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angry-geese · 9 months

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Cardinal Copia x Reader

Warnings: not osha compliant//nsfw. fluff and smut; oral (cunnilingus), overstimulation, afab reader. use of petnames (ex. my love)

synopsis: copia and the reader decide to spend a morning in :) i just wanted an excuse to write smut tbh

word count: 3.5k

Rain from the previous night has carried well into this morning, and shows little signs of stopping. Dawn is bleak and gray as it crests upon the horizon. In your state—stuck between the waking world, and sleep—you reach out for him, finding the bed beside you cold. The little villa Copia calls home lies empty, save for you, and the constant tick tick tick of the clock on the wall.

Despite his absence, you’re in no rush to get up. On a Saturday morning, there’s little more to do than basic chores, or lazing around the house. Maybe you’ll catch up on some reading, or perhaps some leftover paperwork—Sister Imperator seems to love her paperwork. Perhaps you could start with the sweeping, or dishes, but both tasks sound especially dull. Staying in bed sounds like a preferable option.

Outside, the incoming storm has rendered the sky dark, and the cobblestone path shiny. Fat droplets of water race down the window pane, spilling into the rocks below. Clouds are low enough that the tops of trees are obscured. Somewhere, not too far off, the abbey’s bells ring out, signaling the hour. Nine O’Clock. Various siblings will be gathering for mass soon; an optional ritual which only the most devoted—or those with nothing better to do—will attend. Copia will most likely be there. Certainly Sister Imperator will be.

When the door to the bedroom finally cracks open, the most movement you’ve made is that of rolling onto your side. The bed dips under his weight as he sits. A hand smooths over your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear.

It’s about that point in which you roll over to face him. Copia’s red cassock is replaced with a much more casual button down, and trousers. Black, although some red stitching is visible as he rolls up his sleeve. A nice touch.

“I didn't mean to wake you,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn't.” You say. “I’ve been awake.”

The yawn that leaves you seems to say otherwise. You scoot back a bit on the bed, and he sits, tugging his pillow away from the headboard. Copia sighs, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. He doesn't seem to quite know what to do with his hands as they switch between laying limply at his sides, and fiddling with the top-most button of his shirt.

You reach out to him, and he takes your hand, only to be pulled back to bed by you. A soft “oof” leaves him as his head hits the pillow, mere inches from yours.

“You’re back early today,” you say, “was there no meeting?”

“Terzo was terribly late,” he says, “and Sister had other important matters to attend to.”

“So you skipped work? How scandalous…” you say flatly.

Copia makes a show of rolling his eyes, though a small smile tugs at his lips. “Says the one still in bed. Isn’t it nearly ten?”

“Does our dark lord not revel in sloth?” You ask.

In reality, you have kitchen duty this week, and you’re dreading it greatly.

In theory, you could use your position so close to someone in the upper clergy to your favor. Little things like job assignments, roommates, special meals. Names could be swapped, tabled tipped in your odds. You know better than to do such a thing. Sister Imperator’s ire isn't something you want to earn, and she is aware of most things in the abbey.

Copia must not find it within himself to argue with you. And though his eyes are closed, you know very well he’s awake. You move closer to him, seeking the warmth of another body. He accepts you openly, allowing you into the space directly against him. You lean forward to kiss him—just a quick peck on the cheek. Copia catches you on your way back, pulling you in for a proper kiss. The taste of coffee lingers on his lips.

“Is there any left?” You ask. “Coffee, I mean.”

When his eyes open, a look of guilt is visible within them. “I’ll make more.” He says.

And though you wish to stay in bed just a little while longer, you trail after Copia. The hallway leads directly into a small, but cozy living room. Shelves are stacked floor to ceiling with books, some old, some new. More wood goes into the fire, and the kettle is set on the stove to boil. The remnants of last night’s tea remain on the coffee table, aside half-read books, and video game controllers. You make yourself comfortable on the couch, shifting pillows and blankets to make room for yourself. Copia settles onto the couch beside you not long after, fishing the TV remote out from between two pillows. At this hour of the morning, nothing interesting is going to be on cable; shopping channels and reruns of game shows are the only programs available.

“What a dreary morning,” you comment, resting your head in your hands.

“I like the rain.” Copia says.

It was his timidness, and devotion to his work that first caught your attention; the passing glances in the hall, the looks that lasted slightly longer than they should have. By all accounts—his upbringing, his way of life—Copia should be a different kind of man. Sleazy. Lecherous. Rough around the edges. Someone who takes more than he needs, and does so greedily. But behind his strange exterior lies a timid, sweet man. A strange tenderness is behind each of his actions.

You never would have realized it if it weren't for Terzo’s scheming nature. Maybe one day you should thank him.

This rare, quiet moment is interrupted by the whistling of the kettle. Copia hops up to attend it, returning later with two mugs. Before, you never were much of a fan of coffee, but countless late nights and early mornings in the clergy gave you a new appreciation for it.

“How do you take yours?” Copia asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Sugar and cream if you have it,” you say.

He does.

Maybe a minute passes before he returns to the living room, carrying a mug in each hand. He settles back onto the couch, and when the opportunity to sprawl out presents itself, you take it, laying your legs across his lap. One of his hands trails along the curve of your leg. The other finds the remote, mindlessly flipping through channels. Copia eventually settles on a cooking show, although neither of you are paying attention to it.

Moments like this are fleeting—something to be savored—and that adds to your reluctance to get up. His hand ghosts up the side of your calf in slow, repetitive motions. Soothing. The pads of his fingers are rough, but gentle. Copia’s attention turns from the TV, back to you. The corners of his lips twitch upwards in the slightest hint of a smile.

“What?” You ask quietly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Who knew one little librarian would corrupt me so much,” he says.

That earns an eye roll, and a quiet laugh from you. “Me? Really?” You say.

“I used to be a pious man,” he says, “deeply devoted to my work and…”

“And I showed you there was more to life than work.” You say, and he nods.

What is the fun of the clergy if you can't relish in life’s luxuries? Much of your life was spent burying your own needs for the sake of others. Once you found a place you belong, and could truly, freely exist, you had years to make up for. A life to live freely and love fully.

Of course, Copia was born into this life. Perhaps he doesn't know the difference.

You tuck your legs back under you, leaning against his shoulder. Copia is quick to make room for you, looping an arm around your waist. His gaze falls to the bare curve of your legs. Nothing too scandalous. At least, not more scandalous than being found barely-clothed in his bed. Yet if you ask him, he’ll say something about appreciating the view regardless.

It’s a dangerous game you are playing, tangling your limbs with a member of the upper clergy. The various cardinals and papa’s are no stranger to casual relations. Casual sex, and one night stands come with the position. People love shiny, new things. They love to feel in power if only for a night. But to form a long term relationship—let alone one with the son of Sister Imperator—would be to put a target on one’s back. Not a great idea if you wish to fly under the radar.

Copia is not papa, and you will not be his prime mover.

This time, when he kisses you, there’s more of a need behind it. A set of warm hands find your cheeks—then your hair—pulling you impossibly close. The cardinal is typically a patient man, but today brings a strange desperation.

You can't help but wonder just what happened in the meeting this morning. Did Terzo say something to him?

When he pulls away, a line of saliva connects your lips to his. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading out into your extremities. You pray he can't pick up on your racing heart. Probably not from such a distance, but the feeling of it beating within your chest is too much to ignore.

“Sister Imperator is less than pleased with how distracted I have been from my work,” he says.

So it was Imperator then?

“Was it not you that first distracted me from my work?” You ask, a coy smile spreading across your lips. “If my memory is correct, it was you who instigated that night at the library…”

If anyone is to blame for this, then it is Terzo. Without him, your little crush on the cardinal would have gone nowhere.

Copia separates himself from you just enough to slide off the couch, coming to rest upon his knees. “And who would I be to resist such sweet sin?” He asks.

Was it not the forbidden fruit that tastes most sweet?

He sits on his knees before you like a man bowed in prayer. Truly blasphemous. Your legs part just enough to give him room to settle between them. Copia moves slowly, achingly slowly. It’s not in his nature to be so direct; he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to make the first move.ands trail up your thighs before coming to rest on your hips, pushing up the hem of your—his—shirt. A small hum of approval leaves him as he realizes you have nothing on underneath.

A set of mismatched eyes meet yours, clouded with lust. His shoulders are hunched forwards slightly, head tilted down, gaze trained on you. An expectant look. From here, the once powerful cardinal looks vulnerable now.

If he ever asks, you’ll say you didn't plan this. Really, you didn't, but one has to be a little scheming to last within the clergy.

“What is it, Copia?”

He swallows hard. Your eyes follow his adam's apple as it bobs in his throat. “My love, I wish to taste you,” he says, voice low. “May I?”

“You may.”

He hooks his arms around your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch—that draws a small gasp from you. Now, your legs hang mostly off the couch, coming to rest on his shoulders. Copia’s stubble is rough against your skin as he presses his lips against it, trailing kisses up your thigh. Three on the left, one on the right. Achingly slow. You don't think his movements are meant to be so—you truly think he’s trying to pace himself—but they all feel teasing in nature.

You wish for nothing more than to lean down and kiss him. To hold him gently in the same way he holds you. His tongue traces up your slit once before you can no longer contain yourself, and pull him close, hands guiding him by his hair. From him comes a small, muffled noise of approval.

Copia is a man who claims he is not skilled with his tongue, although that couldn't be further from the truth. He’s no stranger to your taste, your feel, the subtle movements of your body. He laps and sucks like a man starved for weeks, finally presented with a meal. A tongue devoted in total worship, for such reverence can only be that: worship. Moans spill past your lips and you do nothing to stop them. There’s no reason to be quiet in here, nobody is around to hear you. They only seem to make him more eager to please.

You’re reminded of a sermon from a few nights ago. Terzo led it. He would soon become intoxicated, but not before bestowing the crowd with a few words of wisdom:

Our pain, our pleasure…

One finger presses into you. Then another. Curling and pumping into you. The leg that’s no longer supported by his shoulder hangs loosely at your slide.

We devote ourselves to Him…

Sister Imperator looked about ready to strangle him once he started bringing up female orgasms. Maybe he had a point. Maybe Terzo was just alluding to what was going to happen at the afterparty.

The nails on Copia’s free hand dig into your skin. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to leave little crescent shaped marks. It’s enough to bring your attention back to him, and his mismatched eyes.

A low noise rumbles up from his chest as your grip tightens on his hair. Your own release comes upon you sooner than intended. Copia seems to notice it before you do, continuing to lap at your poor, sensitive clit. You can only writhe helplessly before him as he works you up to—and through—your release. Even then, he is unrelenting, continuing to work you over with his tongue; a mix of lust, pride, and gluttony in their most primal forms.

When Copia does finally pull away, his chin glistens in the low light of the room. You’ve done quite a good job at messing up his hair. It sticks out at strange angles now, and is only slightly fixed when he runs a hand through it. Something in Italian spills past his lips, although you can’t tell if it’s a prayer, or a curse. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, moving to sit beside you on the couch.

Once your shirt comes off, you’re left bare before him, nipples stiffening when exposed to open air. Copia takes you in greedlily, admiring the curves of your body. The angles. The softness of it—you—all. His reverence is a form of worship in its own right. He must be painfully hard now—the bulge in his trousers is a telltale sign of that. Copia palms himself through them, before you lean in to take charge, straddling his lap. Off comes his shirt, a task that takes both of you to complete, your hands fumbling for buttons in unison. His neatly tailored slacks are the next to go, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Your discarded clothes go into a pile on the floor, tossed aside carelessly.

If the circumstances were any different, you’d go through the effort of finding a condom. Today you don't, though, it’s not for a lack of abundance. You wish to feel him in his entirety; limbs tangled, bodies becoming one. Like a pair of horny newlyweds, you’re all over each other. The first kiss he gives you is soft—gentle—but grows more needy as your hands brush across his erection. He lifts his hips just enough for you to tug down his boxers, freeing his hardened cock. Copia must be painfully hard now, yet he still tries to contain himself.

Copia leans back just enough for you to straddle his lap, and you do so, with your thighs on either side of his. The redness on his cheeks has now spread to his chest, and the tips of his ears. His breathing has evened out now. His lips find your neck, but not in a kiss—no, he’s savoring your closeness. His hands find your hips, and yours find his chest, guiding you as you lower yourself onto his hardened cock. There’s a slight sting as you do so—a stretch—although it’s the kind of pain that inevitably feels good. The two of you just fit together so perfectly, you can't help but think.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, combined with a mix of gasps, and moans. Copia’s hands wander up and down the length of your body, finding your hips, thighs, breasts, but never resting in one spot for very long. Your arms wrap around his neck, wrapping around them as you try to find purchase against his body. The couch creaks in protest underneath the two of you. Quiet, nonsensical words of praise spill past his lips, only muffled further when his face is shoved against your breasts. Copia doesn't seem to mind.

“Beautiful—” he huffs, “you’re so beautiful.”

You’d say it back if you could form any words. And he truly is; skin flushed, and slightly shiny with sweat. The veins in his hands are more prominent now—you’ve always had a thing for his hands. The feeling of them around your neck, or down your body. Gloved or not. Taking one of his hands in yours, you bring it to your lips, wrapping them around his pointer and middle finger. He still tastes of you.

Copia’s breath catches in his throat—the muscles in his thighs tense—all telltale signs that he’s going to cum. His nails dig into your hips hard enough to leave little crescent shaped indents. Maybe they’ll bruise. Maybe not. And when he finally cums, he cums hard, spilling into your unprotected womb.

Your second orgasm isn't far off, and you’re still oversensitive from the first. You’re content to chase your own release, grinding down against him. Copia helps you along with his thumb, toying messily with the bundle of nerves. Broken strands of sentences spill through you, and Copia seems to take that as high praise of his work. It comes upon you all at once, like a wave rolling over you, pulling you under and spitting you out wrong. Your thighs are a mess of his cum, and your own. The couch is certainly a mess.

Once again, you feel his stubble against your neck as he presses a kiss to it. Then your cheek, then your forehead. A hand smooths over your hair as your head falls into the crook of his neck.

It’s another moment before you remove yourself from him. If you had any say in the matter, you’d stay like this for the rest of the day. Copia guides you onto the cushion beside him, taking a moment to admire his work; the red nail marks, flushed skin, and cum seeping down your thighs.

“Eh, sorry my love,” he says, and you assume he’s referring to the mess.

“It’s okay,” you say, “it’s not my couch anyway.”

Copia groans as he stands, heading for the kitchen. When he returns, he has a washcloth in his hands. Patting the inner part of your thigh, he motions for you to lay back. Copia takes great care to clean your thighs, dragging the cloth across them. The damn cloth is slightly cold against your skin, although the chill feels nice. An ache has settled into your hips from the events of the morning. Nothing that some ibuprofen won't fix.

“Maybe we should do that in Terzo’s office,” you say, and you swear you feel him twitch beside you, “teach him to miss a meeting…”

“Unfortunately, I think this is something that happens in his office often,” Copia sats, “not much work gets done in there regardless.”

That draws a small laugh from you. You can believe it. You’ve never been to one yourself, but you’ve heard stories of the afterparties Terzo throws. Calling them extravagant is putting it lightly.

Sleepy, and sated, you curl up in the space beside him, and the arm of the couch. The warmth of his body, combined with the smell of his cologne threaten to lull you to sleep. Your body seems to associate him with safety, and as such, staying awake becomes a challenge. You sip from your now-cold coffee, turning your attention back to the TV. Outside, the rain grows heavier, tapping against the windowpane. Fog leaves the outside world in a hazy, dreamlike state. You know at some point in time you’ll have to get up and begin your daily chores. For now, you’re content to stay by Copia’s side.

“I guess the rain isn't so bad,” you say.

“Is that so?” He asks.

A small hum leaves you—a nonverbal confirmation. Maybe the rain isn't so bad. Maybe it was Copia who taught you to like it.

#not osha compliant #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #totally forgot to post this here last night #whoops lol #cross posted on ao3 #editing this somehow took longer than writing it #if i do end up writing more for ghost then ill probably make a masterlist but for now ill jsut link this in my pinned post

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thaliagrayce · 2 months

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Contrasting Colors

Link: ao3 Pairing: Jason Grace/Nico di Angelo Fandom: Percy Jackson & the Olympians Tags: post-Heroes of Olympus, Not TOA compliant, fluff, jealousy (but like only a little bit)

Word Count: 2,998

Summary:

There was a stranger on the subway who had been staring at them on and off since they had boarded the train. That wasn’t too unusual, but it was rubbing Nico the wrong way today. He shifted from one foot to the other as their car passed from the light of the last station into the darkness of the tunnel system once more. Maybe it was the fact that the stranger was a boy who looked just a little older than him. And taller. Broader, too, although he was almost certainly less experienced at actually using the muscle filling out his expensive name-brand athlesiure. He’d been looking between Nico and Jason since they left the shopping center they’d spent the afternoon at, but mostly he’d been looking at Jason. (or; Nico and Jason's journey to self-expression and belonging through really dumb shirts.)

There was a stranger on the subway who had been staring at them on and off since they had boarded the train. That wasn’t too unusual—Nico and Jason had both lived as demigods for long enough that a little staring wasn’t going to ruin their day unless it came with violence—but it was rubbing Nico the wrong way today. He shifted from one foot to the other as their car passed from the light of the last station into the darkness of the tunnel system once more.

Maybe it was the fact that the stranger was a boy who looked just a little older than him. And taller. Broader, too, although he was almost certainly less experienced at actually using the muscle filling out his expensive name-brand athlesiure. He’d been looking between Nico and Jason since they left the shopping center they’d spent the afternoon at, but mostly he’d been looking at Jason.

Nico shifted again, hyperaware of the space between them. Were they standing close enough? Was it too close? They had walked onto the subway car together, but it would be plausible that they just happened to be standing next to each other while they were waiting for the train. The platform had been crowded, it could have looked like coincidence.

Nico knew that he and Jason didn’t look like a matched set. There was about a foot’s difference in height when they were both standing straight, and Nico almost always made it worse by slouching. Their resting expressions were completely different now that Jason’s updated prescription let him see clearly without squinting at the world. And, most noticeable, there was the difference in style: Nico was comfortable in his all black, and Jason was wearing one of the colorful and dorky t-shirts he’d bought on this trip.

(“Look, Nico!” he had said after dragging them both into a store that was about 50% anime merchandise. “It’s me!” He held up the shirt for Nico to see: a pale blue t-shirt with a white cloud-shaped breast pocket. The cloud had a cutesy blushing smiley face on it. Nico raised one eyebrow in question, and Jason pulled the pocket open. The fabric underneath the cloud was printed with a rainbow. It was a terrible joke, and Nico had laughed anyway.)

Nico glanced at the shirt—which Jason liked so much he’d found a bathroom and changed into it as soon as they left the store—out of the corner of his eye. The white of the little cloud almost glowed in the terrible subway lighting. It was so bright, and Jason looked tall and handsome and at ease, and that boy across the train car was looking at him and Nico kept noticing.

Nico brought his right hand up and fidgeted with the blue bandanna he’d bought and tied around his neck on an impulse as they were leaving the mall. The train slowed down to approach another stop and Nico braced himself not to stumble. He wasn’t used to wearing anything around his neck, but it wasn’t terrible. He could maybe do it more often.

On his left, Jason brushed his knuckles against Nico’s in a signal they had developed early on in their relationship, when they figured out that their comfort levels with PDA were decidedly different. I would hold your hand right now if you wanted me to, it said. Nico turned to give him a smile.

Jason was looking down at him, head tilted in a way that reminded Nico that he’d technically been raised by wolves. There was some concern in between his brows. He was completely focused on Nico. It was possible that he hadn’t even noticed the boy across the way, or that he’d dismissed him as mortal as quickly as Nico had and then not thought about him again.

Nico knew that, if he wanted, he could take Jason’s hand right now and prove to all the random strangers in this train car that they were a matched set. He could tell the boy that might or might not have been checking Jason out to fuck off without even opening his mouth. A tiny, possessive part of him wanted to.

Instead, he took a deep breath in and brushed his knuckles back. They both heard the thank you, I love you that implied. The taste of jealousy was bitter and Nico didn’t want to let it linger. He let the breath out.

---

This whole endeavor had started about two months ago, just after they started dating. Nico had been accompanying Jason on a lot of his Pontifex Maximus duties, meeting up with minor gods and drafting temples across the country. Nico’s shadow travel got them places on time and Jason’s flight got them back to where they were staying when Nico got too tired to jump again.

That particular day had been a bit rough. Nico had jumped the both of them halfway across the country to Nowhere, Iowa and was already exhausted when a hydra melted out of the cornfield next to them. Nico was no help in the ensuing fight.

Jason didn’t really need the help, though. He managed to kill it on his own in under ten minutes while Nico slumped against a nearby bale of hay, sleepily cheering him on.

Unfortunately, killing the hydra was not a neat process, and it managed to get him a few times with its acid spit. They worked together and managed to do a halfway decent job of burying the final head underneath Nico’s hay bale before Jason realized that half of his shirt had melted off during the fight.

He had only packed pajamas.

They managed to find Jason a new (ish) plain shirt at the one Goodwill in town quickly, but Jason seemed reluctant to leave. He kept looking back at one of the clothing racks they had passed by, even after they paid and were heading out of the store. Nico gave in to his curiosity.

“What was it?”

“Huh?” Jason asked. He tore his eyes away from the rack one last time and pulled the door open, holding it to let Nico pass first.

“You keep looking back. What caught your eye?”

“Oh, I…” Jason smiled. They headed off toward their motel at a decent clip; they didn’t have a whole lot of time to check in, have Jason change, and leave again to get to their meeting with the eccentric minor agricultural god. “It was nothing. There was a shirt that made me smile.”

“Oh?” Nico prompted.

“Yeah. It was kind of goofy, y’know. Jelly bean print.”

Nico huffed a laugh. “I can picture you in that.”

“Really?”

Nico raised an eyebrow. He had planned to tease Jason, but the hopeful look on his boyfriend’s face stopped him. Raised eyebrows and a hint of a smile and that light in his eyes were all because of a jelly bean shirt?

“Sure,” Nico settled on instead. “Why not? Goofy print for a goofy guy.”

It was evidently the right answer. Jason’s smile grew as they walked into the motel, checked in, and shuffled off to their room. Nico sat on one of the twin beds with his chin in his hands as Jason took over the bathroom to change.

Technically, Nico wasn’t needed here at all. He usually tagged along to these meetings to have something to do, but he knew that if he even hinted he might be feeling tired…

When Jason got out of the bathroom, Nico was lying face down on the bed. Jason fretted and fussed and insisted that Nico stay behind to take a nap, as Nico knew he would. As soon as he left, Nico got up and put his boots back on. The meeting probably wouldn’t take more than half an hour and he wanted to be sneaky, so he had to be fast.

Besides, if he was quick enough, maybe he really could take a nap after he got back from the thrift store.

---

The Jelly Bean Shirt was the most obnoxious shirt in the entire world and Jason loved it. It was a short sleeved button down that was just a touch too small across the shoulders for Jason, which meant that he often wore it open over a different shirt.

The only other shirts Jason owned were either bright purple, bright orange, or the solid green shirt they’d bought for the meeting. Jason very quickly became the easiest person to spot at camp. Leo and Piper teased him about it, but he took it with a smile and continued wearing the shirt.

The next time they left camp for Pontifex business, Jason asked if they could go shopping again afterward.

“I know it’s not really necessary,” he said, sheepish, “but it’s kind of nice. I’ve never really picked out my own clothes before.”

Nico stopped in the middle of rifling through racks of secondhand sweatshirts. Had… had he ever seen Jason in anything but camp shirts? He really tried to think. The t-shirt for the meeting last time didn’t count, it was just the closest functional replacement clothing for the job. They’d picked it out specifically to be unobtrusive. And then there was…

Nope, then there was the Jelly Bean Shirt and nothing else. Jason had been raised by the Legion and dumped into Camp Half Blood and he’d never had the chance to be anything but a representative of those two places, or of his father, or of the minor gods.

Nico might have dressed himself like a walking Hot Topic advertisement, but he chose to do that. He’d been choosing how to dress himself since he was ten. He looked at Jason’s sheepish expression out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re dating the son of the god of wealth. Why are we looking in Goodwill?”

“Target doesn’t have this kind of selection,” Jason answered.

“I can afford Armani, why would we go to Target.”

Jason eyed a sweater that might have been handmade, complete with giant pink applique teddy bear on the belly. He held it up to his chest and wilted when he noticed it was about three sizes too small for him.

“Armani would look too… business. Probably.” Jason put the sweater back and moved on to a more summery section. “I don’t know anything about fashion, but big labels like that sound way too fancy.”

“Right, you prefer designers who are more in touch with their inner six-year-old girl.”

Jason shrugged. “It makes me more approachable, doesn’t it? I’m not the Son of Jupiter, ex-Praetor of the Twelfth Legion, Titan Slayer, Champion of Juno, Hero of Olympus, Pontifex Maximus like that. I’m that guy with the unicorn shirt.” He then pulled out a t-shirt that had pom-poms dangling from every hem. “Is this too much?”

Jason held the stupidest shirt Nico had ever seen in his life up to his chest and Nico realized he might be in love with him. He bought the shirt.

---

And he’d kept taking Jason out, on dates and on trips to make his wardrobe feel like him, and that’s what landed them on the subway that morning. They’d gotten as far as they could on public transport, then clasped hands and slipped into the shadows.

“What’s with the scarf?” Jason tugged at the bottom of the bandanna once they settled into the familiar comfort of Cabin 13. Nico untied it to let Jason take a closer look, and to get the fabric off of his neck. It was, other than Jason himself, the brightest spot in the room. That felt like a pretty apt metaphor.

Gods, Nico didn’t want to admit it. He was working on being able to talk about his feelings, but it still sucked every time.

Jason never made fun of him, though. Nico took comfort in that fact as he staunchly refused to make eye contact, instead focusing on taking out and folding the new black skinny jeans he’d gotten to replace his old black skinny jeans. (He’d been wearing the old ones last time he attempted the climbing wall. It hadn’t gone well.)

“You like color.” It wasn’t a real explanation, he knew, but it was all that would come out at the moment. Nico smoothed away a few more wrinkles in the jeans.

“I like the way you dress, too, though. You look really good in black.”

Nico hid his reddening face behind his hair as he shoved the meticulously folded jeans into the drawer with the rest of his balled-up pants. He knew that. Jason, once he realized that it wouldn’t scare Nico away, was not shy with compliments. Nico knew very well how much Jason liked the way he looked. It was a lot sometimes, but it was… nice. It was really nice.

“I. Thanks.” Nico took in a breath and shut the dresser drawer, then stood up and let it out. He could do this. He turned toward Jason, who was still holding the bandanna. It almost blended in with the light blue of Jason’s new shirt. They weren’t exactly the same shade, but they were close enough to suit Nico’s purposes.

“We look really different. And that’s okay, I’m happy that you’re finding clothes that you like. But we don’t…” Nico walked over and took the bandanna from Jason’s hands to better demonstrate his point. “We look really different,” he ended up repeating. “And I just wanted.” It was suddenly hard to form words around the lump in his throat. When had that gotten there? This wasn’t a big deal, what was he even upset about?

“Can I hold your hand?”

Nico looked up. Jason had a hand extended to him and obvious concern furrowing his brow. Nico stepped past the hand and fitted his body against Jason’s instead. Without other people around, he didn’t have to worry about spite or jealousy or whatever motivating him. Everything was a lot simpler when it was just the two of them. Nico could take what comfort he wanted.

Jason wrapped his arms around Nico, just like he knew he would.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Nico mumbled into the blushy cloud on Jason’s shirt. It still smelled like the mall.

“The scarf looked nice on you, but you don’t need to wear color to be beautiful.”

Nico groaned and buried his face in his boyfriend’s chest. “I know.” He was starting to feel stupid for his insecurity. Jason didn’t act like this for anyone else, why would a few stares bother him? The arms around him tightened.

“Besides, I think we look cute together like this.”

Nico looked up at him without bothering to step back at all. His chin was probably digging into Jason’s sternum, but that was Jason’s fault for being so tall. Jason looked down to meet his eyes and smiled.

(Nico was never, ever going to tell him how funny he looked from this angle.)

“Mismatching is cute, Piper keeps telling me that. It’s cute to wear mismatched socks. I think we’re cute together.”

Nico snorted. “I saw Piper’s bunk on the Argo II, I think she just can’t find matching socks.”

Jason pulled a face. “You might have a point. But Piper had one, too. A little variety and a little difference is good.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Nico’s hairline. “I think we look perfect together.”

“Sap.” The hug and the conversation and the visual angle all made Nico feel a lot better. Or maybe it was just being around Jason, honestly. Having honest conversations.

Maybe talking about his feelings wasn’t the worst.

The next day, the two of them had plans to head to New Rome to visit friends and work on Pontifex business. They were supposed to meet up at Thalia’s tree after breakfast and packing.

As usual, Jason was already waiting when Nico climbed up the hill. He smiled at Nico and extended a hand for him to take.

He was wearing one of the shirts they’d found yesterday—a pink button down with little dinosaurs printed all over it—under a denim jacket that had probably started its life black, but had faded into a dark grey over the years.

That was new. As in, that was new since yesterday afternoon. Nico would have remembered a jacket like that. He took Jason’s hand, but didn’t stop staring at the jacket.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Huh?” Jason brought his other hand up to fiddle with one of the buttons on the jacket, and Nico noticed that his nails had been messily painted black.

It looked… He looked…

“Oh! The jacket.” Jason laughed and it sounded a little nervous. “It’s Piper’s, actually, but she said I could have it. It was too big for her anyway, she was just planning on cutting it up for one of her projects. Said I’d get more use out of it.”

Nico stepped forward and ran his free hand over the denim. He didn’t comment on Jason’s obvious nerves.

“I like it,” he said. “You look good.”

Jason’s shoulders relaxed and he gave Nico a little grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?” he asked. This effort alone was enough to squash like, half of Nico’s insecurities, but this wouldn’t do any good if he were limiting Jason’s self-expression just like the Camps did.

“I do. It makes me feel more connected to someone pretty important to me.”

“Good.” Nico smiled at him. “I’m gonna steal it so often.”

“Hey! That defeats the purpose!”

Nico’s hand wandered to the jacket’s collar and he tugged on it, urging Jason downward. “Hmm,” he hummed into a kiss. “I’ll give it back sometimes. Don’t worry.”

Jason was smiling like a dope. He wound his free arm around Nico’s waist.

“That’s okay, then. We can share.”

Nico liked the sound of that. He kissed Jason one last time and tugged him into the shadows.

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #prompt: color matching #fanfiction #jasico #thunderworld #that ship name just tickles me. it's delightful! i love a good portmanteau!#my writing #mj talks #and i am finally starting to post my bingo prompts #i think i'm gonna get a bingo! despite the fact that this is the first one i'm putting out into the world!#i have another one completely finished and two more that are far enough along to give me hope #and they're all in a row baybee. diagonal straight through the middle using a free space.#it kinda feels like cheating to use the free space but like. with a full time job and an active social life and adhd we take the wins we ca #I FORGOT TO ADD THE FUCKING. TEXT. THE FIC. I MEANT TO ADD A LINK AND THEN THE FIC ITSELF.#whoops lol

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