teammates were definitely eavesdropping, Nika cursing about her being “pussywhipped” followed by in-sync shushing from Piath and Caroline, gives them away.

On the other end of the line, Azzi’s quiet again, “it’s okay P, you go have fun with your friends. We don’t have to spend every night together. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What she doesn’t say is that maybe they need to learn how to live like that again, how to live apart again. Paige is almost done with the LA part of her rehab, something both of them are still in denial about. It’s only a matter of time before they return back to their two separate worlds and neither of them are sure they’ve managed to repair their friendship enough to not slip back into their foolishness again.

“But I wanna see you tonight,” Paige whines, her tone teetering on the edge of sounding like a desperate girlfriend, “please.”

“Paige-”

“Pleaseeeeeee. I’m literally injured and begging Az, it’d be mean to say no.”

“What does your injury even have to do with any of this?” Azzi sighs exasperatedly, “but yeah okay fine calm down Bueckers. Send me an address, I’ll be there.”

“You don’t wanna come pregame here?”

“Dude, let's not push it, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah okay see you,” Paige pauses, “hey Az?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really happy you’re coming tonight.”

“I’m really happy you’re happy P.”

***

Azzi Fudd is a menace. See, people often get fooled by her soft-spoken nature and shy demeanour, but Paige has been around her long enough to know the truth. In the beginning it was the witty quips the younger girl always had ready whenever they were having some ridiculous argument. After that, it was the direct pranks that wreaked havoc on Paige’s life. But tonight, in Paige’s opinion, tonight is Azzi’s worst offence. She had to have done it on purpose, had to have known the sheer effect it would have on Paige to see her dressed like that. The red criss-cross tank top fits her like a mould and the way her ripped jeans shorts cling to her hips leaves little to the imagination. Her diamond belly button piercing shines against her skin, taunting Paige. She wants to touch, she wants to feel, she wants to do all the unspeakable things in her mind but she’s forced to just watch.

What she hates most though, is that everybody else is watching too. Since Azzi’s walked into the club, Paige has had to fight the urge to strangle every stranger who had given her best friend an appraising once-over. Some of them let their eyes linger long enough to give her time to plot out the perfect murder strategy (it’s the only way she can stop herself from actually committing a crime tonight). And, as Azzi dances with Caroline, hips swaying to the beat and holding the other girl a little closely, Paige has the irrational urge to hit sweet, kind Caroline of all people.

The thing is, Azzi’s been a little too attached to Caroline since she got here in Paige’s opinion. And she gets it. Piath, bless her soul, is trying but has always been a little awkward around new people. Nika is definitely not trying, loyally holding onto a grudge on behalf of Paige. Which leaves Caroline, who’s already familiar territory and the younger girl has grasped onto her like a lifeline. But enough is enough Paige decides, as she slips out of her seat with a determined look. Smoothly, she cuts right in between Caroline and Azzi.

“Nika’s a little wasted and I don’t want to deal with,” it’s a blatant lie but Paige knows appealing to Caroline’s more motherly instincts will get her what she wants. She gets a raised eyebrow in return, her teammate clearly catching her ruse because Nika looks visibly fine. But it works anyway and Paige gets Azzi to herself. She reaches for the other girl’s hand, twirling her just so she can hear that stupid silly laugh, and then pulling her back so she’s facing Paige.

“You having fun?”

“Always have fun with you P,” Azzi replies. She’s clearly tipsy but there’s no hint of insincerity in her voice. It makes Paige’s breath hitch.

“Yeah?” she whispers, taking a step closer, “more than with Carol?”

Azzi giggles, “more than anyone.”

The song in the club changes and as the crowd adjusts to it, someone jostles Azzi and immediately Paige grabs at her hips to steady her. As she finds her balance, Azzi’s giggles subside, realising just how close she is to the blonde now. They’re stuck in slow motion as the world dances around them. The combination of adrenaline and alcohol pumping through her veins is what convinces Paige to test the limits. One hand still squeezing at Azzi’s bare waist, revelling in finally getting to touch, she brings up her thumb to trace around Azzi’s lips. The younger girl gulps, but when she doesn’t try to move away, confidence pulses through Paige. Her heart is beating frantically out of her chest, years and years of want and need that she’d shoved as far away as possible, desperately fighting to get to the surface.

Pushing herself closer, so their chests are now pressed to each other and Azzi’s hands have no choice but to latch onto her biceps, Paige places a delicate, teasing kiss to the corner of Azzi’s lips. She wishes she could record the whine it elicits and listen to it on loop for hours. Smirking, she moves to place another one on the other side, this time pressing her lips a little harder, a little longer. Azzi’s eyes are closed shut, hands gripping onto Paige so tightly, she knows there’ll be a mark on her biceps tomorrow. She cups Azzi’s face with both hands now, her own eyes shutting involuntarily, as she finally, finally brushes their lips together.

This time, the strangled noise that leaves Azzi’s throat, is one Paige wishes she could forget as the younger girl rips herself away from Paige, the force of it creating almost a foot of distance between them. It doesn’t take long for the familiar sting of rejection to make itself home in her heart. Azzi’s eyes are brimming with tears as she manically shakes her head. Without a word, she rushes through the crowd, making a beeline for the exit, leaving Paige confused and craving for another taste.

***

It takes Paige a second to gather her thoughts before following the brunette. She ignores the confused glances from her teammates, making some bullshit excuse about fresh air as she fights her way outside. When she gets there, Azzi’s leaning against the wall, eyes closed as she takes in long deep breaths.

“That’s not usually how girls react when I try to kiss them,” Paige says after a second, trying to make light of the situation, even if her heart is heavy with anxiety.

It’s the wrong thing to say because Azzi scoffs, “you kiss a lot of girls don’t you.”

“Yeah and most of them kiss me back,” Paige bites back.

She’s taken aback by the fire in the darker-skinned girl’s eyes as Azzi finally opens them, heaving herself off the wall.

“I won’t be one of your groupies Paige. I won’t be one of your desperate one night stands. I won’t be just some other hookup. I won’t!”

Frankly she’s a little offended Azzi would even think that of her. She’s aware of her reputation. In fact she’d probably fed into it a little bit, exaggerating her escapades to Azzi on the phone her freshman year, when they had been on the verge of combusing and she’d been desperate to get a rise out of the younger girl. Last year though, last year was different. But Azzi doesn’t know that.

“I don’t want you to be any of that,” she replies feebly.

“Then what, do you want me to be?” Azzi’s voice rises with each syllable.

Paige stutters, the words getting stuck in her throat. The truth is she wants Azzi to be everything. The truth is, Azzi already is everything. Except there’s too much between them and she just can’t say it. They stand in silence until Azzi finally breaks it.

“I think these last few weeks of summer might have been the best of my life,” she says miserably, “and that might be the worst thing ever you know? Because it’s not real. You’re gonna go back to your world and you’ll- you’ll stop replying to my texts and you’ll stop- you’ll stop calling me and I- I don’t know if I can do that again.”

“That’s an awful lot of assumptions you’re making about me,” Paige is on defensive mode now, feeling a fight brewing.

“Because that’s what happened. Go back through your fucking phone Paige. Look at all the times I tried. And all the times you never did. You just- you cut me out Paige.”

“That’s not fair. You chose fucking UCLA. Over me.”

“No,” Azzi corrects immediately, anger seeping into her tone, “I chose UCLA over UConn. You made it about yourself.”

Paige swallows back a bitter response in favour of trying to prevent a full-fledged argument, “okay, okay let’s not- let’s not do this okay. It’ll be better this time- I- I won’t ignore your calls or texts or you okay? Just- can we just go back inside please?”

“That’s the thing,” Azzi’s anger is gone, replaced by a sad wistful smile, “I don’t know if I believe that you will,” a single tear rolls down her cheek, “I- I don’t fully trust you and you haven’t fully forgiven me. So where do we go from here?”

It’s a lie what they say about the truth setting you free, Paige thinks as Azzi’s words squeeze at her heart, because all it’s done is unleash shackles of despair that holds them both hostage. It had been easy the last couple of weeks, to pretend the last year had never happened. It had been easy for Paige to pretend that she was over what happened, to ignore the part of her brain that still felt so utterly betrayed.

“Azzi, what are you saying? You don’t- you don’t wanna be friends?” Paige feels nauseous even saying it.

“No I-” Azzi chews at her bottom lip, “I’m saying this- us- we’re too fragile to complicate even more. I barely- fuck- Paige, I barely survived losing my best friend. I don’t think I could survive losing something more.”

The worst thing about it all, is that it makes sense. And really, Paige doesn’t know what she’d expected to happen if Azzi hadn’t pulled away when she did. They’d kiss, maybe give in and do more and then what? Shake hands and walk away? Or make false promises that would ultimately lead to resentment? No, Years and years of something deserved better than either of those masochistic endings. It makes sense, it does but it doesn’t mean Paige has to like it.

In front of her, all the fight evaporates from Azzi’s body, as the younger girl leans back against the brick wall of the club, sliding down and pulling her knees to her chest. She looks every bit as miserable as Paige feels and all the blonde wants to do is wipe away the stress lines creasing against the younger girl’s beautiful phase. She moves to sit down next to her best friend, shuffling so their shoulders are pressed together and intertwines their fingers together. A sigh of relief escapes her when Azzi doesn’t immediately pull away. Instead, she squeezes their hands tighter, as if she’s scared that if she lets go, Paige will disappear.

“You didn’t lose me you know,” Paige says softly after a second, nudging Azzi’s shoulder when the other girl lets out a noise of protest, “I know, I know it feels like you did. It felt like that to me too except- every time something good or bad happened to me, I heard your voice or- or maybe I just really wanted too. We got lost a little bit but I didn’t- I didn’t lose you and you didn’t lose me. There’s a difference. I don’t think we could ever lose each other like that. Not really.”

When Azzi turns to look at her, the golden glow of the street lights illuminate the emotions in her eyes. She gives Paige a soft smile, “well Bueckers, if basketball doesn’t work out, maybe you have a future in poetry.”

“I could do whatever I wanted,” except what I want to do the most.

It doesn’t take long for the Uber Azzi’s already called to start pulling up and that familiar ache of longing creeps into Paige’s spine. She knows tonight isn’t their final goodbye; they still have a couple more days. But those days will be spent ignoring and pretending, unlike tonight and the firm grip they have on reality. They rise off of the cold pavement together, dusting themselves off. It takes a second of awkward glances before they’re surging into each other’s arms, squeezing each other so tightly that it’s hard to breathe. Paige wills herself not to cry, hiding her face in the crook of Azzi’s neck.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispers, unsure if it’s more for her benefit or Azzi’s.

The unwanted beep of a car is the only reason they reluctantly pull away, hurriedly wiping away unshed tears, they pretend the other can’t see. Azzi musters up a brave smile, before slowly moving away and it takes everything in Paige not to crumble and begs her to stay. Azzi’s halfway to the car when she turns back and it feels like Paige can breathe again. The brunette’s face is conflicted for a second before turning determined, as she starts walking back up.

“Az-”

Paige’s confusion is stifled as Azzi fists her shirt, pulling her into a searing kiss. It’s desperate and needy and it’s only a few seconds before the dark-haired girl is pulling away again, but it sets Paige’s entire world off balance.

“I just-” Azzi’s breathing is rapid and uneven, “I’ve wanted to do that since I was fifteen and- just- fuck- I just-,” she blinks up at Paige, “I hate- I hate leaving things unfinished and for fucks sake if you don’t call me back this time Bueckers- just- don’t be a stranger.”

Paige doesn’t get time to answer, she doesn’t think she could even if she did, because Azzi scurries away almost immediately. She stops when she gets to the car, turning back to give Paige one final look, a look that will haunt Paige forever, before getting into the backseat. As Paige watches the back of Azzi’s uber gets smaller and smaller, her tongue darts across her lips as she tries to memorise the faintest taste of Azzi’s strawberry-flavoured lipstick. And she knows, she’s so utterly and completely and terribly fucked.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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m00nlight-ramblings · 3 months

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Like Real People Do: Chapter 1

You are the new girl at Hawkins High for your junior year. As a stereotypical "goody goody", you've been focused on friends, studies, and getting into college...so when you become friends with Eddie Munson, it completely throws a wrench in your system. But, sometimes, that can be a very, very good thing. (slow burn strangers to friends to lovers)

This is "Like Real People Do: Chapter 1"

Pairings: Eddie x AFAB reader (for continuity sake, you will have a name because I truly hate writing "y/n" it gives me hives, but it won't be prevalent enough to be distracting)

Warnings: swearing. every chapter will have their own warnings - eventually, their will be fluff, angst, smut. THIS ENTIRE SERIES IS 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2.64k

A/N: My Eddie obsession will never leave me, apparently lol. Some of the plot will be out of order from the show - I'm not quite sure if I want to incorporate the Upside Down stuff just yet. Graphic made by me, I do not give permission for it (or this series) to be shared without my knowledge.

The end-of-summer breeze was light, running through the open window of your car. You had your arm extended out the driver window, lightly tapping the outside of the door as you drove slowly down the road where Hawkins High School was located. The closer you got, the more the butterflies fluttered in your stomach, bouncing off of the walls and causing you to breathe out shaky breaths every 10 seconds (approximately).

Bananarama’s “Venus” was playing through the speaker of the sound system in your car – normally, you’d be singing along, your toes tapping along to the beat. But instead, you felt like you were driving into something awful – a battle, or a funeral, perhaps.

Which, if you think about it, is probably the exact opposite place that you should be listening to Bananarama’s “Venus”.

As you turned the corner, you saw kids from both the high school and close by middle school mingling outside, in the parking lot. It seemed that everyone – except for you – had First Day of School™ smiles plastered on their faces, which only added to your growing pit of nerves. Slowly, you maneuvered into your assigned parking spot – lucky 31 – and parked the car, rolling up the window and turning down the music. You let out a shaky breath and gripped the steering wheel so hard, your knuckles turned white.

“It is your first day of school,” You reminded yourself, trying hard not to look at the people walking around your car abstinent-mindedly, chatting to their friends about what they did over summer vacation. You felt a pang of sadness as you yearned for your best friends back home – this past summer was the first summer in high school you three didn’t work together at the local Dairy Queen, and even though you hated that job, you missed them so much sometimes your heart hurt.

Shaking the sadness out of your quickly, you looked ahead and started again, “It’s your first day of school. It is your first day of school – you are not about to enter a Roman Coliseum to fight a caged tiger.” Accidentally, you made eye contact with a boy walking past the car, who squinted his eyes at you in confusion.

Although you feel like you’re surrounded by caged tigers… You thought, expelling another shaky breath. Were you sure that boy wasn’t a caged tiger? Because he sure was making you feel like it.

“It’s your first day of school,” You whispered again, checking your watch. 10 minutes until you had to meet the principal in their office to get the grand tour and your class schedule. “It’s your first day of school, and you’re going to kick ass. It’s nothing to be scared of.” You watched another person make a face at you while they walked by.

Okay, time to stop talking to yourself in the car.

You grabbed your backpack and opened the door, your knees feeling slightly like Jello. Locking the door behind you, you made your way through the front door of the building. According to the packet that came in the mail a few week’s prior, the principal’s office was almost directly next to the entrance, to the right.

Turning to the right, you saw the front office, with the sign “Hawkins High Front Office” plastered at the top of the doorway.

Okay. That wasn’t so hard.

Progress.

You stepped in, stepping into the small line that had already formed at the receptionist’s desk. Taking in your surroundings, you heard multiple phones ringing, and multiple conversations happening at once.

School wasn’t hard for you – in fact, you actually loved school. Known as a Goody-Goody at your last school, you were interested in homework, and getting good grades. In your junior year and on the fast track to a big university, possibly on the East Coast, you wanted to study psychology to become a therapist.

So, school definitely wasn’t hard for you. What was hard was moving to a new state due to your dad’s new job, and having to start school smack dab in the middle of your high school career. Being 550 miles away from everything you had ever known was tough – doing it at 17-years-old was even worse.

“Miss?” The receptionist said, pulling you back to reality. You snapped your head forward and saw that she was smiling politely, but definitely impatiently. You blushed as you stepped forward, being next in line. “How can I help you?” She asked as you stepped up. She had thick glasses and lipstick had already stained her teeth, even though it was only 7:00 in the morning. She tapped her pencil against the desk as she waited for your response.

“Oh, hi,” You said, subconsciously running your tongue over your teeth, “Um, today is my first day…I transferred in. And I was told to be here now to meet with the principal –”

“Brooke Henway?” The receptionist interrupted. You nodded. Quickly, she waved her hand as if to say come on, “This way. Principal Higgins is in his office and will be waiting for you. Have a great first day.” She knocked on a door marked “Principal Higgins” on a gold plaque, the entire sentence a monotone run-on. Offering a strained smile to you, she scooted back to her desk, shouting, “WHO’S NEXT?!”

You sighed heavily and re-adjusted your backpack, shoving your hands in your jeans pockets. Rocking on your heels, you reminded yourself that no matter how large and scary it felt, this was just a high school, and not a Roman Coliseum.

This was going to be a long year.

Shutting the door to your locker, you felt exhausted. The first day of school wasn’t bad – people here were actually pretty nice, and it seemed like you would be able to keep up in your classes fairly easy. But a first day of school would be tiring anyway…adding on that it was a first day at a new school, and you were downright asleep with your eyes open.

You were just about to make your way to your car – home at last! – when all of the sudden, what sounded like a heard of buffalo made its way down the seemingly empty hallway. You turned to face the noise at the end of the hallway, and a group of rowdy boys turned the corner, laughing and shouting about something that made them so excited, they seemed to be breaking the sound barrier. Something told you hang back a second, so you decided to wait until they passed to head out to the parking lot.

The group consisted of what seemed like various grades – definitely a few freshmen, but some seemed older. A few were wearing shirts that boasted “HELLFIRE CLUB” on them, and they seemed like a rag-tag group. One boy with longer, curly, brown hair and a leather jacket, made eye contact with you while he was smiling at one of the younger looking boys. For a split second, you both maintained eye contact as the group passed by you, and you felt a little jolt in your tummy.

Okay…he’s kinda hot. You thought, a smiling threatening to break through on your lips. Even though he wasn’t technically smiling at you, he seemed nice.

Or, at least funny since he was making the rest of the boys around him howl with laughter.

As soon as they passed, Long Curly Hair Boy shoved his hand in his back pocket, causing whatever was in there to tip out, scattering on the ground. They sounded plastic by the sound of the pink pink! noise they made as they fell on the linoleum, but they group didn’t hear over their conversation. You stepped to them, snatching them in your hand.

Looking down at them, they seemed like dice, except there was way too many sides. Inquisitively, you investigated them, turning them over with your finger. The dice themselves were a cool, swirly black and maroon color, while the numbers on them were a metallic gold.

Suddenly, you remembered these cool, weird dice were not, in fact, yours.

“Hey! Excuse me?” You shouted, jogging to catch up with the group. At first, they didn’t hear you, so you shouted again. “Heyyyyy! Hey!”

Almost as one organism, they all turned at the same time (and weirdly, in the same direction). Long Curly Hair Boy had his arm around two of the younger guys – Smaller Long Curly Hair Boy, and Tall And Lanky Looking Boy – affectionately. You locked eyes again and he widened his smile.

“Yesssss? Can I help you?” He asked in a playful tone. You extended your hand, flattening your palm to show off the dice.

“You dropped these.”

He looked at the dice and one of the boys whistled. Quickly looking back up to you with appreciation, he quickly took the dice and put them in his back pocket, “Geeze, thanks. Can’t believe I would’ve left those. They were custom made…” He looked back at you and tiled his head, “…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

You smiled, “Because you haven’t. I’m new…moved here this summer. Today was my first day,” You offered, but then remembered that today was everyone’s first day, “Well I mean, like here. In Hawkins.”

Long Curly Hair Boy chuckled and nodded, “No, I got what you meant. Well, welcome to the exotic and exciting Hawkins, Indiana! I’m Eddie,” He introduced the rest of the gang (Smaller Long Curly Hair Boy was actually named Dustin, and Tall and Lanky Looking Boy was actually named Mike).

“I’m Brooke,” You said after they were done. There was a moment of silence after pleasantries were exchanged and you raised your eyebrows, “Welp…I better get home. Even though it’s only the first day, I have like, 100 pages of reading for English, so…” You jabbed your thumb in the direction of the parking lot, your voice trailing off.

“Right, right. Well, we better go too…” Eddie started, crossing and uncrossing his arms, “Thanks again for saving my butt with my dice back there…and see you around.” He smiled again and the group said their goodbyes, walking away collectively as one organism again. You chuckled watching them leave.

Teenage boys are so fucking weird.

You headed out to the parking lot and got into your car. As you turned the radio up and rolled down your window, you found yourself smiling.

Yeah…maybe the first day wasn’t so bad.

Something about the new girl had thrown Eddie’s head for a minor tailspin.

Sure, he had only talked to her for like, 30 seconds. And sure, it wasn’t flirty by any means. But there was something about her…was it her smile? Or the way her hair was shining in the afternoon sunlight? Or maybe it was, even with such little conversation, Eddie could tell she was really nice – a “kind soul” was what he had heard it described as.

Jesus Christ, he knew this girl for all of two minutes and he was already waxing poetic.

Thankfully, he was able to shake the thoughts of her off as he focused back on the main thing he should be focusing on after the first day of school.

His new Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

Quickly scribbling ideas down, he worked through some new thoughts he had conjured up in third period. Smiling as he did so – he had a feeling Henderson would love the new direction he was taking it – he bobbed his head to the Iron Maiden tape playing in his stereo next to him. Thankful for the new, freshmen recruits he had met earlier in the summer, he hadn’t been so excited for a campaign in a long time – and this Friday, they were going to have their first, official Hellfire meeting of the school year.

“EDDIE,” Wayne screamed over his music, knocking on his door, “PHONE FOR YOU.”

“THANKS.” Eddie replied, not looking up as he shut the music off. He snagged the phone in his room out of its cradle, “Y-ello?”

“So she was really hot, right?” Dustin’s voice rang through the phone and Eddie heard Wayne’s chuckle as he hung up the other phone in the kitchen. Embarrassed, Eddie rolled his eyes, even though Dustin couldn’t see him.

“What?”

“I said, ‘she was really hot, right’?”

“No, Dustin, I heard you, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“The new girl!” Dustin groaned, “The new girl is pretty cute! You know exactly who I’m talking about!”

“Dustin…” Eddie sighed, rubbing his forehead in between his eyebrows, “I don’t even remember her name -”

“Yes, you do.”

Yes, I do.

“Whatever. Point is, who cares?”

“Who cares?! Us…we should care!” Dustin sounded exhausted already, “She’s a new girl – a new, hot, girl – and she was nice to us! On the first day! Do you know what that means?!”

“…no?”

“It means, genius, that we could get our high school credibility up! She doesn’t know that we’re the freaks of the school – yet – and she was nice to us! That combo means that we could have a pretty girl as a friend, thus making us cool!”

“Dustin…” Eddie winced internally at the word “freak”, “I don’t care about my credibility in this dumb town.”

“Well, it’ll make our lives easier! My whole life, I was thrown into lockers because I’m a nerd with new teeth basically every other year…if we have pretty, nice girl as a friend, that could change! We’ll still be nerds -”

“But with a pretty, nice friend?” Eddie finished, basically checking out of the conversation.

“Exactly!” Dustin shouted excited.

“Okay, Henderson, I’m going to hang up the phone now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ugh, okay fine. But just think about it, okay?!”

“Yeah, sure, bye.” Eddie rushed to hang up the phone, the idea of talking any more about Brooke making him sweat a little bit. He sighed, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders, before he turned his stereo on again.

But even with the pen in his hand, and music playing in his room, Eddie still couldn’t concentrate on his campaign, and tried shake the thought of you. He didn’t need to have a “nice, pretty friend” because he truly didn’t care, but it would be nice to have you as a friend.

Or at least, he thought.

Maybe “this will be my year” would take on a whole new meaning now.

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A/N: thanks so much for reading, y’all! I have Eddie Munson brainrot right now, so even though I have oneshots AND another multi-chapter fic I’m working on, I guess my brain also decided I needed to write this one too lol. As always, your likes, reblogs, and comments mean the world to me, so they’re greatly appreciated! Let me know what you think!

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things

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thelastofhyde · 5 months

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prologue. rome.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. like all epic love stories, this one starts with a meet-(un)cute. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. i’m pretty sure there’s no warnings this chapter. word count. 845. hyde’s input. & so it begins! my goal is to try post a chapter every other friday, but it may be weekly if i write + edit on time. likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 next chapter - series masterlist

Under the buzz of a dying light, you assess the damage.

Tousled hair, smudged mascara, bags under your eyes. Chapped lips, wrinkled clothing, a missing earring. Nail indentations, dry hands, a bruise on your knee.

You'd call yourself a mess, had you not been travelling at full-speed in the air, trapped inside an overgrown Pringles can that grew wings, for the past who-knows-how-many hours.

With a snoring seat-neighbour, a kid kicking at the back of you and the embarrassing sting of tears in your eyes, you'd not known peace until the plane had landed on solid ground. And, even then, the nightmare had picked right back up where it had left off, shapeshifting into a mile long customs queue and the overwhelming dread of watching the conveyor belt spin round and round with not a single sign of your suitcase.

It took a whole hour and speaking to an airport staff member later for them to find your case, right down the other end of the arrivals hall, sitting amongst luggage from a destination you'd certainly not arrived from.

But none of that matters, not now. At least you tell yourself that as you splash some cold water on your face. Looking back in the mirror, you try out a smile. It doesn't look genuine, but it's been a little harder to do recently, and so you give yourself credit for managing to at least have it meet your eyes.

There's a series of disgruntled, irritated faces that greet you as you exit the bathroom. You walk past them, head down, trying to count the beat in your footsteps and feel the roll of your suitcase's wheels.

Finding the signs that point to the arrival gate, you keep a low profile, as if anyone would know you here. Why would anybody know you here? Still, the need to stay hidden, out of sight, it intensifies, even as you take in the welcoming sign above sliding doors.

Buongiorno, benvenuto in Italia!

An overwhelming wave of loneliness hits you as you take your first step past the sliding doors, the usual hustle and bustle of an arrival's lounge greeting you. Couples embracing in reunion, families excitedly catching up on all that they've missed, strangers meeting for the first time, men in suits holding up signs with names and-

A different kind of wave hits you, physically, and suddenly you're on all fours, the sound of your knees smacking harshly into the marble floor taunting you with yet another bruise that'll be making a cameo in every picture you’ll take.

The world continues to pass you by, even as you juggle turmoil and pain. It’s a feat you’re trying to grow used to, but, for now, all you can manage is to not feel your stomach knot. You straighten your back, hands off the floor and your weight resting back against your knees. Pull a deep breath in, ignoring the tremble in your lower lip. In a moment of pure desperation, you wonder what more awaits you on this holiday from hell.

An awful flight, a lost-luggage scare, several bruises and now a public humiliation. What’s next?

You’re plucked up from where you sit, strong hands taking a gentle grip of your forearm. A simple tug and you obey the stranger’s signal, shifting to stand up straight. Turning on your heel to face your rescuer, you’re met with the back of a head, dark locks adorning it as the man reaches back down to grasp at your suitcase’s handle.

The man’s face is revealed slowly, undeliberately, as he rises to level once more, steadying your case back onto its wheels. Handsome, you notice the etching of laugh lines around his eyes and the peppering of patchy, yet fitting, facial hair along his jaw. A pair of headphones, big and chunky and sporting a wire, rest on the back of his neck and the strap of a backpack rests over his right shoulder.

You notice you’re staring a little too late, when there’s already a frown line splitting the skin of his forehead. Clear your throat, take back control of your suitcase and your senses.

Raised with manners, you rather clumsily thrust out your hand for the man to shake. “Thank you for your help, I appreciate it. So much. I'm-"

"You're in the way."

There’s no time to respond, not properly, as the man side-steps you with a grunt, his shoulder catching yours as he passes by. He doesn’t stop to apologise, simply readjusting the sliding strap of his bag and continuing his stride out into the sea of awaiting people.

Involuntarily, frozen where you stand, your eyes follow him as he comes to a stop in front of a uniformed man, a printed sign in his hand.

Signore Miller.

As you scan the crowd for your own name, spotting a casually dressed older gentleman carrying it upon scribbled cardboard, you repeat that name, over and over.

Miller, Miller, Miller.

Whoever the rude man may be, you pray for all those who cross his path on his trip.

#joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

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humanpurposes · 2 months

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It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

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andkisses · 5 months

Text

♡ roman holiday | sunghoon ♡

will this bucket list trip be the thing that finally forces you to face your feelings? or will it be the thing that tears the two of you apart for good?

♡ sunghoon x gn!reader | wc. 9.4k ♡ genres/tropes: childhood friends to lovers and the fluff and angst that comes with it, college!au (not obvious but implied), road trips ♡ mentions of/warnings: arguments, references to a toxic family environment, allusions to drowning, i think that’s all but lmk if there’s smth else that needs added! ♡ a/n: this has been a wip for SOO long we’re talking YEARS and has changed muses several times but i finally sat down to finish this and im so proud of what i managed <3 truly some of my favorite things ive ever written ! inspired by roman holiday by halsey! this is also the longest thing i think i have ever written <3

♡ masterlist ♡

The coffee ring on the counter stares back at you, warm brown against a stark egg white. You can’t tell if it’s old or new, and part of you doesn’t care. Another part wants to know, though, when the coffee stain was made and why it was never cleaned. The motel is practically empty, the older lady behind the front desk and a tired-looking family in the corner of the dining room are the only other inhabitants.

Through the windows, dressed quaintly with homesewn drapes, you see the tall mountain trees, dark green and prickly, stretching up to the crystal blue sky. The television across the room is set to the weather station, and the anchor talks about how a cold front could potentially lead to an early snow.

A tray with various breakfast items clunks against the table, and the boy you’ve been traveling with settles in across from you, faux leather chair seat squeaking beneath in subtle “I’m hardly ever used” protest. His dark hair falls into his eyes messily, as if he only just now got up and rolled out of bed. The red flannel and vest he wears matches the surroundings, but looks absurd on your best friend.

“Sunghoon,” you start, interlacing your fingers and resting your chin on the bridge they form. Your eyes scan the tray, accounting each and every tiny portion of food. Eggs, both scrambled and hard boiled, some toast with an assortment of little jam containers, a little bowl of butter, two pancakes, half a waffle, and a few strips of bacon. “Thank you for getting everything,” you continue, leveling a stare over the top of your nose, “but you forgot the syrup.”

The boy in front of you blinks, bites his lips, and nods his head. A soft yeah, I forgot the syrup escapes his lips as he slides out of his chair, the pleather squeaking once again. “Give me like two minutes,” he says, “the breakfast bar is crazy to navigate. Do you see the things I do for you?” His smile is teasing.

“It’s no problem, Hoon—” Your voice trails off as he jogs off into the distance. You shake your head, feeling lethargic and sleepy beneath the slow-turning ceiling fan. Your gaze follows its metallic clink, and the fan seems as if it’s never been replaced in the 50-something years this establishment has operated.

You’re brought back down by a small tug on your sleeve, and when you look, it’s the little girl from the tired family across the room. She blinks up at you, not much unlike Sunghoon, innocent and full of curiosity. You nod your head, encouraging her to talk. The little girl takes a big gulp of air, dual pigtails bobbing, before, “I think your boyfriend is very nice and I like how he gets you your breakfast.”

The laugh that leaves you is easy, the statement hardly shocking at all. You’re used to it, strangers and acquaintances alike assuming the relationship status between the two of you. It’s nothing new. The little girl’s face is confused, her head listing to one side. You nod again, swallowing any additional laughter. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply, and you see a little bit of the light in her eyes diminish. “We’re just really good friends. He’s my best friend, actually.”

The girl’s brows furrowed together, a small pout forming on her lips. Obviously not the answer she was expecting. Then she nods, lips pursed. “Yeah, okay,” she mutters, seeming confused. Before she turns to walk back to her family, she looks back up and adds, “He’s a good friend. I would keep him as my friend for a long time.”

“That’s what I intend on doing, kiddo.” Your voice is quiet as the little girl skips back across the old, faded carpet towards her family. You see Sunghoon emerge from the breakfast bar, where everyone else at this motel must be. He waves small packets of syrup in the air. The smile that flits across your face is fleeting. You try to ignore, again, this feeling in your chest. Your voice is small, talking to yourself. “For as long as possible.”

***

The candy-colored Valentine stared back at you, practically mocking you. Third grade and only one Valentine. You tried to fight back the tears, attempted to sniff them back inside, but nothing worked. They fell, one by one, onto the homemade card, soaking through the pink construction paper and leaving roundly-shaped wet splotches across your only card.

You read the simple message, “Happy Valentine’s! – Sunghoon”, over and over and over again. You racked your brain, trying to figure out why, why, why no one else gave you a card. You were nice, you offered to help them when they needed it. It seemed like everyone liked you. They even let you sit by them at lunch.

So why?

The hand on your shoulder startled you, your head whipping up to face the figure standing beside the desk. It was Sunghoon, the boy who gave you the only Valentine in your possession. The edges of his dark hair curled around his eyebrows and the corners of his eyes. His brow scrunched with worry, and he ducked down to see your face.

“Are you okay?”

You shook your head, a bitter pout filling out your lips. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

Sunghoon shrugged, removing his hand to pull out the seat beside you. “I guess not.” He pursed his lips, hands clasped in his lap, before looking back at you. “What’s the matter?”

You flung the single Valentine—his own Valentine—back at him. The construction paper flew through the air before catching, floating down to land on the table by Sunghoon, who deftly picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

“It’s the only one you got?”

You nodded, crossing your arms on your desk and sinking into them. A heavy sigh left your chest and you sniffled, trying to keep the angry tears from falling again. You wished the day would end; that the bell would ring and release you so you could go home and cry somewhere comfier instead.

There was silence, then, “Does it matter if you only got one?”

You scoffed, still hidden in your arms. “Uh, duh? It means no one in this class likes me.”

“Then… why does it matter if everyone else doesn’t like you? Shouldn’t one person liking you be okay?”

You bit your lip. You can’t tell if you like his thinking or not. You decided not to respond.

You heard the chair scrape against the wood floor beside you, and you figured it was Sunghoon leaving to return to the other students. That was fine, you figured. It’s what you should expect, anyway. Even if he was the only one who gave you a Valentine, it was probably only because he gave the whole class Valentine’s. What a guy.

Then the chair was drug against the floor again, much closer this time. You popped your head up, a scowl still on your face, to see what was happening. Sunghoon had scooted it closer, and in his hands was another Valentine. You watched as he flipped the card over to the decorated side and skillfully pulled off the foam heart-shaped sticker, as if he’d had to do this thousands of times before.

His question is one you didn’t expect. “Where do you want to go?”

You look up at him, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you don’t have many friends here, you must want to be somewhere else?” Sunghoon shrugged, as if the thought made perfect sense to him. “Right?”

You pursed your lips, mimicking his shrug. “I guess you’re right...”

“Then,” Sunghoon began again, “where do you want to go?”

“Uhm, my house?” you answered. Crying on your fluffy bed would be much more comfortable than crying on this hard desk. Your arms were sore from resting on the edge and your back was stiff from the awkward angle.

Sunghoon shook his head. “No, think bigger. Like, vacation places and stuff.”

“Hmm... then, maybe, the big cities? The ones you always see in TV shows. And... the beach, because the ocean is really nice.”

Sunghoon nodded, diligently taking note of every place you suggested. His handwriting is a little crooked, but it fit on the now vacant front of a Valentine’s card. He looked up at you, eyes wide with question. “Anywhere else?”

You frowned, deep in thought. Then, as if someone tapped you on the shoulder and whispered it in your ear, an idea sprung to mind. “A really tall mountain, where it’s snowy all the time. No matter the season”

The pencil lead pulled across the paper, leaving information behind. Sunghoon returned to the top of the page, tapping the pencil’s eraser on the side of his cheek before scribbling a final note down. “There! It’s finished!” He slid it over in front of you.

You read the title of the list aloud: “The Wanderlist? But that isn’t even a word.”

Sunghoon shook his head. “It is now.” He leaned over, pointing at all the places you had stated. “And that’s everywhere we’re gonna go, because I’m your best friend now. We won’t be lonely, because we have each other. And we’re gonna travel all over.”

You sat up, leveling him a stare. “Well, this is gonna be expensive, you know. Trips aren’t free. They cost a lot.”

Sunghoon smiled, the kind that, even for a tin moment, makes everything seem like it’s possible. “Then we better start saving now!”

***

The pink paper stares up at you from its place on the dashboard, stuck with a random sticker right next to the air vent. The edges had aged, curling and warping, and your tear stains from 3rd grade are still faintly visible. You read over the list—your wanderlist, as Sunghoon had named it all those years ago.

1. Big cities (because TV) x2!!

2. The beach (because cool ocean)

3. Tall mountain (because always snow)

The big city had been marked off in 6th grade, when the class had a trip to the modern art museum, and again in 8th grade for a series of school-wide competitions, from writing and art to band to mathematics and science. Sunghoon had excelled at creative writing while you swept the math category for your region.

The beach was crossed off the day before the two of you left for college. How bitter it was that you had to be separated, together for ten years only to be settled in two different places. Yes, you weren’t that far away. A half day’s drive. But you both knew, deep down, how likely seeing each other was.

So you did something about it. The day before, you woke up before the sun. You loaded his car up with everything you would need for a daytrip, and you took off for the coast. You spent the whole day, afternoon, and evening parked at a spot on the beach. If you think about it now, you can still smell the seabreeze, imagine it in your hair. You can hear Sunghoon’s laugh, about what, you can’t remember. You do remember how happy you both were.

You remember sitting side by side, sharing a blanket over your shoulders as the seabreeze grew colder, watching the sun disappear on the horizon. You remember the thoughts you had–the ones you normally stamped down and annoyed. You should tell him. You’d been so close before. You wouldn’t even say the word to yourself, but you knew.

You didn’t say anything

“Can you believe these clouds?” Sunghoon says, slipping into the driver's seat and shutting the door. He places his keys into the ignition and turns like he always had. You watch the keychain you got him freshman year of high school swing from momentum. When you look back up, Sunghoon is watching you, leaning one elbow on the center console, hair in his eyes. “I suppose even the weather believes my sunny disposition is more than enough.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, smacking his shoulder. You turn to look out the window, biting your lip. You’ve got to get it together. You blame that little girl from breakfast. You’d been doing just fine not thinking about Sunghoon in That Way. Now here you were, all these stupid feelings drummed up.

It doesn’t help that Sunghoon pulls out a cassette–MT-PSH-5–and pops it into the player. His smile grows wide as he turns out of the parking lot and onto the road, heading further up the mountain. “Nothing like some classic tunes.”

It was dumb. It didn’t mean anything.

It’s all you can think about.

Sneaking out late, hot summer heat still sticky and oppressing. You could feel the waves rise up from the concrete as it finally felt relief in the moonlight. You’d felt like dressing up, sneaking into your mother’s room and applying her fancy department store perfume to the nape of your neck. Your fingers gracefully found her pearls in the glass bowl on the dresser as you left, and you pulled them over your head, letting them rest against your collar bone. They’re still cool against your hot skin.

You escaped through the back patio, walking past the fist-sized hole in the drywall you wished you could forget about. The dusty edges kept raining down debris if someone walked too close to it. You let yourself out the gate in the fence, pulling it shut behind you. You felt for the keys to the front door in your pocket, and they jingled in response. You clasped your hand around the cool metal, the cuts sharp and edgy beneath your palm.

He met you at the corner of his street and yours, his dark hair swallowing up the soft moonlight. It made his features seem younger, softer. It felt like you were kids again.

You fell in line beside each other, walking the empty streets without fear. Who was to stop some teenagers walking the street at midnight? Random cars passed by, people finally returning home from the late shift but paying no mind to you two. And that was fine; you didn’t want them to care.

The black gates around the community pool glinted in the yellow streetlights, reaching out to you like a beacon. The closer you drew, the more the overwhelming scent of chlorine filled the air. You walked forward, hands in your jacket pockets, one wrapped tightly around your house keys. You took a deep, steadying breath. This was fine. You had this.

“Hey, [Y/N], do we really have to do this?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hands from your pockets and grabbing the top of the fence. You’d have to pull yourself up, and be extra careful of the metal pickets at the top. It’d be tough, but you could make it. “What?” you snapped back lightly, voice echoing amongst the night. “Scared of hopping the fence?”

“No, that’d be ridiculous,” Sunghoon replied, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to rest on one foot. “Jumping fences is nothing for me. Jumping fences into property that—” he pointed to a white and red sign just beside your knees. “—considers jumping fences into property after hours as illegal and trespassing? That sets me on edge.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes again. “It’s not like they’ve got police roaming around or anything, and the owner’s too cheap for security cameras. I’m sure if we tried hard enough, we could just pull the fence down instead of having to jump it.” For emphasis, you grabbed hold of the rods and shook. A loud metallic echo escaped into the night, and before you could pull back and shake a third time, Sunghoon had dashed to your side, placing his hands on yours to stop you.

His brown eyes caught the light as he shook his head back and forth and hissed, “If you’re going to do something illegal, do it quietly! Especially when I’m here.”

You leaned forward, head inching towards his, with a scowl on your face. “Then shut up and hop the fence.” You drew back, replacing your hands at the top and pulled yourself up and over with ease. Maybe mandatory PE did have benefits.. Your sneakers landed on the pavement, and when you stood upright from the landing, you stared at Sunghoon through the bars. “You can either join me,” you began, a smirk on your face, chin tilted up, “or you could just wait while I go and find my car keys.”

You turned on your heels, walking towards the lifeguard’s shack. You could have sworn the sigh you heard was strong enough to blow the fence down altogether

Your shoes scuffed against the concrete, and you felt the humid air of the pool spill over and try to reach out to you. Its arms clung and bit at your ankles as the water inside sloshed around with the teasing wind. You shook them off, changing course from the pool’s edge to the guard’s shack. The padlock on the door seemed old—really old—and you crossed your fingers before giving a giant tug and having it pop open in your hands.

The wooden door swung open and you stepped inside the dingy shack. Various lost pool toys littered the floor, and a box of deflated tricolor beach balls appeared to have seen better days. But you weren’t interested in any of that: you needed your car keys. Above you, nestled nearly at the top of the peaked roof was a loft filled with white plastic bins. One of them, you noted, was closer to the edge than the others, as if someone had lazily swung it up there.

You crossed your fingers again, reaching up to pull the basket down to you. “Please be there, please be there, please be there,” you chanted under your breath. You peered into the basket. On top, someone’s embroidered handkerchief. You pinched the soft material between your finger and thumb before tossing it aside in the basket. Someone’s crazy straw, two Rubik’s Cubes, a school ID lanyard, and—yes!

You fished your car keys out with one hand and swung the basket back up into the loft with the other. You turned to leave, ready to find Sunghoon, reunite with your car, and drive home, but before you can even take a single step back out you’ve run into something.

Or someone.

Your scream’s instantly shushed by your best friend, a single finger coming up against your lips. Sunghoon was so close, and you felt the pool humidity roll off his shoulders as he looked at you with confusion. “Are you done?” he asked. “And why are you screaming?”

You shook your head, holding up your keys. “Yes. Also, you scared me. How did you get in here? I didn’t think you’d hop the fence.”

“Didn’t have to.” Sunghoon held up a matching padlock to the one you’d pulled off outside. “Looks like the owner’s too cheap to buy actual locks for his gates. I simply walked in.”

You left the lifeguard’s shack, replacing the lock and headed for the entrance, where Sunghoon easily swung open the wrought iron gate. You walked towards your car as Sunghoon redid the lock, simply looping it through and clicking it shut.

You kissed your car keys and unlocked the doors, swinging down into the driver’s seat. Sunghoon slid into the passenger seat beside you, and as soon as his door shut, the engine was starting and you were pulling out of the parking spot.

“Let a guy put on his seatbelt first?” Sunghoon joked as he clicked his into place. “I don’t see you wearing yours, [Y/N].”

“Then you’re not looking close enough,” you replied, taking one hand off the wheel to pull at your own seatbelt. “Seems as if someone isn’t paying attention.”

“Forgive me, I was busy making sure no one saw our illegal activity. I would like to graduate high school next year with a clean record.”

You laughed something similar to a scoff as you flicked on your turn signal and made your way down his street. “You say that as if we robbed a bank. Is it really trespassing if the locks don’t even work? The wind could have undone them.” You turned to catch a glance at your friend, and what you caught was a judgmental glare in the green glow of the dashboard.

With a simple curve of the steering wheel, you pulled in front of his house. You shifted the car in park and rotated towards the passenger seat. “Thanks for breaking the law with me, Sunghoon. It means a lot. I’m touched.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned towards the door, making as if to pull the handle and open it, when he reached inside his pocket. His eyes lit up and he turned back towards you. “Oh, yeah!”

You shook your head, confused. You hold a single hand up. “Oh, yeah, what?”

“Here’s that mixtape you wanted,” Sunghoon answers, placing a cassette tape in your unintentionally outstretched hand. You scowled. You didn’t know how he had the technology to make a cassette in this day and age, but then again, you were the one with a car so old it still had a cassette player. You two were a pair, you supposed.

“When did you finish it?” you asked, spinning it around in your hands. The clear, Sharpie handwriting read MT-PSH-5 on the short white label.

“This morning,” he replied, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you give it to me earlier, then?” You turn to look at him. The yellow glow of the streetlights blend in with the green of the dashboard lights. His eyes remained that entrancing brown color, though. Romantic and homey all at once, untouchable by any other shade.

Sunghoon shrugged. “Perhaps it was because you didn’t have a car to play it in when I finished it? It was unavailable to you, shall we say.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You kept turning the cassette in your hands, as if you’d find something new and exciting on each turn.

“Oh, and—” Sunghoon leaned across the center console, reaching to take the tape from your hands, like he had something to say or show you. But he stopped. His brows furrowed together, and he turned to you, face mere inches from your own. “Are you wearing perfume?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My mom’s, and I got mad at her since she got mad at me about the car so I...”

An eyebrow quirked up. “You’re showing your mom up by stealing some of her perfume?”

“It’s expensive,” you muttered, sliding down into your seat. “She’ll have to pay for it later. Literally.”

And with that, he laughed. Nice and hearty and his eyes turned into tiny crescent moons and you felt your heart flutter—something that had happened a lot as of late, and you’re not entirely sure why. Yes, Sunghoon was a good friend. A best friend. But that’s all he was. He—

“Hey.” Your attention snapped from a distance spot on the road over to him, and he felt even closer now for some reason. Your heart registered how soft he’d spoken and proceeded to beat faster because of it. His eyes searched yours, but for what you don’t know. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Make sure you get home safe, okay? Wouldn’t want anything happening to the city’s greatest delinquent.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, but it was short and stilted. You barely heard what he said over the thumping of your own blood in your ears. You felt the red flush creep up your neck, dusting your cheeks and turning your ears a cherry color. When you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry, all you could think about was how loud it seemed. Your grip on the mixtape tightened, it seemingly the only thing tethering you to the real world.

You couldn’t tell if the radio was one or not or whether you’d turned car off and left the keys in the ignition. All you could tell was Sunghoon, so close and so real he almost seemed unreal. And then it happened. He leaned in, eyes fluttering shut before placing a soft kiss on the side of your cheek, right next to your lips. It happened too fast and it was the slowest moment of your life all at once. Your heart was practically screaming now, hands rattling around the mixtape.

When he pulled back, he kept going, opening the car door and stepping out. Before closing it, he leaned in and nodded. “I meant what I said about getting back safely. Promise?”

You nodded. “I promise.” You were surprised your voice worked at all. That you were able to form a coherent, albeit a simplistic, sentence. That you could think at all. The door swung shut and you shifted the car into drive.

The whole way home felt automatic, limbs working separate from your internal instructions. When you returned home, you pulled up beside your mailbox and turned the car off, pulling the keys and letting them rest in your hand. You sat motionless, seatbelt still in place, as you stared, eyes fixated at someone mindless spot on the dashboard. The pearls were cool against your heated skin.

It was dumb. It didn’t mean anything.

It’s all you can think about.

You flip the mixtape over in your hands, reading the slightly-faded yet still legible handwriting. MT-HVC-5. You’d run through the songs already, and Sunghoon had switched to some CD mixes he had brought. Why he didn’t get a car with Bluetooth, something you’d done a while ago, you’d never know. Maybe that was part of his charm.

You’d managed to learn to forget about that kiss, or at least ignore it. But Sunghoon pulling out the mixtape he’d given you that night pulls it back up to the surface. You aren’t even sure how it even got into his possession. The longer you recall the memory, the more you can feel the burn on your cheek from where his warm lips touched your skin. The rest of the flush comes back from how you wish so badly it would happen again.

“What’s up?”

“Huh?” You turn towards his voice, away from the window.

“I asked what’s up,” Sunghoon repeats, looking over at you for a split second before returning to the road. “You seem like we’re on another planet.”

“Just thinking about when we were younger, you know...” Did he? What did you want him to think about? The day you’ve been obsessing over? And then what would he do about it? Pull over and confess? Kiss you, but mean it this time?

Sunghoon laughs, breaking your thoughts. He spares another quick glance in your direction. “Younger like what? Like third grade or two days ago?”

You reach across the center console to smack his shoulder. “Why would it be two days ago?”

“We were younger then. Wild, foolish.” Sunghoon takes one hand off the wheel and places his knuckles on his forehead. “The way we were is actually unimaginable now.”

“I’m done with you.”

Sunghoon scoffs. “Sure you are.” A quick beat, a hum to the music. “Anyway, what were you thinking about?”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you think we'll change?”

“We have changed.”

“Really?” He said it so simply, it takes you off guard. You turn to look at him, even though you know he’ll keep his eyes glued safely to the road.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “We’ve totally changed. We don't like the same kinds of music as the old us used to. We don't eat mac and cheese for every conceivable meal—except for the day after that one chem exam.”

“That final was hard!” You reach across the center console to shove at his shoulder–oh, god, why do you keep finding ways to put your hands on him?–earning a smug grin. “None of it was covered in class and you know it!”

“See what I mean?” Sunghoon asks. “We're different, but like, a good different. We’ve adapted.”

The silence that fills the car after isn’t weighty or overbearing. It’s comfortable and common, safe like a child-loved security blanket. Yet, somehow, your stomach fills with stones of dread, and all you want to do is sleep off any bad feelings.

You keep your eyes trained ahead, the curving mountain road, when you ask, “Do you ever think we'll be bad different?

Sunghoon spares a confused glance at you, brows knit together as he switches focus between you and the road. He shakes his head. “No, not us. Never us.”

“Is that a promise?”

The hand closest to you leaves the steering wheel and drifts over the center console, pinky out. “Always.”

You wrap your pinky around his, and try to ignore the heated flush you feel creeping up your neck and the backs of your ears. You focus, instead, on how real Sunghoon feels. How solid the mixtape is in your hands. How, here out in what feels like the middle of nowhere surrounded by evergreens and roadside snow piles that have started to pop up and tall mountain views, time doesn’t feel like it can get you.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe, out here, there’s only good different.

Maybe, that’s all you need.

The clouds from the morning have turned darker, more potent. You can smell rain in the air, hear it as the wind rushes through the trees. It’s so cold though, you wonder if it will snow instead. The mountain weather you’d been looking forward to for so long.

Sunghoon knocks his shoulder into yours, cheeks pink from the cold. He swings your duffle bag towards you, letting go of the strap before you’ve gotten a good grip on it. “Your luggage,” he declares, before marching towards the hotel entrance.

You’d both decided, with your combined measly college student incomes, that wherever the last hotel would be, it needed to be the best you could afford. Standing in front of it now, styled like a fancy chateau with white walls and a red roof, you think the two of you made the right choice.

You had forgot what made such a nice place so affordable, until Sunghoon swipes the key, opens the door for you, gesturing for you to walk in first. The room is cute and delicate, with pretty yet aged wainscotting, petite floral wallpaper, a nice view of the surrounding mountains and–

And one bed.

You freeze. You can’t help it. Maybe the you from this morning, before that girl talked to you, could handle this. The you of right now? The lady at the front desk calling you a cute couple, and Sunghoon going along with it and not correcting her, didn’t help. You aren’t sure if you’re strong enough to keep everything the same.

“Rats,” Sunghoon says, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not cool with this either, you think. He turns toward you with a coy smile. “I’m gonna go back downstairs and ask for more pillows. Three simply won’t cut it. Want me to ask for some fancy water?”

You shake your head, voice gone, and you don’t move until you hear the door shut behind Sunghoon.

And that’s when it starts, as you drag your feet in circles trying to think your way through this. Your hands clench and unclench, fists forming so tightly you leave half-moons from your nails in the fleshy part of your palm. Your breath comes ragged and shallow, and you feel like drowning, except from too much instead of not enough. Too many memories reminding you of too many things. Too many emotions leading to too many feelings you neither want to recognize or acknowledge.

But one keeps pushing its way to the forefront, demanding attention and definition. The one that’s been bothering you all day. It makes you dizzy, to the point you feel you need to lay down and clutch at your stomach. Maybe that’s it, you think as you sit on the edge of the one bed. You’re just sick. Breakfast was bad. But you know it’s not. It makes you angry, because how dare you feel this way about him. It makes you flustered, since you shouldn't look at your best friend's face and have your gaze wander to his lips and wonder what they'd feel like against yours.

It makes you happy, so undeniably happy that you feel like crying, because it feels so right. When you allow yourself to think more about it, and imagine what life would be like if you were able to confirm and agree with all the strangers who already think you’re dating. Lovers. It fills you up with breaths of fresh air to the point it's like floating on cotton clouds.

It makes you fearful. Its dark side claws at your heart, threatening to tear at the tender seams and leave you bloody and raw, so intensely damaged you're afraid of doing anything along the same lines. You had asked about a bad different, and Sunghoon said it wasn’t possible. Right now, you feel like you have to disagree–confessing this? Altering the relationship you’ve carefully crafted for so long?

That would be a bad different.

That’s why, when Sunghoon comes back, three more pillows and a bottle of sparkling water, you don’t answer. You roll over on the bed, curling up away from him, hiding with a pillow on your head. You hear Sunghoon say something about it being a long drive, and he gets it, you should rest. You hear him open the closet door, then feel the spare blanket get draped over you.

And, as you lay here, hot silent tears threatening to spill over and run down your cheeks, you let yourself think about it. You're in love with your best friend. Your nail-bitten palms come to swipe at your eyes, you make the mistake of sniffing aloud. Sunghoon calls your name, and you hate how much you savor the worry in his voice.

But, it’s also too much. He can’t know, you decide. Not now, not ever. That is what would be best, you decide, for the two of you. To be able to get through the rest of this trip.

“[Y/N], what is it?” he calls again. Sunghoon’s voice is laced with care, something tender and soft and so distinctly him it pulls at the tears in your eyes. How can he make this so unfair? “What's wrong?”

“You wouldn't understand,” you snap, pulling yourself to sit up, the pillow falling off. You don’t look at him, but instead at your hands, fists in your lap. Sunghoon easily notes your posture, and confusion floods his features. You hate how quickly he can figure out something’s wrong, that something is bothering you.

“Can I try to understand, at least?” You look up at him, lips pursed, tears smarting your eyes. You take him in–turned towards you in the chair, sitting on the edge, like he can jump to your rescue at any time. The confused look in his eyes hurts—you've always been straightforward with one another. But you know you can’t about this. “I can’t try to fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You shake your head, wiping one of your cheeks with your fingers, a half laugh falling from your lips. “No, Hoon it's—”

“No.”

The force of the single word hits you, and it hurts more than the angry look in his eye.

He stands, takes a step toward you, then sits hesitantly on the edge of the bed. He's close, and he's been closer, but it's still too much. The rushing sound is back in your ears and your heart pounds against your ribs, telling you to do something, anything, but you stay still.

“Hoon—”

“I said no, [Y/N].” Sunghoon’s words are ice, colder than the breeze outside and sharper than butcher knives. His eyes, once warm and homey, that romantic shade of brown you love, are now dark and piercing. “You don't get to call me special names when you aren't telling me what's wrong. When you aren't acting like the [Y/N] I've known since third grade.” His hands come up to run through his hair, and it flips slowly back into place. His voice drops, the softer, confused Sunghoon returning. “You've been acting weird this whole trip, and especially since this morning. It's driving me insane that I can't figure it out and fix it. I know you better than this.”

He's so close, so, so close. Much too close. Somehow he’s scooted towards you on the bed. You can smell his cologne—when did he start doing that? Why hadn’t you noticed earlier? His eyes are back to the romantic brown, the warm and homey color, the ones that remind you of so many good memories—his eyes are so pretty. Your gaze follows its past patterns and drops to his lips, redder from being gnawed on with worry. A kiss would—

A shaky breath leaves you, and you're talking before you realize, voice so small it's hard to hear. But Sunghoon is listening. He always does.

You blink. “Do you want to know what's wrong?”

“Of course. I need to know if I can do anything or—”

“It's you.”

You want to be upset, angry. How dare it come to this. But you can’t, you realize. You can’t be angry at him. Whatever energy you had coursing through your veins leaves after your pseudo confession, and you turn away, resting your weight on the headboard, hoping he’ll go away.

This, for certain, was bad different. You can feel it, weighing you down. Here, in a chilly, single bed hotel room, you’d ruined everything. Your brain told you to shut up, to be quiet, to try and save anything you could manage from this shattering relationship. But your mouth—or maybe your heart—kept going, and going, and going.

“It’s you,” you repeat, turning back towards him. He’s still there, frozen in place, face filled with concern. “It’s everything you do. The way you... you tell me bad jokes when I’m upset over a grade or make me mixtapes because you want to share your music with me. It’s–I’m–I’m sick of it. I hate it. I hate you”

Sunghoon recoils, eyes wide. He looks around the room, as if the answers to what to say are hidden around. He stands, backing up without turning away, like you’re something he has to keep his eyes on or he’ll get hurt again.

Again.

Sunghoon’s voice is flat when he speaks, like he’s out of breath. Shaky, like he’s about to cry, too. What have you done? “I’m… I’ll go downstairs and ask about if there’s anything nice around for dinner. I’ll–I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Whenever you’re ready, you know.”

Even now, after the nasty things–after I hate you left your lips–he’s still trying to make peace with you.

What did you do to ever deserve him?

And would he even stay with you once you return home?

The door falling shut is what starts your tears again. You slump down off the bed, between it and the window. You pull your knees up to your chest, put your head in your hands, and you cry.

***

It still isn’t over.

You’re breathing heavy, tears still stinging your eyes, but you aren’t sure if you’ve actually cried yet or not. Your fists are balled at your sides. Years of friendship are stuck in your throat, enough to make you want to scream or cry or vomit from the nauseous feeling it induces. The pouring rain, those clouds finally opening up, doesn’t help.

Dinner had been awful, awkward. The only person either of you talked to had been the waiter. You can’t remember what the food tasted like. You can’t remember what, if any, songs played on the radio on the way back. Sunghoon hadn’t bothered to pick anything out. All you could remember, or hear, or see in your head–I hate you. The look in his eyes. How he has barely looked at you since.

You aren’t sure what you have to do to get away, but you’d be willing to make a deal.

Anything to get away from this moment.

Anything to get away from your best friend.

Sunghoon stares at you like he’s only just now met you, and maybe he has. He’d stopped you halfway between the car and the hotel’s entrance, despite the rain. He’d called your name in such a way you froze. Your angered confession from earlier hangs in the air, untouched or acknowledged. A single parking lot light illuminates you two, dim yellow casting shadows through the rain.

“Do you mean that? What you said?” he asks, daring to step forward. You don’t move, anchored in place. By fear or something else, you aren’t sure. He takes another, then a third. The gap between you has been halved. “I know you don’t mean it. I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. You don’t mean it.”

“What makes you so sure?” you spit, taking a step closer in your upset. You level Sunghoon with a stare you hope is intimidating, bitter. You hope he sees the duress. You have to push him away. “I said what I said. I hate you, Park Sunghoon.”

The boy shakes his head, hair stuck to his forehead from the rain. He seems almost incredulous, and it angers you even more. Why doesn’t he get it? There’s a small smirk at the corners of his lips, but you’ve known him long enough to recognize it as mock confidence. “You didn’t mean what you said.”

“I did!” Another step, and now you’re nose to nose with him, staring into the eyes you’ve had memorized for so long, that romantic brown even in the rain and yellow streetlight. Your gaze betrays you and you drink in the slope of his nose, see how his eyes examine you as well. Note the downturn of his lips, almost unnoticeable. Your voice is weaker when you speak again. “I did mean it, Sunghoon.”

He leans in, closer and closer until he stops–a breath away from your lips. He freezes, closes his eyes, and waits.

And you cave, despite your best interests. You find yourself tilting your head and wishing he’d do something more. This can’t be how your first kiss with Sunghoon goes? When he pulls back, and you nearly stumble forward. You look up at him, and the smile on his face is no longer mock. You know what his question will be before he says it, and you know he’s caught you in your lie. “You hate me so much–why did you kiss me back?”

You want to spit back, I didn’t! You want to argue. But the truth is, ever since you’d remembered that day in high school, you’d been imagining what it would be like to actually kiss him, and again, and again. You wanted to know what kissing Sunghoon would be like, even if it meant redefining the relationship you worked so hard to keep as is. The one you said you hated him to protect.

Sunghoon gently cups the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him, and you see worry and concern etched into the space between his brows, spilt in the color of his eyes. “Tell me,” he whispers, voice almost breaking, “what’s wrong. Let me try to fix it.”

You shake your head, trying to form words to explain everything, but all you do is shiver drastically beneath his touch. You watch as Sunghoon’s eyes grow wide, and he leads you inside, arm over your shoulder. The woman at the front desks awards you a quirked eyebrow, but that’s all you get before she returns to her clipboard.

The room is icy cold when you return, but Sunghoon adjusts the temperature in silence. “You get dry first,” he says, pointing at the bathroom. “Take a shower and get warm.”

“But about you?” You want to point out the subtle shake in his hands, and the way his breath catches. “There’s not enough towels to share.”

“I’ll ask for more at the front desk. I’ll be fine. Go.”

The shower water never feels hot enough, but you do stop shivering. You do your best to towel dry your hair. When you peek the door open to see if he’s back, and if you could get your things, you see that Sunghoon has already done it for you. Everything you could need taken from your bag, folded and placed nicely right outside the door. You have no idea when he did it–you’re thankful he did.

When he comes back with extra towels–which, surely, did not take this long–you’re curled up on the bed, similar to before. You rest your weight on the headboard, looking out the window at how the rain patters against the glass. You wish you could see the stars.

Sunghoon is fast, but who’s to say? You aren’t exactly keeping track of time. You know he’s back because you feel the mattress shift. His voice is almost silent when he speaks. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” you ask, turning towards him. You haven’t seen Sunghoon look this tired in a while. And you know it’s your fault. “How I was mean to you?”

Sunghoon smiles, looking down at his clasped hands. He takes a moment to determine what he actually wants to say. “Let’s start with…what it is about me that made you say that?”

His eyes are pleading in the dark. The room is barely lit, the overhead light off. There’s just a lamp on the desk and the streetlight from outside. The rain sound is almost overwhelming in the silence. “If there’s something I’ve done that hurt you–”

“It’s not that. It’s–” You pause, trying to find the right thing to say. You decide to start with the obvious. “There’s a reason I kissed you outside.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because I’m charming and irresistible.”

“This is serious!” You do what you always do when he makes some kind of quip–you reach out to push his shoulder, scooting closer, but Sunghoon catches you by your wrist.

“I am serious. Do you know how much you hurt me when you said you hated me?” He levels you a stare, one that makes you want to shrink away, but you can’t. “When I left, I didn’t ask the front desk about restaurants. I went to my car and sat down and cried because the person I love just said they hated me.”

“You love me?”

“Not like that,” he corrects, and now you have to know what he means.

“Tell me how then.” You take your free hand and grab his other wrist, a mirror of what he’s done to you. “When you say you love me, what do you mean?”

“It’s not like you think, not like what it has been.” Sunghoon looks down, takes a deep breath, then carries on. “Not like friends, or like siblings, but like–”

“Lovers?” you offer.

Sunghoon swallows, sets his jaw. Then, “Yes. Like that. And I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know if it was overnight or gradual or all at once. I do know that I woke up one morning and I realized that I didn’t want to imagine my future with anyone else. And I didn’t want to see you with anyone else, either.”

“Kinda selfish,” you say.

Sunghoon laughs. “Yeah. I couldn’t help it.”

Somehow, you’ve both moved closer to each other. The knees of your crossed legs knock into each other. You still have a hold on the other’s wrist. Sunghoon levels you another stare. “Will you tell me why?”

“Why I said I hated you?” He nods, and you take a deep sigh. “Do you remember the night we snuck into the pool to get my car keys back?”

He nods again, a small smile on his face. “You mean the first night I got enough courage to kiss you? You looked so pretty, with the pearls and the perfume.”

You blush, hearing Sunghoon talk about you like that. “That night. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. And you know how all these people always say we look like a couple or whatever. And it all just stuck together and made me realize that I haven’t seen you like a friend in a long time. I’ve seen you like–”

“A lover?” Sunghoon offers, copying you from earlier.

You smile. “I said I hated you because I was afraid and overwhelmed, and I need you away from me. I thought that if you hated me, I could get over you and just move on. We could make up, and I wouldn’t have these feelings anymore, and we could go back to being friends.

“But if I’m being honest,” you add, moving even closer. Your shoulders knock into one other. “Even though it wasn’t even that long, those hours over dinner just now were some of the worst things I have ever had to do. I was ugly to you, Sunghoon, and you’re the last person on earth who would ever deserve to be talked to that way. But if you could forgive me, I…”

You try to look down again, but Sunghoon lets go of your wrist to place a finger under your chin, tipping your head up to his gaze. “You what?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you, I’ve been in love with you. I love you, Park Sunghoon.” You take a deep breath, just as lightning strikes somewhere far away and the thunder rumbles through the room.

Sunghoon reaches out for you, his hands reach cupping your face again. It’s the most reverent you’ve ever seen him. His eyes roam over your every feature, as if you’ll break if he breathes too hard. It’s thrilling. “Genuinely?” he asks, voice fragile. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. It feels wrong to be too loud right now, like someone else could join in this moment between the two of you. “And if you would have me, I’d like to love you for a long time after this.”

Sunghoon pulls you to him, resting your forehead against his. He takes a deep breath. Then, “We’ve both just been really, really stupid about it, haven’t we?”

You laugh, savoring his touch and his warm and his smile. You stare into his eyes, those romantic brown ones you love so much. “I guess so.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and your heart jumps. “I know we did outside, but that’s a terrible story for a first kiss.”

“And the one from so long ago doesn’t count, because you just gave me a kiss then,” you say, not sure why you’re rambling when you have the opportunity to just kiss him already.

So, you shut up, and you do.

This kiss is reverent, unlike any that came before. You probably shouldn’t even bother comparing them. Maybe it’s the intentions behind the kiss—that you both want to be here, doing this, for the sake of just being, not proving. Maybe it’s because it hasn’t followed any dramatic late night outings or arguments. Maybe, it’s how you shiver closer to his frame, hands on his shoulders, and his own find the small of your back. You feel his smile against your lips, and the butterflies against your ribs.

Maybe, you should have said something a while ago. You could have avoided the whole I hate you stint, but then would anything else have been dramatic? Some couples are like puzzle pieces, perfectly fitting together with no stress. And maybe you two are a puzzle, one that fits together with ease, but you both intentionally hid pieces from the other, making it difficult to complete. Maybe airing grievances is the only way to get all the pieces back on the table.

You sigh as Sunghoon’s lips travel from your own down the line of your jaw, tickling in a delightful way. You feel safe in his arms, a safe you’ve always felt, but now it feels like something more, something even greater. Your heart jumps, and you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him close. Sunghoon instinctively holds you tighter, his hands against your shoulder blades.

“What is it?” he asks.

You shake your head, finding any words to be incredibly difficult. “I’m just—I’m glad.”

Sunghoon pulls back gently, quirking his head to one side as he looks at you. He uses the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away a stray tear. “Glad for what?” he asks, still cupping your cheek.

You lean into his touch, feeling dizzy with excitement and relief. “Glad that it’s you,” you say, your voice quiet. You lean in, placing a chaste kiss against his lips and, for once, he’s the one to shiver. “I’m glad you’re the one I love. Glad we’re here now, finally.”

Sunghoon pauses. His eyes dart between yours, your lips, and back. He rests his forehead on yours again, and you can already imagine getting used to this, and craving it when you can’t have it. “I waited so long, and I didn’t even know if...” There’s a catch in his voice, and he sounds like he’s about to cry. When he opens his eyes, there’s an honesty to them, a gaze you’ve only seen in Sunghoon’s eyes a handful of times. He smiles, his eyes going soft once more, like you are the most beautiful thing he has ever beheld. And to him, you are. “I always knew we were meant to be.”

***

The lady behind the desk did, in fact, look at you two like you were crazy. The night before you were acting like you were gonna tear each other to pieces. But now you’re walking out in each other’s arms? His around your shoulder, yours around his waist?

The sun is out, and there’s hardly any evidence of the downpour from last night. Maybe the earth needed to be just as dramatic as the two of you.

With the luggage in back, you two climb into the front seats. Sunghoon leans over the center console to press a kiss to your temple, just like he did when you woke up in each other’s arms and just like he did when he insisted on getting you whatever you wanted for breakfast.

“That’s not something new though?” you laugh, as he brings you small portions of everything the hotel had to offer. “You did this before.”

“Well, it’s obviously different now,” he replies. “I didn’t get to kiss you before.”

Now, Sunghoon taps at the Valentine heart on the dash–your wanderlist. What started this all. “We need a new one,” he says. “It took us a while, but we did everything on here. Should the new one be full of cringey couple things?”

“Only if you’d like to go back to being single.”

Sunghoon fakes shock as he shifts the car into gear. “You wouldn’t.”

This time, you lean over to give him a kiss, and you relish how quickly he blushes. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.” You sit back down, still turned towards him, hand atop his. “Maybe, we make the list up as we go. I mean, we’ve never been here before.”

“Didn’t stop third grade us,” he says. “Honestly, they seemed like they had everything together. We should think more like third grade us.”

“You mean complaining about how much things cost? Because I can think of so many things we could do together that would put major dents in our wallets.”

Sunghoon turns to you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and you know you’ve got this right, even if it took a while to get here. He reaches over, poking your cheek, before turning out of the parking lot. “Then let’s go find it, together.”

#kdiarynet #kwritersworld #kflixnet #k-labels #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarioes #enhypen imagines #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon scenarioes #sunghoon imagines #enhypen #fluff #angst #college!au #ftl

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aalyssah · 6 months

Text

Interesting Carnival Date

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst/Fluff!

Word Count: 1,464

Request/Summary:⇩

A/N: This was requested by someone on Wattpad. Hope You Enjoy!

"Oh my gosh, this is so pretty!" You said, eyes reflecting the bright lights of the carnival rides.

After weeks of convincing Roman, he said yes to taking you to a carnival. He’s been so busy with work, and barely gets time off, but since his huge match against La Knight, Triple H let him have a week off.

"Not as pretty as you." Roman said, getting out the car and going to your side. He opened the door, holding his hand out for you. You slipped yours in his, standing next to him, looking around.

"I can't believe we're actually here!" Roman looked at you, seeing how happy you looked. You were glowing in the lights with your huge smile.

"Anything for you baby, you deserve it." You giggled as Roman leaned over and pressed a kiss to your cheek. He closed the car door and guided you both up the small walkway to where you could enter.

Of course he had to get vip wristbands for him and his baby girl.

You both walked to different games, specifically the bean bag toss game. "Oh, I'm a boss at this. Watch and learn, babe." You cockily said, cracking your knuckles.

You grabbed 3 bean bags before focusing on the hole. You threw the first one, missing completely. Roman gave you a look, basically saying 'Are you sure you're good at this?'

You were quick to make up an excuse. "That was just my warm up throw." Roman laughed at your excuse watching as you threw the second bag.

This time you were close, only missing the hole by an inch. "Oh come on, that should've gone in!" You complained with a huff. With the last bean bag in hand you took a deep breath before throwing.

This was the worst throw you've ever thrown because you missed the board. You actually threw a little too hard, the bean bag reaching over to whole other game.

"This isn't fair!" You whined, hands slapping against your thighs. Roman chuckled at your loss, handing the man a couple of bucks. "Now, let me show you how it's done." You glared at him at his mocking, watching as Roman threw each bag into the hole.

A loud ringing played near the worker, indicating Roman won. "We have a winner! Come pick your prize!" Roman went up to the guy, asking for a frog stuffed animal.

Without hesitation, he handed it to you, smiling at your reaction. "Thank you Ro, thank you so much, he's so cute!" You thank him, jumping in his arms, and hugging him.

Roman loved seeing you like this.

"What's next?" Roman asked. You looked around at the games and pointed out a spot. "Ooo, let's go play ring toss!" You suggested.

For that game you actually did better than bean bag toss. You won yourself, and ended up getting a prize for a small child who was crying.

Roman followed you around the carnival to many different games, holding many stuffies that Roman won after a little rage from you.

Although to anyone, it looked like a man was following some girl around, arms full of stuffies, but he didn't care. He loved you and would do anything for you, even if that means getting suffocated by stuffies.

Roman caught the eyes of a game he wanted to play. “I was thinking we can leave after one more game. I really wanna try that game where you have to shoot the water at the targets.” You nodded your head at his suggestion.

You and Roman walked to the water gun game seeing a guy standing there. His eyes locked on yours, a smile coming to his face. “Hello pretty lady, and man, what can I do for y’all?”

You ignored the man’s compliment, and began talking about the game. “Yes, me and my boyfriend would like to play this game.” The man’s smile turned into a frown at your words. “Oh, you got a boyfriend, I see.”

Roman gave the worker, who’s name was Mark, a questioning look. “Is that a problem, Mark?” Mark looked up at Roman with a bored expression. “Not at all. Anyways, hand some bucks over.” He demanded, holding his hand out.

You grabbed a couple of bucks from your pockets and slapped them in Mark’s hand. He looked at you with a smirk.

“You must be the rich one in the relationship. I love me a sugar mommy.” Your face scrunched up in disgust at the name he called you, but Roman was quick to put a stop to it. “Don’t call her that.” You got Roman’s attention after noticing how worked up he was getting.

He took his attention away from Mark before starting the game. “Players start spraying in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Squirt!” Mark looked at you as he said the last word. You brushed him off, focusing on the game.

You were giggling and yelling as Roman began to beat you. “Stop cheating!” Roman had a smile on his face as he took down more targets. “I’m not cheating, just get better.” You mumbled a curse word under your breath, trying to beat Roman.

Mark saw how much you wanted to win and tried to help. “Don’t worry, I’ll help ya out, pretty girl.” Mark started slapping Roman’s targets, getting more points for you.

You and Roman stopped playing, looking at each other in confusion. “Hey, stop, you’re ruining the game!” Mark didn’t listen, still hitting all the targets until a bell went off. “And the lady won!” You shook your head in denial.

The worker just ruined his own game. You weren’t having fun anymore. “Why would you do that?” Mark pouted at your whining.

“Awe, don’t cry. How about this, I’ll make it up to you. Go out on a date with me and we’ll play this game as many times as you want.”

Roman stepped in front of you, blocking your view of Mark. “Now I know you’re messing with me because I’m sure the first words she said to you was that I’m her boyfriend and now you got the nerve to ask her out on a date? In front of me?” Roman laughed, throwing his head back, not believing this man.

You grabbed onto Roman’s arm like earlier, trying to pull him away. “Babe stop, let’s just leave.” This time, Roman listened to you, grabbing your hand and walking away.

“Y/n, do you have the keys?” You and Roman searched for the keys in your pockets and purse. You both were only a few steps away from the water game, missing the way Mark watched the two of you.

Jealousy took over Mark as his body moved over to a water gun and started shooting water at you. You let out a squeal of shock, trying to cover yourself up. Mark had a plan though.

He was aiming at your top, making you almost drenched. Roman was shielding you, water drenching him as well. The water gun ran out of water, Mark standing tall and laughing.

“She might be your girl, but who’s got her wet?” After trying to hold them in for so long, the tears finally fell.

You spent almost 2 hours getting ready, wanting to look good for Roman, and even going out of your way to pick out a new skirt that he loved very much, just to look good for him, but Mark just ruined it.

When Roman saw your teary eyes looking up at him and heard the snickers from Mark, he lost it. He walked over towards Mark, with an angry look on his face.

“What’s wrong big man? Are you jealous that your girl wants me? You wish that she-” Mark’s words were cut off when Roman landed a punch to his face. Mark flew back, hitting the grass hard.

Roman was on top of him in an instant, punches after punches being thrown. People from around y’all watched as Roman laid it to Mark.

Security guards ended up coming and breaking up the fight.

Roman took you back to the car, getting a blanket, and covering you up. “I’m so sorry about his Roman. I didn’t know the guy would be so thirsty!” You cried out, apologizing.

“It’s not your fault. He’s just some prick that’s jealous cause he can’t no females.” You finally cracked a smile at his joke. “There it is. There’s that smile I missed.”

You stood up on your tippy toes and placed a kiss on his bearded cheek. “I love you and thank you for this very interesting carnival date.”

You sounded unsure of what to call what happened tonight, but you did know you had a lot of fun with your man.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fluff #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns one shot #wwe roman reigns #wwe fluff #wrestling fluff #wwe smut

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lilislegacy · 15 days

Note

do you think percy and annabeths kids would ever have to put up with big expectations from the kids at chb and the gods who have heard of and seen the things that their parents have done? i can totally see chiron unintentionally pressuring them by comparing them to percy and annabeth all the time. and kids at chb staring at them every time a campfire story or song about them did. everyone always talk about the fluff side of it, but I want to hear your opinion on the angst side of it.

thanks for the ask @helpallthenamesaretakenblog!

yes, i think they do in some ways, but i think it goes way deeper than that

the thing is, unlike at camp jupiter, kids of demigods aren’t really a thing at camp half blood. i think that’s something that changes after the camps become friendly, but i still think it takes a long time for greeks to actually send their kids there. the reason being at camp jupiter, demigods (parents) actually live nearby, in new rome, and their kids just have to serve their time, train in a unit, and then they get to go to college and stuff. but at camp half blood, you are sending your child off to train as an individual warrior and potentially be sent on a deadly quest. camp half blood is brutal, even though it may appear as the more juvenile setting of the two camps.

i also think the romans have way more kids, given they are way less likely to die. they get to comfortably settle down in new rome. personally, i think greek demigods having kids is rare. even if they live long enough, they don’t want to bring kids into the world, risking them attracting monsters. which is why i think percy and annabeth wanting children - and wanting them so badly, even at the height of being miserable teenage demigods - is so beautiful and incredible. it’s such a beautiful bright light of hope in all the darkness of the demigod world (which is why it makes me sad when people think they won’t want children 😭). i don’t think most of their friends will have kids, tbh. so percy and annabeth’s kids would probably be amongst only a handful of other legacies.

there’s also the matter of where do they go? are there special cabins for legacies? or do they go to their grandparents’s cabin? and if so, if they have two godly grandparents, how is it decided which one they go to? either way, they are gonna feel like they don’t fit in at first.

even though percy and annabeth are famous demigods, i still think their kids’ presence at camp half blood would result in many campers who are like “why are they here? they’re not even kids of gods.” so i think they would need to really prove themselves. and once they do prove themselves worthy of being trained alongside demigods (cause you know they will) THEN there’s gonna be that expectation of “are they as good as their parents?”

and the thing is, no, they won’t be as powerful as percy. and no, they won’t be as intelligent as annabeth. but the combination of being raised by percy and annabeth + having water powers + being intelligent + being amazing fighters, will make them incredible. they will probably even be better than many demigods. not necessarily in raw power (though even if they’re half as powerful as percy, that’s more powerful than most demigods) but simply by being extremely well rounded.

and yes, there will probably be a lot of instances where people won’t leave them alone because they just want stories of their parents, but tbh, i think their kids only know some stuff. i think there will be more instances of them hearing stories about their parents from other people. like someone going “is it true that your dad slayed a giant with the head of a statue” and their kids being like “uhh idk, did he?” like the campfire stories about them bit you mentioned, i think most of the time everyone would be staring the kids, in awe of their parents, but the kids would also be like “damn that’s crazy. i can’t believe mom and dad did that. i gotta ask them for details.” 😂

and chiron will absolutely be very tough on them. he’s not gonna go easy on them. at all. but it’s not because he expects them to be their parents. it’s because he cares for them, and he knows percy and annabeth raised them to have great strength and perseverance. (and percy and annabeth definitely will tell chiron “do not go easy on them.”they want their kids to know how to fucking survive).

it’s not gonna be easy, but they will be extraordinary. i personally think percy and annabeth would have 3-4 kids, and they are all gonna be witty and smart and extremely talented warriors, but they are also all gonna be different from each other. i like to think they have a lot of their parents in them, but they also are their own people. i think it’s gonna take a minute for them to feel like they belong at camp, especially the oldest, but like their parents, they will find a way and they will be incredible.

anyway, sorry i rambled there. maybe i’ll make a more organized post about this one day. but those are my immediate thoughts

#answered ask #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #pjo #heroes of olympus

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love-islike-abomb · 2 days

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Mr roboto

Cyborg!Roman Reigns x Esme (OC)

"I am the modern man, who hides behind a mask, so no one else can see my true Identity!"

Warnings: sci Fi, smut, angst, errors I may have missed.

Word count: 2,737

Tag list: @reignsangel444 @acknowledge-reigns @mzv11 @marchm-langdon @mandeelemons @pittieprincess22 @romanreignshairdresser @weirdgirl16355 @wrestlingprincess80

_______

To say I hated cyborgs would be an understatement! My parents were murdered by one many planet rotations ago. I was only 5 years old and was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. When my uncle was alive, things were somewhat better. I was put in therapy to help me deal with my parents death. Then, just before my 18th birthday my uncle passed away. After his funeral his wife completely changed. It was as if his death was what she had been waiting for. I was sent to the starship, a place people go just before their drafted into the space academy.

The space academy was where we went to train to be engineers. I thought we'd be working on space equipment but I would soon find out that the reason my aunt sent me here was to rub in my face that cyborgs killed my parents. I was being forced to keep the very beings who killed my parents well maintained because we had gone to another planet and started a war with a species 3x as advanced as ours. Great another fuck up I have to fix!

When we arrived to the space academy I'd be assigned to my cyborg and that would be who I'd be with throughout the mission. We'd be sharing quarters together as well. "His ass better be sleeping on the couch!" I mumbled to myself.

"what was that cadet?" My superior officer asked, daring me to repeat myself.

I sighed heavily "nothing, sir!"

He gave me a stern look "go to the main hall. You'll be meeting your cyborg there!"

"yes sir!" I said walking away "please don't let this be a total disaster!"

When I reached the main hall, it was filled with all the other cadets and people I didn't recognize. We're these the cyborgs? Some of them we're quite attractive.

"Esme! I've been waiting for you!" Danny said. Danny was one of the few friends I'd made in the academy. Her mom had sent her here since she loved robotics but I don't think she understood what exactly this was. These weren't just robots, they were cyborgs! Half human, half machine!

"hey Danny!" I smiled, leaning in to give him a hug "I recognize a lot of these people but a lot of them I also don't! Who are they?"

"the cyborgs!" Danny smiled "its so cool! They don't even look it!" Danny's blissful ignorance was at times my light in a room of darkness but this was different. She didn't know just how dangerous they coupe be. I had to control my temper and not go off because Danny was one of the few who knew I hated cyborgs but with good reason.

My superior walked away Into the main and everyone immediately stood at attention, I took my sweet time but eventually did to.

He walked to the intercom, taking it from it's holster "it's time for all of you to meet your cyborgs!" He said. I sighed heavily. I'm probably gonna get paired with some prison looking motherfucker named bubba!

"Danny!" As her name was called Danny smiled and ran up to the front of the main hall. A tall brunette woman was standing next to our superior "this is your cyborg, C00987!" Danny walked with her cyborg to where everyone else was sitting. A few had already met there's and it was finally my turn "Esme!"

I walked to my superior. Who was that next to him? Was that my cyborg? I hadn't seen him in here the whole time! He was gorgeous! "Esme, this is your cyborg C980012!" He reached his hand out to shake mine. Hesitantly, I shook his hand and despite what I expected it wasn't a overly firm handshake. He was quite gentle.

No Esme! Dont fall for it! His kind killed your parents! "Well!" My superior said clapping his hands together "it's getting late and we should all head to our quarters for the night!" I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. I wasn't looking forward to this! "Come on! Let go!" I said to my cyborg, leading him to where I slept.

I put my hand on the panel next to my room, opening the door "this is where I sleep!" I said pointing to my bed "you can sleep wherever you wish just not next to me!"

"I may be a machine but I sense that you have some hostility towards me and I'm not entirely sure i understand why!" He said.

"I don't like anyone!" I said, trying to play it off.

He looked at me puzzled "I saw you talking to that one ginger girl, Danny was her name if I remember right!"

I sighed "look the less you know about me the better. I'm only here because I was forced to be, not because I want to be. I just wanna get this don and over with!" I said sitting on my bed.

"my processors tell me your stressed and I can smell anger In your pheromones. What's making you so angry?" He said putting his hand on my back. Instinctively I flinched away "don't touch me!" I yelled.

He threw his hands up in surrender "alright! I'm sorry!"

I laid down on my bed "there's a couch over there!" I said pointing at the window "get off my bed and leave me alone!"

His face looked genuinely hurt by what I said. A cyborg who feels emotion? Was he different from the others? I pushed the thought out of my mind and closed my eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.

The next morning

When I woke up and realized what had happened the night before, I looked around the room for him. He was still sitting on the couch, fully dressed and staring at me.

"you know it's not nice to stare at people!" I said. He didn't respond, he didn't move. What the fuck? Did he shut down during the night? I suddenly heard what sounded like a computer firing up. His eyes lost their glossy look "hello!" He smiled.

"is that how you cyborgs sleep?" I asked.

"if you wish to call it that then yes!" He said.

I rolled my eyes and walked to my closet. His footsteps gave away that he was walking towards me "I really don't know what I've done to make you be so rude to me!" He said.

I sighed "I really don't wanna talk about it! Like I said, I'm only doing this because I have to!"

"perhaps if you did talk about it it might make you feel better. I'm not here to hurt you!" He smiled.

"you may not be but your kind did!" I said.

"what do you mean?" He asked, confusion on his face.

Realizing what I said I knew I was gonna have to tell him now. I sighed heavily "a cyborg killed my parents!"

He hung his head "I'm sorry!"

"yeah, well I told you I didn't wanna talk about it but you kept pushing! Thanks for opening up my old wounds!" I said slamming the closet door shut, walking away.

"Esme!!" He yelled, his voice deepened.

I stopped "what?" I said looking over my shoulder at him.

"I'm not here to hurt you!" He said, putting a hand on my shoulder "I'm not the cyborg who killed your parents and I'm sorry that happened to you. I can't make up for what happened but please dont act like I'm not half human!"

I hung my head. He was right. For the first time I was the one who was apologizing, even though he didnt have to in the first place "I'm sorry!" I said. He'd been so nice to me even though I was incredibly rude to him.

"shall we start this over?" He asked with a smile.

"I don't see why not!" I smiled back.

He extended his hand out to me "I'm C980012 but all the other cyborgs call me Roman!"

I reached my hand out to his, his handshake still as gentle as the first time "I'm Esme!" I smiled.

He smiled back "let's head down to the main hall, I'm sure they have a whole marage of things for us to do!"

Later that night.....

Finally leaving the main hall, Esme was exhausted. The snide comments from the other cadets about how she was forced to work with the very beings who killed her parents made her blood boil and having to hide that she was upset took its toll on her, but for the first time she wasn't angry at Roman. She realized he had nothing to do with her parents death. She still didn't trust him but her anger towards him had settled. As they headed back to her quarters Esme's words started to become slurred causing Concern to grow on his face.

"Esme, you look exhausted! Do you want me to carry you back to your room?" He asked her.

"I'm fine, I just need some sleep!" She half smiled, her eyes heavy. A few more steps and her body gave out and he caught her before she fell to the floor. His reflexes far quicker and sharper then hers. He carried her to her quarters, laying her on the bed before sitting on the couch.

A cyborg wasn't supposed to fall for a human. It was forbidden and he knew he still had a lot to prove to gain her trust but he was willing to try.

The next morning

Esme's POV

I woke up and saw Roman in the same position he was a few nights ago. Looking lik he was staring at me. I remembered that's how cyborgs slept and walked over to him, waving my hand in front of his face. The glossiness In his eyes faded and I could hear his hard drive firing up "hello Esme!" He smiled.

I'm still not use to that!" I smiled "I need to get dressed and then we'll head to the training room!"

I headed to my changing room and changed into my flight suit. I had been so rude to him and the fact that he still treated me with kindness made me regret ever treating badly. I still didn't trust him but he was growing on me. I wondered why he put up with me for so long. A lot of things were going through my head but I had to push them aside for now. I headed out to where he was "let's head out!" I smiled, putting my hand on the panel to my room. As the door opened, I saw my superior officer and other trainees standing there.

"Esme come with us!" He said grabbing my arm. His grip was tight and instinctively I tried to pull away. It only made his grip tighter.

"What the fuck is going on? Let me go!!" I yelled. Roman must've heard my yelling because moments later I saw my superior slammed against the wall and his hands wrapped around 2 of the trainees necks. The 3rd one came up behind him with a knife in hand "Roman look out!" I yelled. The trainee swing the knife, slicing Romans chest, revealing the metal underneath his skin. The trainees face was covered in fear and he dropped the knife and tried to flee. Roman was to quick and in only a few strides caught up to him.

"Esme, run to your quarters! You don't need to see this!" He said, his eyes never leaving the trainee.

But what about-" I tried to say before he cut me off.

"Esme! Run!!" He yelled. The tone of his voice sending chills down my spine. I knew what was coming and though I knew this time a cyborg was killing to protect me, it didn't stop the memories running through my head. I ran to my quarters as fast I could, not once looking back. I heard screams of terror and covered my ears. My heart pounding in my chest. Moments later it stopped and all was quiet. I didn't dare move. What if something happened to Roman? A knock soon sounded on my door "Esme?" I recognized his voice and braced myself for what I might see on the other side.

I put my hand on the panel and the door opened. The cut on his body had healed, no trace of them anywhere. No blood, no wounds.

"are you ok?" I asked "I saw him cut you with a knife and the shine of metal under your skin! What happened to the cut?"

"my nanocytes!" He said "I naturally heal far faster then you humans do!"

"nanocytes?" I asked.

"cyborg immune system more or less!" He said "are you alright? You're trembling!" He said running his hand along my arm, goosebumps forming as he moved.

A lot of bad memories wer brought back" I said trying to fight back tears "I know you were protecting me but it doesnt stop the memories of my parents being murdered from flashing in my head!"

"I'm sorry Esme!" He smiled, putting his hand on my face. "I-" what needed to be said was no longer said with words but with his lips, connecting with mine. Every bit of anger I ever felt towards him in that moment had vanished and was replaced with desire.

His hands, recently used to destroy were so gentle on my skin. Lifting me up by my waist was effortless for him. I wrapped my legs around his waist, was I really about to do this? What kind of hold does he have on me? Why was in the only one he was gentle with? So many things going through my head but lust clouded it all. I would away from his beautiful lips, his eyes clouded with lust and want. In that moment I knew he was who I wanted. I didn't care.

"I need you!" I groaned.

"What do you need? My cyborg cock in your human pussy?" He growled. The tone of his voice made my whole body shiver. I bit my lip "yes, sir!"

When he got to my bed, the gentleness he laid me down with only heightened my need for him "these need to come off!" He growled, pulling at my clothes, yanking them off my body in one tung. I kept forgetting at times with how gentle he was that he was half machine and moments like that reminded me that out of all the people here, I was the one he chose to be gentle with. I was completely naked In front of him, underneath him, at his mercy. With what seemed like a gentle tung he yanked his sweatpants off, throwing them to the side "are you ready baby girl?" He growled as he kissed along my jawline, down my neck. He had already ruined me for any other man, no one would ever compare to the pleasure he had given me, no one, human or cyborg would be able to duplicate.

I nodded my head, ready for him to complete me. Sliding himself through my folds, teasing me, getting me ready for him, he slowly slid inside me, giving my body a chance to adjust. I groaned in pain for just a moment, his size bigger then any human man I'd ever had. "Shh, it's alright! Let the pleasure take over!" He cooed. My body relaxed at his words, allowing him to fully enter me.

"So fucking tight!" He growled, kissing down my neck, his kisses forming goosebumps on my skin as he went. Slowly he pulled all the way out, before slamming back into me, loud moans escaping my lips involuntary "that's it baby! Let go!" He growled in my ear "milk my cyborg cock with your pussy! Let me fill you!"

Fuck! I dug my nails into his back, my body releasing all the tension that had built over the last few weeks.

"Uhn! Fuck! You milk my cock so good baby!" He growled, releasing his seed Inside me, riding out our orgasms together. Slowly he stilled inside me, not wanting to let me go. He looked at me, a smile on his beautiful face "I love you, Esme!"

I smiled back "I love you to, Roman!"

I once hated cyborgs because of the heartache and violence one brought into my life, I never thought I would fall in love with one.

Domo arigato, Mr roboto!

#Spotify #roman reigns #big daddy uce #roman reigns smut #wwe smut #roman reigns au #wwe au #wwe #roman reigns fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #roman reigns angst #romantic #roman reigns x oc #wwe x oc #wwe fic #wwe smackdown

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acknowledge-reigns · 6 months

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No Yeet (Roman Reigns x Fem!OC SMUT) 18+

Description: Roman hates the word yeet. His bratty sub loves to push his buttons.

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, bratty sub, pet names (babygirl, princess, baby. Lil, short for Lilith...), light degradation (use of the word slut), orgasm control and denial, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, begging, edging, spanking, aftercare, fluff at the end, tiny bits of angst if you squint.

Kayfabe compliant. This is a story about Roman, not Joe.

18+!!!! MDNI!!!!

Face claim is Megan Thee Stallion.

See my other stories here.

It had been a couple of months now since the press conference where Jey and Cody had affectionately been dubbed 'team yeet' by the fans, due to Jey's obsessive ussage of the word and getting even Cody, although in a drunken state at the time, on the 'yeet' train as well. It was like overnight the word was re popularized, amongst the WWE Universe and the wrestlers in the locker room at least.

Two Months. Eight weeks of hearing that damn word non stop. Roman had lost count of the amount of times he's yelled at Jimmy not to say yeet, simply explaining "I don't like that".

That explanation was a hell of a lot easier than the deeper reasoning.

He missed Jey. His little cousin, his right hand man. While Roman refused to admit that he was in anyway jealous of Cody, he refused to utter that word. That word was a symbol of betrayal. Of his cousin leaving him and aligning with the enemy.

A lot has happened as of late. More recruits to the bloodline. Specifically a newly signed Lilith "The Vixen" Obsidian.

Fresh out of the independent circuit but with plenty of experience, Lilith knew what she was doing. Not just that but she practically grew up with Roman and The Usos. They had been close childhood friends. She and Roman had shared their first kiss, went to prom together and so much more.

There was never a question of where her loyalties lie. The two had gone their seperate ways after high school with no hard feelings at all. They just wanted different things in life at the time. Roman was pursuing football, and Lilith was ready to begin a wrestling career.

Fast forward and years later, Lilith couldn't have gotten signed to WWE at a more perfect time. With the bloodline's rivals growing more powerful by the day something had to he done.

The minute Rhea Ripley sat in Roman's locker room and said for Paul, Roman's Wiseman, to acknowledge her.. That was when Roman knew it was time to make the call. Lilith of course eagerly agreed to join the bloodline and handle any potential drama and disrespect from Rhea. And things grew from there.

Feelings were quickly rekindled. It started as a one night thing. Roman needed to blow off some steam, Lilith was ready and willing. So they had sex. From there it moved on to friends with benefits. Any time either of them were in need of pleasure, the other was one call away.

It continued to grow though until eventually Roman asked Lilith to be his girlfriend. And she said yes.

Roman sat in the chair in his locker room, Lilith perched in his lap playing with his long gorgeous mane.

"Yeet" Jimmy says

"I already told you, I don't like that." Roman snapped. To be fair he was already frustrated as hell with LA Knight of all people having the audacity to challenge him. And he'd hurt his finger in the process of the scuffle with that nobody, to say he was in a pissy mood was an understatement.

Lilith though, ever the brat didn't miss a beat seeing the look on his face. She looks directly in his eyes with a challenging smirk.

"Yeet" Lilith says as if daring him. You could hear a pin drop in that locker room.

"Everybody but Lilith, out. NOW." Roman's voice boomed. Lilith giggled, clearly amused with herself as Solo, Jimmy and Paul quickly headed out of the room at the tribal chief's command.

As the door closes, Roman faces Lilith. With a determined look on his face, he takes a step towards her, his dominant aura emanating from every pore. Lilith's eyes widen slightly.

Roman firmly grabs Lilith's wrist, his grip both gentle and commanding. Lilith's heart races, her bratty facade crumbling under the weight of Roman's dominance.

Standing in front of her, Roman leans in, his voice low and authoritative. "Now babygirl, I know you know better than breaking your tribal chief's rules." he spoke.

Roman maintains his dominant stance, his eyes locked with Lilith's as he contemplates the appropriate punishment for her bratty behavior. He smirks, sensing her nervous anticipation.

With deliberate slowness, Roman reaches out and gently brushes a strand of Lilith's hair behind her ear, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. He leans in closer, his warm breath grazing against her earlobe as he whispers, "You know, I think you need a reminder of who's in control here."

Roman's hand trails down Lilith's neck, his fingertips grazing her collarbone, before slowly sliding underneath her shirt. His touch is both firm and tender, igniting a mixture of pleasure and anticipation within her.

Roman's eyes gleam with a mix of mischief and dominance. He leans in, his lips grazing against her earlobe, his warm breath tickling her skin yet again. "You've been a very naughty girl, Lilith," he murmurs, his voice dripping with a potent mixture of authority and desire.

"You remember your Safeword, Princess?" Roman asks.

"Oreo" Lilith stated.

"Good girl." Roman responds as his hands move lower, skimming over the curve of Lilith's waist before slipping underneath the waistband of her pants. His touch is tantalizingly light as he traces circles along her hip bones, teasing but never fully satisfying her growing need. Each touch leaves her craving more, her body yearning for release. Once he pulls his hand away, he relievers delivers two quick slaps to her ass.

He leans back slightly, his eyes locked with hers, relishing in the sight of her desperation. "You see, Lilith, I am the one who decides when and how you receive pleasure, I'm the one who makes all the decisions around here." he says, his voice a low growl.

Roman's lips curl into a smug smile "You want my touch, don't you, Lilith?" he whispers, "You're craving it, yearning for it. But you gotta learn, babygirl." he muttered.

Roman's fingers trail along the edge of Lilith's pants again, teasingly close to where she desires him the most. He watches as her breath quickens, her eyes pleading for his touch. However, he remains steadfast, denying her the relief she so desperately seeks.

"Tell me, Lilith," Roman continues, his voice dripping with authority. "Tell me how much you need me. Beg for my touch."

Lilith's cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and desire as she hesitates for a moment before complying with Roman's command. With a trembling voice, she whispers, "Please, my tribal chief... I need you. I need your touch. Please."

Roman's grip tightens ever so slightly on her waist, his dominance palpable. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. "But I'm not finished with you. Strip." he added.

Roman watches with lustful eyes as Lilith begins to strip for him immediately. He couldn't help but grin, she probably thought he was going to let her cum. She would be wrong.

For the next couple of hours He pushes her to the brink of climax repeatedly, only to deny her release.

With a calculated touch, Roman continues to tease Lilith's body, his fingers tracing a maddening path along her sensitive skin. He brings her to the edge of climax, skillfully manipulating her pleasure until she's on the verge of losing control.

Just as Lilith's body trembles with anticipation, Roman withdraws his touch, denying her the satisfaction she craves. A whimper escapes her lips, a mixture of pleasure and frustration. Her eyes plead with him, silently begging for release. She was laid back on the couch, her legs spread wide displaying her glistening pussy and allowing his fingers and mouth to work their magic.

He continues to repeat the tantalizing cycle, each time bringing her closer to the edge before abruptly stopping. The waves of arousal crash over Lilith again and again, intensifying her desire and driving her to the brink of madness

"You're mine, Lilith," he whispers as his fingers pump in and out of her pussy with a steady rhythm. "Your pleasure, your release, everything belongs to ME."

Lilith's breath quickens, her body yearning for release. "Please" she whimpered and begged.

"You think you can defy me and still expect pleasure? Nah, princess. Not today." He chuckled.

"Look at you," Roman continues. "Pleading for release like a desperate little slut." he says as he denies Lilith release time and time again, "MY desperate little slut."

Roman slowly and sensually explores Lilith's body, his touch becoming more intimate and passionate. He pays meticulous attention to her responses, ensuring her pleasure reaches its peak.

"You can cum for me now, babygirl." Roman says as Lilith's arousal builds under Roman's skilled ministrations, he carefully listens to her body, attuned to her every moan and whimper. He knows exactly when she reaches the point of no return, when her pleasure is on the cusp of overwhelming her.

With a final flick of his tongue against overly sensitive clit, Roman pushes Lilith over the edge, allowing her to climax with a wave of intense pleasure that echoes through her entire being.

Roman grins, his beard still glistening with her juices as he lifted her gently into his arms and sat again with her in his lap.

With a tender touch, Roman runs his fingers through Lilith's hair. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. "You did beautifully, my love," he whispers, his voice filled with admiration and affection. "I'm so proud of you."

Roman wraps his arms around Lilith, pulling her close to his muscular chest, offering her warmth and security. He gently rocks her back and forth, creating a soothing rhythm that helps her unwind from the heightened sensations.

As they bask in the afterglow, Roman peppers Lilith's skin with light kisses, his lips tracing a path of tenderness along her neck and shoulder. He murmurs words of reassurance and comfort, reminding her that she is cherished and loved.

"So, what's your problem with.. that word?" Lilith asked curiously, refraining from repeating the word that had led to her punishment in the first place.

"I don't want to be reminded of how I messed things up with Jey." Roman stated honestly. Lilith was the one person he could share his true emotion with.

"Ro, you know you could try talking to him. Apologizing. He'll forgive you." Lilith encouraged.

"I can't be seen as weak. That makes the bloodline vulnerable." Roman said.

"Baby, you are anything but weak. And whatever decision you make, I'm gonna be right here along for the ride." Lilith assured him.

"I love you, Lil." Roman says.

"I love you too." Lilith smiled as she kissed him.

#No Yeet 😂#idk inspiration struck #this is filth and im proud of it #roman reigns #the tribal chief #roman reigns fic #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x oc #www Roman Reigns #head of the table #the head of the table #the only one #wwe the bloodline #the bloodline

114 notes · View notes

faerybin · 1 year

Text

「Hwang Hyunjin」 ♡

» So here you'll find all of my favorite Hyunjin fanfics

» For the sake of not spamming the authors, I won't tag them in my post anymore

» Hope you will enjoy and let me know if one of the links doesn't work *⁠.⁠✧

DRABBLES & TIMESTAMPS *⁠.⁠✧

7:30PM ↴

[0.6k] — fluff, sick hyunjin

12:37am ↴

[0.8k] — smut

[8:55 a.m.] ↴

[0.9k] — slight angst, fluff

[03:28] ↴

[1.1k] — smut

The small things ↴

[0.3k] — fluff

Baby fever ↴

[0.4k] — fluff, husband!hyunjin, dad!hyunjin

Morning text ʚ♡ɞ ↴

[0.4k] — fluff

Fleeting summers of love ↴

[0.8k] — fluff, comfort, (sliiightly suggestive)

Pretty ↴

[0.9k] — smut, fluff, pinch of angst

Sick days ↴

[1k] — fluff, hurt/comfort

Scent ↴

[1.3k] — smut

Home.. ↴

[1.4k] — fluff

ONESHOTS *⁠.⁠✧

But "just friends" don't look at each other like that ↴

[1.9k] — fluff, friends to lovers

When I fell in love ↴ ♡

[2.3k] — fluff, hurt/comfort

Conversations with Hyunjin ↴

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Last updated : 02/01/2024

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violetflowerswrites · 2 months

Text

Taking it Slow

Summary: An unexpected explosion severely injures you, and Jim Street, your LAPD SWAT roommate, comes to your rescue. The life and death situation makes you reevaluate the status of your “just casually dating” relationship.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Cannon violence and danger. Mentions of fire, explosions, and bombs. Location is an elementary school, mentions of danger to minors, but reader is the only one injured. Gruesome descriptions of bodily injury and blood. Some angst and mentions of divorce. BUT ALSO consensual kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy as usual. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Street has a big cock. 18+ for explicit smut, violence, and language

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I finally got around to watching more SWAT after taking a break from crime dramas and I gotta say, Season 4 has been SO good. The commentary on our Covid and post-Covid society especially with race and Black Lives Matter is so thoughtfully done. I was re-inspired to make a part 2 of my Jim Street fic from back in July 2022! This fic can be standalone but it is technically a continuation from “Too Complicated.” Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Masterlist Here

…

“All Units please respond, bomb at Harriet Tubman Elementary, repeat bomb and fire at Tubman Elementary.”

The police scanner radio squawks to life in the leather-scented interior of Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson’s sliver Dodge Charger.

Hondo locks eyes with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. His expression falls immediately, drawn and serious.

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

”20 David, Sergeant Harrelson responding. Let’s roll!”

…

Your pink highlighter squeaks across the tiny Times New Roman text of each signature line on the paperwork you’re preparing.

A tightness in your neck forces you to pause and lean your head to the side, trying to release the tension in your body.

It’s another tough case. The student was expelled out of a previous school due to repeated fighting. His current teacher is young and inexperienced, and the counselor is definitely overwhelmed. You were called in to take over his case and then recommend him to a therapist, a behaviorist, a specialist, someone before he was expelled again.

Who knew that an 8 year old could wreak so much havoc at a school?

You glance out the window of the 2nd floor classroom, watching the poor kid get into a screaming match with a yard duty. The bright red digital display of the classroom clock shows 9:00 am in blinking lights that seem to say…

tick

tock

It’s

only

freakin

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

#swat #swat cbs #cbs swat #jim street #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street smut #jim street x reader #street x reader #swat imagine #swat fic #swat smut

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juceynightmare · 10 months

Text

dating 101 (18+) part 27 - cody rhodes x reader

my masterlist

dating 101 (18+) masterlist

pairing(s): cody rhodes x fem!reader, roman reigns x fem!reader, austin theory x fem!reader

warning(s): swearing, jealous!cody

genre(s): college!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

|| previous part || next part ||

she woke up with a groan. the sound of her alarm blaring from her phone becoming increasingly annoying with every millisecond that passed. she reached for her phone beside her head, opening her eyes to stop the alarm as she sat up in her bed. austin stirred from the bed on the floor, and she watched as he turned on to lay on his back before he continued to snore softly.

she pushed her blanket off of her, getting out of bed and carefully stepping over austin so she could make it over to her desk. y/n pulled out her toiletry bag, her keys, and made her way to her door. y/n pulled her door open slightly - just enough for her to slip out of the room without too much light seeping in.

with her head pounding, she made her way to the bathroom to find that cody was already in there.

“morning, cody.” she mumbled, taking up the space at the sink besides where cody was already standing.

cody looked over the girl, his gaze transfixed to where the girl’s crop top ended and left her midsection on display. his initials were beginning to scar over, and cody wanted nothing more than to reach out and trace his fingers over them. he felt pride in the fact that the girl didn’t hide the fact that he had branded her, especially knowing that the mystery man was most likely still in that room. “morning, y/n.” he greeted after he spit out his toothpaste, turning on the tap and washing off his toothbrush.

they stood in silence for a moment as cody washed out his mouth with his mouthwash and y/n began to brush her teeth. y/n stared at herself in the mirror as she thought back to the events of the night before.

it was a much needed reunion for her and austin. their night was full of giggles, bad singing and rapping, and them doordashing mcdonalds and eating to their hearts’ content before calling it a night. and although austin had told her to cool it on the deep talks, of course y/n still brought it up. and she could now happily say that she’s made up her mind and her heart.

“so, i uh happened to overhear your friend before he went in.” cody began, clearing his throat as he put away his stuff into his own bag. he caught y/n’s gaze in the mirror, noting that the girl had seemed lost in thought before he caught her attention again. “you were crying?” he asked as he walked over to her, already reaching into her bag for a hair tie.

cody felt a little awkward as he began to tie her hair up. although the girl had requested that he didn’t change the way he had treated her from before they started sleeping together, cody couldn’t help but overthink about what would be overstepping. it took everything in him to not wrap his arms around her waist and pull her back against him after he finished tying her hair, but cody forced himself to take a step back.

“uh, yeah.” y/n replied after spitting out her toothpaste and washing her toothbrush. “very stressful day yesterday. so i called austin and he drove up and we drank.” she continued, catching cody’s gaze. she watched as he reached for her mouthwash, pouring some into the cap before holding it out for her to take.

“you drank?” cody asked, and suddenly he could feel chills run down his spine. “with austin?” he continued.

cody figures this is what it felt like to be insecure. he remembers austin as being the man in the group chat who had told y/n that he would bend her over and put the plan b to use. he also remembers as austin being that man that y/n said had been trying to get in her pants since forever. clearly y/n and austin were close, with y/n being so upset that she needed a friend to be there with her and austin being the first to come to her mind because she didn’t want to reach out to him and ted.

he could feel the way his heart seemed to physically drop in his chest, and cody became hyperaware of how slow his heart began to beat. he hadn’t noticed that he was frowning, or that y/n had turned to face him until he felt her hands against his cheeks.

“jealousy is a good look on you, codes.” y/n mused softly in a teasing manner, exactly how she had once told him so long ago. she pressed her thumbs pressing against the corners of cody’s mouth as she pushed them upwards.

cody’s hands immediately found their place on her hips and he relaxed against her touch. that was one way to ease a man’s nerves, he thought to himself with a smile.

“just a little jealous.” cody admitted, watching as y/n chuckled and turned back around in his grasp to face the mirror again. she reached for her skincare as cody let his hands fall from her hips, stepping off to the side and leaning against the counter.

“to answer your questions: yes i drank and yes, specifically with austin. i needed a little pick me up and honestly, being reunited with him was something i didn’t know i needed so badly.” she sighed, a small smile on her face as she began her skincare routine.

cody hummed in acknowledgement. although her actions had made him feel a little better, cody could still feel as though he was about to break down and cry yet again. he wanted to be there for y/n in the way austin was, but cody understood why she couldn’t come to him or ted.

as he watched her go through her skincare routine, cody could only imagine what else happened in that room. he knew how y/n was when she was drunk - but the fact that she wasn’t throwing up the contents of her stomach right now were enough to reassure cody that she didn’t get completely shitfaced. cody also only knew the surface of y/n and austin’s relationship, he had no idea if she was as touchy with him as she was with him and ted.

that fact was enough for cody to want to leave just a few more marks of his name etched into her skin - for good measure, of course. then, another thought hit him. "did you two sleep in the same bed?" he asked.

jealousy made cody feel ugly. he hated the way he felt at the thought of y/n in bed with another man, and even now when he thinks about how she'd nap with ted, cody could feel himself getting angry. before cody could continue to wallow in his anger and sadness, y/n spoke up, "no. he brought an air mattress."

cody visibly relaxed and he let out a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding in.

in the next moment, austin walked into the bathroom, slightly stumbling on his own two feet. “morning.” he hummed in greeting, walking over and wrapping his arm around y/n’s waist as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head - careful of her skin.

cody tore his gaze away from them, swallowing back the envy that had balled up in his throat.

“morning austin.” she greeted with a smile, catching austin’s gaze in the reflection. “oh, this is cody by the way.” she introduced cody to austin. “cody, this is austin. my step-brother.”

it was then that cody’s gaze snapped back to where her and austin stood. y/n knew it was unnecessary to introduce austin as her step-brother, after all, their parents had yet to tie the knot. but when she saw the confidence and hope reignite in cody’s gaze, she knew that it was the right choice.

“disgusting.” austin groaned, unwrapping his arm from around her waist. “they’re not married yet, baby. please don’t remind me that we’re going to be related.” he huffed, walking past her. as he passed by cody, he gave the man a fistbump in greeting before walking into a stall.

“but didn’t you say that he’s been trying to get at -“ cody began, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“we missed the timing.” y/n answered quickly, her cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “our parents got together in middle school when we used to actually have crushes on each other. it sorta just faded into this dynamic where austin suggests we fuck like those step-siblings in porn.” she laughed.

the sound of the toilet flushing was followed by austin emerging from the stall. “all i’m saying is, if there’s a washing machine - you better hope you get there before me, cody.” he joked with a laugh as he walked up to a sink and began to wash his hands. however, even cody could tell that there was some truth under his words.

cody’s gaze flickered between the two of them as y/n went back to finishing her skincare routine. he suddenly felt a semi-wet hand tap his shoulder and cody turned his head to give austin his full attention. his eyes widened in shock as austin whispered in his ear, his gaze still fixed on the man even as he laughed and left the restroom to retreat back to y/n’s.

“what’d he say?” y/n asked after austin left the room, clearly having watched the exchange between the two men in the mirror.

cody could only turn back to face y/n with a wide smile, taking a step towards her and wrapping his arm around her waist. he rubbed his thumb over his initials on carved into her hip, hearing the way her breath hitched in her throat and she quickly met his gaze in the reflection.

“don’t worry your silly little head, sweetheart.” he mused, watching the way her blush on her cheeks had deepened.

she turned her head so she could look up at him instead, a wide smile on her face. she reached up to cup his face in her hand, feeling him press against her hand gently. she figures whatever austin told cody was enough for him to stop acting so cautious around her. she was thankful for that, after all, she was beginning to miss cody’s touch and the way he’d look at her with hopeful eyes instead if the sad ones that had adorned his face since the previous day.

“yeah?” she whispered, figuring that she didn’t need to say much else.

“yeah.” cody affirmed with a hum, feeling her thumb run across her cheekbone before she pulled her hand away from his face.

the original plan was to finally get her to realize that i’m the best guy there is for her. but with the way she talked about you last night and has been talking about you since she’s met you, i already know her heart’s made a decision. don’t make me regret giving her up to you.

|| next part ||

taglist: @iluvthebloodline , @marissaboo-2015 , @vebner37 , @jeyusos-girl , @madqueenpartna, @alyyaanna @banksreigns @crossrhodez @goldenfoxe @bonehead-playz, @vyxio, @codyswhitebelt, @legit9thlunaticwarrior, @queencherryberry, @totired4this

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