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bakugoushotwife · 5 months

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blessing and curse

summary: yuuji is a wonderful boyfriend...you just wish he was able to fuck you... warnings: post shibuya, aged up duh, yuuji struggles with ptsd, night terrors, as well as anxiety, you both see therapists, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, fem!reader, pet names, (pretty girl, baby, cutie, etc), rough sex. wc: 3k a/n: this is my first yuuji piece nom nom nom i'm actually obsessed and soaking wet tbh i'm thinking thoughts for yuuji.........anyway to my lovely requester i hope you enjoy this <;3 jjk masterlist here

yuuji feels things very intensely. it’s a blessing and a curse, though the latter is more often experienced than the former. guilt, loss, regret–all things that nearly swallowed him whole while he fought for his friends and the people of japan–for the whole world. it’s so hard to be him, to live with what he carries on his shoulders–on his soul. he’s unloveable. he’s the one who caused all of the pain—things would have been easier if he died. there’s a number of people whose lives ended because of and for him. he was only just adjacent to a murderer. months after the fighting ceased and the war was won, he would wake up numerous times through the night with night terrors. he couldn’t even call them nightmares because they weren’t fabrications of his imagination. they were all too real memories that kept making their rounds–reminding him that he would be forever burdened with a layer of hell no one else could claim to know about.

he met you in the waiting room of his therapist’s office. he remembers seeing you and wondering what you could be talking to his specialist about. it meant you also had to be a sorcerer—clearly he couldn’t see a normal one about his specific traumas and baggage, and apparently neither could you. he remembers not even knowing you and his heart still hurting for the pretty young girl that must be hurting like him. he remembers hoping that you hadn’t been through anything like what he had—the anxious voice in the back of his mind wondering if somehow he caused your pain via sukuna’s rampages or the destruction and death that followed him. he remembers you meeting his eyes on a seemingly unremarkable thursday afternoon, catching him in the middle of one of his staring way too long episodes. you narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at him in amusement.

the rest was easy. you were easy to talk to, to admire, to hold, to love. you made him feel intense things in a good way–in a way he had nearly given up on. his world had slowly become a mixed palette of blacks and whites and muted grays–but your smile brought color back. your touch made vivid purples and yellows; your laughter the brightest of pinks and the most warm oranges. you became the blessing where he was the curse, the savior of a damned man bound to paint on smiles and pretend that sacrificing his soul and everyone he’s ever loved was worth it. now he felt unimaginable comfort and love by getting to know you. his smiles weren’t so fake anymore—and the only things that woke him in the night was losing you. truly the only fear that yuuji itadori has left: cursing his blessing.

you thought he was the best boyfriend around and an even better man. you’ve slowly but surely unraveled the reason he was visiting the therapist through his eventual opening up to you and telling you just a fraction of what he’s experienced in his life and you can understand his intimacy issues. see…yuuji is easy to love. he’s wonderful, attentive, sweet, careful, strong and chivalrous. but he won’t fuck you. you’re too nervous to push him any further—all too aware of his fears of letting anyone in, of loving and showing that in ways that make you vulnerable. he’s all too conscious of what it would mean—of the danger he would be putting you in.

there’s been many times here lately that you’ve thought that line will finally be crossed—heavy petting and make-outs that get you squirming in his lap and soaking through your panties. it always goes this way, no matter how innocent the two of you try to keep your dates. move night, game night, even cooking together ends up with yuuji’s tongue down your throat and his hands under your shirt. tonight is no different, some youtube video plays in the background—a forgotten video game walkthrough that yuuji had been paying careful attention to until you leaned in to rip it away with those teasing kisses to his jaw. you know exactly what buttons to press after four months of nothing past second base driving you to a point of restlessness.

you just wanted him to see your perseverance. you would do this for as long as it takes, anything to prove that you’re here to stay. you want to make him comfortable enough to tear those walls down—the ones that make his eyes flutter shut and his hands fist at his pants in order to keep them to himself. his eyes close to will himself to concentrate on something–anything—other than the feeling of your warm lips tracing his pulse, smooth fingers sliding under his shirt to outline the dips and muscles of his torso. it’s not that he doesn’t want to this, he craves you like nothing ever before. your touch is the medicine bringing him back to life, but he can’t allow himself to ruin you—taint you. but as you move into his lap and change your kisses to more intense nips and sucks at his skin, his body betrays his mind. he can feel the blood rush to his cock as your thighs trap him beneath you, and he moans out at the same time you do. the pressure of your clothed cunt sitting against his needy dick has his hands moving before he can tell himself to stop. he grabs your waist, accidentally and automatically rutting up against the friction you offer with a hiss.

“fuck, cutie.” he groans, your lips covering his parted and pouty ones to keep him from protesting further. his fingers only dig into your side as the two sides of his mind argue with each other. he wants you badly, your body slotted against his perfectly and the way you kiss him like you’re trying to touch his soul drives him crazy. anyone with a girlfriend as hot as you would be a fucking idiot to keep denying himself of her. his hands knead the warm flesh of your body as an instinct, his body knowingly responding to your advances. his tongue slides over yours in a frenzy, his head becoming fuzzy as saliva trails down his chin—something in him telling him to stop when his hands slide upwards to palm your chest. you cry out at the feeling—so starved for his affection that you know you’re soaking wet already. just his rough hands scraping over your sensitive nipples sends you into rutting rhythmic circles of your hips over the tent in his pants, breaking your sloppy kiss in order to remove your shirt fully in a silent show of what you wanted to happen next.

“aw baby—you know i can’t,” he whines, his lips swollen and even pinker than usual. he drops his hold to your hips, making comforting circles over the bone beneath his grasp. your face drops to instant heartbreak and he can feel his own heart try to rip itself apart for making you so sad. he never thought about how this must affect you, a woman with needs and desires for her boyfriend. he knows this can’t last much longer or he’ll lose you anyway. the room is just a mixture of your heavy breathing and the monotone droning of the tv for a few moments, and then you whine in retaliation, picking up his hand and moving it back to your breast. you search his eyes, seeing the fear flickering in those brown embers of his. you just need to show him there’s nothing to be scared of, that you need him worse than you need the oxygen in this room and would do anything for him today and forever.

“yuuji,” you gasp out in such a voice that he knows he won’t be able to hold back this time. four months of seeing your body in your cute date outfits and in his shirt after you’ve spent the night; the feeling of your curves under his fingers as he guides you to the safe side of the sidewalk or the swell of your hip as he guides you through the door he’s just opened—four months of draining his balls after he’s sent you home with nothing more than a few wet kisses and tit-squeezes. the way your eyes shine like you’re about to cry if he denies you one last time…it’s too much. “please—i need you,” you breathe out, reaching those gorgeously soft hands out to sweep against his cheeks, to plead with him to be a good boyfriend. he can’t make you suffer any longer—”i need you so bad yuuji, please don’t push me away…i’m your forever girl!”

oh fuck. he might cum in his pants from hearing that alone. suddenly, silence falls upon his mind. he can only hear the echoes of your cries for him–no more voices in his head arguing about the best way to continue, only you. a guttural groan rips from his throat and he stands with your legs wrapped around his body, a broad hand snaking up your back to keep you pressed against him. you squeal a little at the sudden shift and the deep growl that he let out, his face now devoid of that playful man you’ve come to love. he looks so focused, so serious, his brow furrowed as he looks over your face.

“i’m sorry i made you wait so long, pretty girl.” he nods, letting your body bounce on the bed as he’s set on immediately removing the remainder of your clothes. he pulls you to the edge, legs dangling over the sides. you almost think it must be too good to be true, sitting up on your elbows to catch a glimpse of that ravenous fire consuming his previously kind eyes. he’s leaned back to peel his own clothes off, but his eyes never leave your body. he looks over your lip pinched between your teeth to your pebbled nipples to the glistening slick coating your inner thighs. he doesn’t even know where to start, but he’s going to ensure that you’re finally taken care of. “i’m a dumbass—thought i was keeping you safer like that.” he mutters, leaning over to kiss the space between your ribcage. he makes his way to your jaw, licking a hungry stripe between your breasts and claiming your neck with bruising nips at the delicate flesh that greeted him.

you’re set to mewling immediately, the flip switched in your boyfriend making you rub your legs together in anticipation. he chuckles and you can feel him smile against your skin as his hand snakes down to keep you from squirming. he quickly pecks your lips. “m gonna make it up to you now, baby girl.” his eyes are wide, but glazed over with affection. you nod, feeling his strong fingers dig into the supple flesh of your thigh to keep you from closing them, his abs raking over your sensitive clit as he lowers himself to his knees at the foot of the bed. your face burns as you realize what he’s going to do, but he doesn’t give you time to think about it before turning your mind to mush from the feeling of his fat tongue splitting your lips apart and breaching your tiny hole. he seems pleased by the way you react—back arching off the bed and hands gripping at the sheets from the surprising burn. it’s a good burn, the kind you’ve been craving for the months you’ve been with a man who loves you like he does, your wanton moans just cementing that his choice was the right one. he’s growing addicted to this already; your flavor on his tongue, your moans echoing in his ears and your thighs pressing in to the sides of his face. he feels your silky walls clamp down on his tongue, making his eyes roll back at the thought of putting his dick in something so tight. he slurps at the arousal slipping out, sliding his tongue to the hardened bud waiting at the top of your cunt. he wraps his tongue around your clit, making you jolt at the sudden increase in sensation. it’s amazing—goosebumps prickle out over your skin and you reach down to tug at the silky pink locks woven between your fingers. you can feel every nerve running through your body and how it builds with a fiery pleasure that you know only yuuji can give you. “oh my god—yuuji!” you cry out as that pleasure mounts to a tipping point. his teeth scrape against your hood to encourage you to fall over that line so he can see what he’s been denying you of for four achingly long months.

you make the sweetest face when you cum, it has him closing a fist around his own dick to calm himself—the promise of having your pussy making him jerk at his own touch. you even sound so pretty as you shatter, legs jerking and your grip on his hair yanking almost painfully hard. it only makes yuuji smile wider, feeling a bubbly sense of satisfaction ripple in his own gut from making you feel so good.

“nngh, yuuji–” you whine, your vision returning to normal after a few seconds of respite. he’s already pushing you back to the pillows, manhandling you into the bent position he wanted. you’re on your back, knees by your ears and a boyfriend giving you no time to be anxious about the angry and leaky horsecock sliding through your folds. you thought he was a sweet man, and maybe he still is–but his own excitement to have you has him forgetting his normal chivalrous behavior. “fuck–yuuji!” you claw at his biceps, fighting against that true splitting burn. his tongue was nothing compared to the girth he pierces you with—and he’s smiling so tenderly at your wiggling and struggling.

“s’okay, cutie. you can take it, you’re already taking it!! didn’t you ask me to?” he raises a brow, face flashing with mock-confusion as your hands shove at his chest, all in an effort to get used to the feeling of him inside you. his thumb brushes your cheek, his other hand keeping the back of your thigh shoved back. “nyeh—you begged me! come on pretty girl–you gotta loosen up!” he laughs airily, moving the hand from your face back down to pinch and roll your aching clit. you jump at first, the touch sending another jolt of pleasure circulating to your brain–and then you relax enough for him to move. he’s got you folded in such a way that you can hardly breathe–or maybe that’s from how he slams into you recklessly, tip catching on your poor, innocent, cervix each time. it hurts, it burns everywhere—but it’s the best feeling in the world. his breathing grows ragged once he settled into a pace, brutally slamming into you in a way that led you to believe he wasn’t doing this on accident.

soon, your hands around his biceps slip to your sides, eyes lulling into a pleasure-induced haze. you watch him, the twitch of his nose and the way his hair gets curly once it sticks to his forehead from his sweat. he’s perfect, and he’s finally giving you all of himself, really devoting himself to you, conquering any fear. you don’t mind if you’ll be bedridden for the next week—feeling his heavy cock in your chest from how hard he ruts into you—it would be well worth it to hear his grunts and whimpers of satisfaction, to feel the bruising grip he has on your body like he’s afraid you might disappear. it’s all so good, and exactly like you craved. “there she goes—takin’ it like a champ now!” he cheers you on, panting a little as he leans over your body and grabs the headboard, deepening his angle as if he wasn’t already fucking you brainless.

the new angle makes your jaw drop in absolute earth-shattering bliss. you two could be the only people left on earth and you would never know—to consumed in yuuji itadori to notice anything else. you’re back to pawing at his chest, the coil in your gut building rapidly as he fucks into you like his life depends on it. you wanted everything, he’ll make sure he gives you everything. the headboard creaks, the bed moans with you and you truly do worry he might break it for a split second–but his broken moan of your name swallows up any wandering thoughts. a bead of sweat slides down the slope of his nose before it drops onto your cheek, the evidence of his hardwork. he moans your name again, warning you that the end was approaching. you nod as he moves your legs to his shoulders, leaning as close as possible to wrap you in his arms and kiss you in short, desperate bursts. he treasures you more than he thought possible, that look you give him right before your eyes roll back into your head from your orgasm makes his own dick jump within your vice-grip of a cunt. you make that sweet face again, a face he knows he’s hooked on—your pussy spasming around him to welcome his fat load gets him to make his own kind of special and beautiful face, lip between his teeth and adam’s apple bobbing at the same pace his balls slap into your backside. you swear you can feel his heart beating, his lungs filling and emptying as he flattens his chest to yours and fills your guts with his loving cum. he keeps thrusting even after he’s done, just watching your face contort and shift, your body bouncing in his arms. he likes the ache of overstimluation, and loves the way you mewl and hug him, eyes all sleepy and far away.

“that’s it, you did it, so so good.” he praises in a soft tone, kissing your lips and then your nose and then your forehead with equal adoration. “can’t believe i kept us from feeling like that!” he shakes his head, kissing your cheeks to continue showering you in his love if not to keep you awake. he sits back up and slides out of you, quickly snatching his t-shirt up to catch the spillage. it’s hot, watching his seed trickle from your abused pussy—he whines a little at the sight, puppy dog eyes flickering over your body as if to wonder if you could take another round…

now that you’ve gotten him to start, you may never get him to stop.

#kyleewritesjjk #jjk x reader #yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #yuuji smut #itadori x reader #jjk yuji x reader #yuuji x fem!reader

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jewelleria · 3 months

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I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be.

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate.

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified.

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map.

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle.

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more.

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop.

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments.

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on.

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not.

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways.

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine.

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war.

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this:

I am a Jew.

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love.

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners.

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee!

Then they sent me this:

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die.

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind.

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake.

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired.

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people?

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews.

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like.

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for.

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war.

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why.

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be.

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

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starlightandsunshine · 7 months

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I am apparently in the mood to choose violence and post Star Wars takes that would probably get me lynched if I had more followers.

But hey: the clones shouldn’t be Mando. I’m tired of Mando clones and I think they should be allowed to pick and choose what they want their culture to be based off what they say and what has meaning for them.

They hear the Mando trainers talking about colours having meaning so they take that. But they make their own meanings

White is family and home bc their armour is white and kamino is white and everything growing up was white and so white means each other

Cream and brown are peace and compassion bc those are the colours the Jedi wear and that is what the Jedi stand for

Blue and green are protection and defence because those are lightsabre colours and that is what they are used for

Orange is ferocity bc Shaak Ti’s skin is orange and she is calm and kind but the first thing she did was stop decommissioning and she has has never stopped being fierce in their defence

Purple is determination because the only purple lightsabre they’ve seen belongs to Mace Windu and he is never anything but determined to save as many people as possible

Like stop making everything about the clones Mando and start making them associate things with what they know and holds meaning for them. Fives calls the Jedi the clones best friends so let the clones assign meaning to things they associate with the Jedi bc the Jedi didn’t hesitate to love and trust them and offered nothing but compassion and friendship

Let death be about the ocean bc they come from a water planet

Let fighting be about fighting for something not about winning against something bc their generals always talk in terms of protection and saving innocents rather than making it about victory and winning battles

Let winning the war not be about winning but about making peace and let their thoughts about after not be about “protecting the generals” but about being able to learn and grow and discover what it means not to have to fight

I’m just so tired of clone culture being all about Mandalorians and fandom Mandos that have little basis in canon and even less association with the clones when there is so much else you can do with them with just a little thought

#Star Wars #clones #tcw #sw tcw #please no more Mando clones #I begging you to come up with something else #let Sabine have mandalorian storylines and meanings #let the clones have something that belongs to them

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queer-little-demigod · 2 months

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Hi lea!!!! Can you write about an clarisse la true x apollo!reader

Clarisse got in trouble for something (what's new tho) and got a punishment of helping out with the little demigods art class for 2 weeks (or however long) the volunteer teacher is reader. At first Clarisse did NOT wanna be there she acted like a baby for the first few days but after she got more involved and started to understand she enjoyed it (she would never admit it), she started talking to the kids more (she totally has favorites, reader has to constantly tell her dont be so obvious about her favorites 😭) it got to a point where the kids would start talking to her outside of class. Also Clarisse definitely doesn't develop a crush on reader. AT ALL. SHE DEFINITELY HATES HOW PASSIONATE SHE IS ABOUT THE KIDS AND ART AND HOW GOOD SHE IS WITH KIDS SHE DOESN'T THINK ITS CUTE AT ALL. SHE DOESNT THINK OF THAT CLASS AS ONE BIG FAMILY. I mean what???? Who said that???

Anyways when it's time for her to go reader takes some of the kids to make a goodbye sign for clarisse; clarisse takes her 100% not favorite kid on a secret mission to make an 'I'm staying' sign. Then reader and Clarisse present them at the same time and it's all cutesy!! After class, reader asks clarisse on a date via showing her a pain she drew of them on a date and hopes she gets the message!

Thank you! :)

you got an artist inside you - clarisse la rue

summary where clarisse finds herself falling in love with a girl over paintbrushes and a punishment

fic type fluff

pairing clarisse la rue x fem!apollo!reader

word count 1.8k

warnings none

The camp was usually sleepy, quiet, and mostly empty apart from a few stray campers training here and there. But with summer already beating down with a burning force, it was full of kids running around, training left right and center, and all-in-all just general chaos.

So with the burning heat came grumpy older campers, which meant fights.

And a fight at lunch is what led to Clarissa having to help the younger campers with art class, with the co-teacher being none other than you, Y/n L/n, counsellor of the Apollo cabin. Additionally and otherwise known as the girl Clarisse was smitten with.

"Clarisse La Rue if you don't stop whining like that right now, I am going to smack you," you grumbled in utter frustration for the fifth time that hour, when she complained to you about some kid not cutting the paper the way it was supposed to be cut.

For a child of the god of war, she was such a wuss sometimes.

"But they're not following-" she began to protest, but a smack upside the head with a roll of wrapping paper shut her up.

"They're seven year olds in a summer camp art class," you emphasised on those facts. "They're gonna do their own thing!"

This was how the first few days went. She complained, you disciplined both her and the kids. But once she got used to the whole routine of you both giving instructions and the final products having irritatingly distinct variations, she cooled down.

If this was going to be a punishment for the next two weeks, she might as well enjoy it.

The art room, as usual, was a mess. Glitter was everywhere, coloured pencils were strewn around, papers were on the floor, blackened and trampled on. The strong scent of glue made everyone a bit woozy, and there was enough shouting for supplies across the table to give even the calmest camper a sensory overload.

Clarisse sat in the danger zone where the most glitter was being thrown around and spilled, and her soft skin was already glimmering with purple and red glitter as she tried restoring order. However, instead of yelling as usual she was laughing along with the little kids.

One kid in particular, you noticed, she helped far more than the others. A Hephaestus kid named Dennis, who was the sweetest little thing with big, round glasses and bronze hearing aids that you had Charlie customise so they looked like metal elf ear tips.

You pulled Clarissa aside and scolded her with a smile, “Clar, you cannot pick favourites!”

Clarissa loved your smile with everything she had. So naturally, she was so captivated by it that she didn't hear you the first time. Nor did she register the scolding.

"Excuse me, but Dennis deserves special treatment--" She began, but you cut her off.

"No, he's just like the other kids, okay? Just make sure you don't pick favourites, please," you sighed and walked away, going back to showing the kids how to make paper butterflies.

But you're my favourite, she thought to herself. She wished she had the courage to say it out loud, admit her feelings for you, but she couldn't.

Later, as time went by, as days of standing in clouds of glitter and glue fumes began and ended, Clarisse found that she was apparently likeable. After classes, during training, during dinner, she'd have little kids pulling her sleeve to talk to her, she'd have kids randomly hugging her at odd times of the day, or giving her small artworks like a wonky bird or a odd-looking Cerebrus. It shocked the campers beyond belief.

But for you it just made your love for her grow.

One day during class, a Demeter kid named Flora started to cry because glitter went into her eye. You rushed over immediately and helped her up, holding her in your arms as you took her to the basin to clean her up.

"Shh, don't cry, baby, it's okay, I'm gonna wash it out, alright?" You said softly.

"Guys, focus on your work, Flo's fine," Clarisse said, clapping her hands to direct the staring kids back to work, her eyes fixed on you as you washed Flora's eyes with water gently, telling her that she should not to go so close to the page when blowing glitter off in the softest voice the child of war had ever heard.

You were so gentle, like the softest summer breeze which didn't make the leaves rustle, but cooled one's warming skin. You were so precious, with your soft smile and loving words. Your voice was sweet like honey, no matter who you talked to or how.

If your voice was bottled, she swore to the gods that she'd get drunk on it every night.

"You okay, champ?" She asked, gently ruffling Flora's soft brown hair as the girl sat down. "You're a strong girl, aren't you? Showed that stupid glitter it's place."

You giggled at the way she spoke, covering your mouth with your hand to hide it. It was ridiculously obvious that Clarisse thought the kids in the art class were like family, and it was genuinely so adorable.

Seeing her like this, curly hair pulled back in her red bandanna, arms splattered with paint here and there, with glitter shining off her smooth caramel skin with every movement she made into the light, lit up something inside of you. Seeing her without her usual scowl, pulling funny faces with the kids as she showed them how to draw a monster, made your heart beat twice as fast.

However, two weeks went by with heartbreaking speed, and before she knew it, she was in Chiron's office, listening to him gleefully say she was officially un-grounded.

But honestly? She didn't share his happiness.

Nor did you.

"What?! Already!?" You exclaimed that evening as you sat in your cabin at your desk, which had plans put out for what to make for the next art class.

"Yeah," she grumbled, lounging on your bed. "I hate it."

"That's rough, but it's okay, you can always hop in to volunteer,"

"What do we tell the little ones?"

"The truth?"

"You're fucking crazy if you think they'll go with it,"

"I'm out of options, Clar," you leaned back in your chair and put your hands over your eyes. "I love that class, and I love teaching art."

"I know, and as much as I hate to admit it," she sat up. "So do I."

The very next day, Clarisse rushed to Chiron and begged him to let her stay for that class. Even going to lengths that she told him how she felt for you.

"Fine," he relented. "You can stay with the class for as long as you'd like,"

She'd never run to the forges to find a kid so fast.

"Beckendorf!" She exclaimed, looking at the cabin counselor. "Hey, where's Dennis?"

The boy looked around, and his eyes landed on Dennis, who was inquisitively watching one of his half-sisters mold a few practice swords, helping occasionally with putting the swords in water.

"Dennis!" Beckendorf exclaimed, "Clarisse wants to talk to you!"

Dennis immediately ran over, grinning broadly, showing his gap-toothed smile. "Hi, Clarisse!" He said, excitedly.

"Hey there, big boy!" She smiled back, giving him a high five. "So listen, I'm going to need your insane artistic skills and your help..."

While you did help the other kids make a 'goodbye' sign for Clarisse, on the side you decided to confront your feelings.

You knew you liked her from the beginning, from when you first saw her infectious smile, from when you heard her deep laugh reverberating through the empty Apollo cabin on days where you both would plan lessons.

She held the key to your heart, she knew her way past your walls. She clearly also knew how to remain in your thoughts, subconscious and conscious, to the point where you found yourself in the art studio, canvas on an easel before you.

Thoughts of her, of feeling her coarse, battle-worn hands on your skin, of gazing into those deep brown eyes which were like the colour of the rain-kissed earth, and when she fought were like the evening sun, golden enough to put the wings of Icarus to shame, made your paintbrush move. It made your colours flow like the blood in your veins, made each stroke perfect enough to create the scene you most desired on the canvas in front of you.

You stepped back once you felt the need to express yourself flow away, gazing at the canvas. A scene it held, and what a scene indeed. The sky was cornflower blue, a cloudless day, with the sun’s rays shining down on a big oak tree. The leaves were paler as the golden light kissed the surface, casting sharp shadows on the pillowy grass.

But then there was vivid orange and red, a flash of bronze. In the foreground there sat both you and Clarisse, the latter having more detail than any part of the drawing.

Then the dreaded day came where you all had to say goodbye to her.

The little ones were devastated, not letting Clarisse go anywhere without following her around like baby ducklings, making her explain to them that she's not going away from camp, she's just not going to teach them anymore.

At the end of the final class, just as everyone unveiled the 'we'll miss you' poster, she and Dennis revealed their 'I'm Staying' poster, causing a loud, thunderous cheer to erupt from all of you.

Later, you pulled her aside to give her your canvas painting.

Nerves wracked your body, your palms began to sweat.

When was the last time you had felt this nervous? It was probably your cello recital the day you had come to camp...

"Holy shit, Y/n this looks absolutely amazing!" Clarisse exclaimed, taking the painting in her hands.

She didn't miss the detail you had given her, drawing her angelically, despite her thinking she was the opposite. It was so well done that the brush strokes weren't even visible.

Please get the message, you blockheaded, oblivious fool...you thought.

Deciding to act against your nerves, you asked her in a shaky voice, "That's a painting of us on a date...would you like to go on one with me sometime?"

Clarisse's heart stopped. Had you just asked her out on a date?

She was at a loss for words, they didn't touch her tongue, nor did they pass her lips. She stood there, speechless, gaping at you for a moment too long.

"I mean, I get it, you're probably not even a les--" you began, but a pair of gentle lips on yours silenced your words.

Sparks flew, butterflies went haywire, your brain short-circuited. You didn't know what to doo, just stood there frozen with shock. Kissing the girl you had liked for the last few months now.

Clarisse, however, was ecstatic. Her mind was a burst of colour, her body was ablaze. She felt like she had wings, and her heart was taking her up, up, up.

Once she pulled away, she winked at your blushing face and dopey grin.

"It's a date, L/n."

hi, it's me! lea! i hope you enjoyed this long overdue oneshot <3 requests are open via dms or asks!

#clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue fluff #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue #x fem!reader #first request #requested #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #you got an artist inside you #fluff imagine

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thementalshawty · 1 month

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PAC The Aura You Give Off

HAYLOWWWWWWW welcome back lol I’m here with a quick PAC cos we’re almost there to 2000 followers oooop our tarot event is near!!! So to celebrate my 1985 followers huh isn’t that a Taylor Swift album? 🤔 anyways I’m here to let you guys know and see what kind of vibes you give off. I feel A lot of you like anime! I was pulled to anime images for this PAC and you guys know I do emojis. I also feel Red, Blue,Teal, & Purple are inportant to some of you or are actually the color of some of your auras they can be your favorite colors too maybe that’s how you should choose your pile? Some of you I heard!! Anyways let’s get this going you know this is a GENERAL reading take what resonated and the let the rest ROLL off it’s for someone else!!! Okay bitches let’s fuccin GOOOOOOOOOOO

Pile I

Yo this is deep and intense, I feel that’s the vibe you give off. You give off a death and resurrection vibes, the beginning and end the alpha and omegas I feel like there is plutonic energy about you guys, very scorpionic vibes. Some of you like black or are night owls. I get tortured soul vibes from you, very grungy. But so upbeat positive, unique, rare and goofy it’s like a goth singing 1000 miles by Vanessa Carlton I’m getting those vibes, pink and black vibes. You guys have been through so much shit! You guys give off defeated but thugging through with a smile vibe, happy go lucky. Sunshine on a rainy day I heard. You guys are a cloudy day but it’s still sunny. Very uranian energy too, you guys stand out and I feel you guys suffer for it. Very fun and outspoken. Outgoing! Risk takers and that’s gotten you guys into some deep trouble but you rose out of it! You guys give off soldier through war ptsd fighting for a happy ending vibes some of you have fake it til you make it vibes. Some of you. People see that you’re a warrior who’s been defeated but you’re not afraid of starting over from 0. The baddest period. Some of you may have sun in Gemini ♊️ which means happy birthdays gem babies!!! You’re unique be you and don’t worry about the pain you are the happy go lucky baby you will be ok!! You’re very strong you’ve died and came back so many times the transformations you’ve went through are endless.

Pile II

Ooof! So this pile gives off selfish bitchery vibes, you guys seem so motherly, maternal, paternal, parental, loving. Very caring and sweet but I think you give off insincere vibes like you have to give something to get something from you. I also feel people feel like some of you are players or that you’re heartbreakers, you’re very helpful I feel but people may be reluctant to take your help? Some of you may be Taurus moons?? You like money, luxury, having things, people can assume you’re bougie or stuck up!! You are very careful with who you help, again this is why people may assume the worst about you. You guys are very grounded and earthlyd. I feel like you guys have a lot and you worked for that shit! A lot of you are self made and I heard jealous! They are very fucking jealous of you! Your whole vibe and energy shit what you got too! Even if you don’t physically or materially have a lot. They want what you got, you just have it! youre the it boys/girls/its/thems! You got a lot of haters ! People try to make you guys out to be “better than them”. Idgaf that’s cos you are! You’re regal 👸🏽 🤴🏽 👑. They can’t take you and I feel like you guys defend yourself! You guys are hella motivational too you wanna see your people succeed & make it. You’re a cheerleader cos you clawed your way and fought tooth and nail I heard to make it happen for you and I am all happy for you guys I’m rooting for y’all to keep going fuck the haters and the ones that have negative thoughts Ik know getting the vibe of this guarded energy that people are mistaking for selfishness and that’s on them. Some of your guides are talking and they have attitude and I’m here for it! They don’t play about you and I think it’s cos they know what you had to go through to have what you have so protect that shit with everything regardless of how little or how much you think you have. You have a lot! I love this vibe p2. You are tight as fucc. I love you! Stay true and even if you’re bougie stay having high standards! Stay classy

Pile III

So this pile is a little sad, you guys give sad boy/girl/them vibes. It seems like you guys are very sentimental but you give off the vibe of being stuck in nostalgia if that makes sense. You can be the ones that still wear 90’s style clothes or listen to that music. lol I’m hearing still trying to make fetch work so maybe some of you like mean girls. Gretchen wieners I think her name was right? anyways you guys give off that vibe of being trapped when you’re not really trapped. You guys get into your head a lot! Some of you maybe Scorpio suns and Gemini Jupiters it can even be vice versa. I’m seeing that you’re over-thinkers and when you start thinking bout old times you can travel way back into your memories. Jupiter has to do with expansion and Gemini is mercurial mental energy so I feel like with that you guys are the biggest over-thinkers of this reading! You guys can stretch a thought for miles long! I feel like you’re hella intelligent too! You’re intense and you’re giving, romantic, sweet. You make everyone feel like they’ve met you somewhere before. You give have familiarity vibes. It’s just so easy with you I feel you can make others feel at ease and hella comfortable with you. Your aura and vibe is homely very warm like similar to p2 but more humbling. You’re generous. Kind. I feel like your aura is kind of trapped in a happy dream vibes. I heard happyland? I feel you guys are emotionally invested in your happy memories and good times. I feel in a past life you were trapped in some way. I also think you give off the vibe of being trapped so maybe some of you jail? I’m thinking that a lot of you think you’re deeper shit than you are, a lot of you feel like you’re trapped and you’re truly not. You just have to be grateful for those memories and create more, maybe you’re afraid to leave that happy space but there is a world beyond those happy memories! You’ll be surrounded by so much more happiness creating present love and happiness for yourself!

Pile IV

Okay! So I’m seeing that some of you may be some Aries sun and mercury Virgos. My roasters of this entire reading! You know how to read a bitch down hunny! I’m seeing that you are a wholesome and fulfilled person, who doesn’t rush, you know the value of working hard and waiting for your fruits to grow and ripen. Very family oriented. You know who you are and what you want which is why you don’t rush shit, you know that what’s for you is going to be yours regardless. I feel like this pile here is very humble and confident at the same time! You have a deep balance about you, very passionate yet grounded so you’re not all over the place, it’s controlled. Your circle is little and means the world to you. You are a legacy or you’ll leave behind a legacy honestly! Powerful and passionate energy. I also feel like you know how to manifest this pile gives me magician vibes, you know how to create physical and material things from energy. You’re a great friend; a great hang and a wonderful time. You are amazing and magical, you’re wealth, a lot of you may have wealth or are destined for it, material wealth. You are in charge, you are the boss if there’s a CEO you’re the boss of them; you know what you want and you accept only that nothing less than the best for you. I’m so glad that you have that self love! You’re a leader meant to rule, you give off big boss captain energy. You are meant to have lots of people following your rules or journey maybe admirers? Followers maybe online? I get this vibe that you’re that fighter who never stops punching even when they’re on the ground, you’ve never lost a battle. You’re a champion!

WELP! That’s it guys that’s all! I’m so happy that I can share this cool reading with you guys! Should I do more personal readings like this! I hope that it resonated with you guys and for my patreon group please get your questions in before may ends thank you!

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kiss-me-muchoo · 7 months

Text

𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: I knew you were trouble || part two: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_No richness and benefits from being part of a successful family from District 1 would take away the broken pride of being Coriolanus Snow's second choice. Even worse was the pain of his marriage proposal, and the horrors that happened around the 10th Hunger Games.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_reader is unhinged, she experiments with herself, angst, tears, female rage, Snow actually loves reader (well idk).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_main song for this is I knew you were trouble. Also Valley of the dolls, song added to my Coryo Copito's playlist

♪ ♫ Coryo playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

_________________________________________

Color was unintentionally banned in The Capitol. After the First Rebellion, everyone's wardrobes were full of black, white, cream, brown, maroon, and grey. That would put your shag haircut and purple eyeshadow in the spotlight. Because you were a District 1 girl. And even after moving to The Capitol, luxury would never leave you.

Your father's bodyguard took you to school. And it made you feel like a pampered kid. But that changed after seeing that all of the Academy's students were rich kids.

A lot of students sent deep looks, you want to believe they're just curious. You're not innocent, but you'd avoid trouble as much as you could.

You hated the uniform. The skirt was fine, but the pants under it? It wasn't your style.

Things started getting interesting after Dean Highbottom announced how your classmates and you would be competing for the Plinth Prize. In a few weeks, the process would start. You had to get the best grades. But for now, it was lunchtime.

It was the issue with being the new girl, the cliche of being excluded. Groups of girls, boys, mixed, and a lonely blonde guy.

"Can I sit with you?" He looked around, wondering if you were talking to him or not. Meanwhile, you wondered why you chose to ask. You rarely socialized, and you wrongly expected people to reach you, instead of you making the first move.

"If you want to." He had very intriguing blue eyes. His blonde curls were slightly messy. And overall he was handsome. Although, his tone of voice was a little cold.

"Y/n..." you explained after seeing him looking expectantly, silently asking for your name. He was all ears after hearing your last name.

Except for your scar. A long pink asymmetric line that traveled from your nose to your neck. It made him lock his eyes on your face. But he tried his best to not make it seem obvious. "Coriolanus Snow" your eyes widened. You knew the family Snow was super rich and important. You heard rumors about them now being poor. But those were rumors, and it wasn't your business.

"Well, nice to meet you"

"Shouldn't you be in District 1?"

"My mother is opening a new store here at The Capitol. And my father is getting a lot of jobs. So... it was for the best" he assumed you were as lonely as him. Without any siblings to grow up with. Only the finest commodities to soothe you.

"My cousin can't stop talking about your mother" Tigris would never shut up about it. The fashion designer and owner of "Ametrine Designs". Established shortly after the First Rebellion. Decades ago your family acquired some Mines in Districts 1 and 12, and all the precious stones helped to survive the war and be some of the first people to gain power after it.

" So she likes fashion?" Coriolanus chuckled.

"She certainly does..."

"That's so sweet...What about you?. What do you want to be?" He cleaned his mouth like he was thinking about his answer carefully. And he was, he couldn't help but think you were gorgeous. The girl his grandma'am would love. So he wanted to impress you.

As soon as he watched you enter the classroom and Casca Highbottom introduced you, he couldn't stop looking at you.

"I don't know yet. I just want to help my cousin and grandma'am" he admitted. It came from his heart, and your reaction was what he wanted. You smiled so happily like you thought he was so kind and adorable.

What actually happened, you thought Coriolanus Snow was cute.

"You're going to make me sound so ambitious. I want to go to University. Learn about politics and genetics..." you surprised him. For real...

"You- you want to become... president?" You giggled. Brushing the short hairs on your forehead away.

"It's stupid! I just..." you blushed. And Coriolanus thought he had never seen a pink like the one painting your cheeks.

"No!... It's impressive." He offered a little smile, to which you also replied. And it felt comfortable like it was meant to be.

"Hey uhm... I would love to meet your cousin. And we could sit together tomorrow again?" To Coriolanus, it was a success what he had done. He made you feel like seeing him again. It made him proud, and it made his heart beat faster.

"Yes... Of course" with a sweet smile of yours, you disappeared from the cafeteria.

Less than a minute later, Arachne and Clemensia came with Felix.

"Did the sequin girl feel shame for you? You befriended her, Snow?" He sighed.

"Ara..." Clemmie scolded her. The girl with perfect red lips rolled her eyes.

"I heard his father is running for mayor of the 1. If not, he'll end up in my father's cabinet" Felix explained. Snow looked him in the eyes. It wasn't a surprise that your father was trying to work alongside the president. Just unexpected for Coriolanus and his luck.

"Oh, and the scar on her face was made by a rebel. Apparently, some rebels held her and the family captive. They killed the older brother and tortured her." Arachne gossiped. Clemensia gasped in horror, and Felix seemed disgusted.

"No wonder why she has that exotic appearance. She needs to feel pretty and confident with that thing on her face"

"She's still pretty, Arachne," Clemmie shared. And Felix nodded.

Snow only listened, careful to capture every detail to share in the night with Tigris.

"Doesn't matter. She looks innocent but it's obvious she's just like her mother. Too analytical. Like she could plan and hide a murder" That stuck on Coriolanus for too long. But he liked you already, which never happened. And he thought he could have a friend.

...

Three months later, your mother opened the first "Ametrine Designs" in The Capitol. You invited most of your classmates. By that winter, Clemensia Dovecote, Sejanus Plinth, and Tigris Snow were close friends. Your mother loved Tigris and approved your very close friendship with Coriolanus.

So that night, you were wearing an elegant blue velvet dress, off shoulders and a sheer cape adorned your clavicles. The cape got stuck on a little tree on your patio. Coriolanus helped and soon after he gave you a kiss on the lips.

And as the months passed, it never became official. But the kisses, hands holding, leaning on each other, that happened often.

So now grab him by the entrance of the Academy. He gave you a kiss on the cheek, and the students around watched curiously.

"You look very pretty," he said, looking at your violet coat. Under, you had a vivid red dress and some cranberry boots. Your lips matched your boots and the metallic silver eyes you had made you look so unique.

"But look at you, handsome as always. Tigris made this?" He nodded, letting you fix one of the shirt's buttons.

Clemensia joined you and the blonde guy. But before entering the room where you'd see the Reaping and the announcement of the Plinth Prize winner, you grabbed him by the forearm. "What?" He asked.

"I just hope you win so badly. Just that, Coryo" he smiled, caressing your cheek. Since you were the only one who knew about his economic position, you had only helped him. And he questioned when to pop up the question. Do you want to be his girlfriend?

"What would I do without you?" He asked, before leaning in to kiss you. You reciprocated, holding his free hand. His kisses were slow, yet he always set a pace that made it addictive. And for the first time, his hand on your cheek explored a new place, your hip.

Only that ended sooner as new waves of students could be heard. So you smiled at him after separating. And together, you entered the room.

...

You felt sorry for Coriolanus. After all his efforts, there's a change with the Plinth Prize. And then he receives a District 12 girl to mentor, literally zero hopes.

Then she goes to sing and it makes you giggle, she had a beautiful voice and you liked what she said before leaving. But you kinda felt she was going to be a problem.

Either way, you were more concentrated on why you didn't get a tribute. Until the woman who intimidated you the most appeared.

"Y/n y/l/n." You hear Dr. Gaul says, her intimidating eyes from different colors are set on you.

You gulp before looking up at her, ignoring Arachne's mocking smile.

"Your genetic research was a success. And after correcting the formula you made, I was able to finish my new creation." Your eyes widened. Across the room, Sejanus smiled at you. And Clemmie, sitting beside you, squeezed your hand in support. It was just a stupid idea of altering some snakes.

"No student had ever defied the principles of science like you did. And because of that, you'll help me supervise and modify the games." Sejanus started clapping and soon Clemmie also did, making everyone applaud and cheer for you.

"Oh my god," you said incredulously. Laughing nervously.

"Congratulations," Coriolanus said, also squeezing your hand. You accept his smile and you can't help but hug him briefly.

Things would change. A lot... And for the worse.

...

The first thing you notice is that you haven't visited Coriolanus and Tigris since the Reaping. You barely saw the blondie and you spent most hours locked in the laboratory.

You try to forget the night you saw the game's updates. In your room, putting creams on your scar as you let the air flow through your balcony. Coriolanus was at the zoo with the tributes. You wondered what the hell he did to end up there. He made you feel a little embarrassed. But it was even more awkward to see him holding hands with her, talking to the camera as if they knew and liked each other. You couldn't hate Lucy Gray Baird, but you didn't like her either. What you hated is that Coriolanus seemed to be getting obsessed with winning.

…

"Coryo!" You yelled, spotting the guy coming out of a classroom.

You hug him and his hands land on your waist.

"I've missed you..." you admit with a blush. Trying to make him see that you are still there. Because whether you had some history with him, his little tribute was making you uneasy. "You have been busy," he replies. And you notice his cold tone.

"How is your songbird? Bet she's an annoying rebel..." he sighs. Remembering he had to take Lucy to the arena and form some strategy. But also, what you said was true. Lucy’s voice was so sweet. And she made him feel human.

"She's fine..."

"I can't believe what happened to Arachne" you opt for changing the subject.

"I was there..." you sigh. Maybe you didn't like her at all. But the young woman gave a sarcastic dark twist to every class. And her death was such a tragic event. For her and her tribute.

"Coryo... You have to promise me you'll be careful. The tributes are angry. They hate us. You can't even trust the rainbow girl because she sings you a song" he knew you were right. And he felt so wrong about even thinking about Lucy Gray more than you.

"I know. You're also coming to the arena with us. You won't leave my side..." you nod. And just like that, he takes your hand and takes you home. Even if he didn't have a chauffeur, you'd walk him for days.

...

Coriolanus could recognize your low heels wherever. So he turned to see you entering the arena with two peacekeepers behind you. This time, you were wearing a bright blue dress and purple tights. Immediately he left Lucy Gray and came to greet you.

"Are those new?" Coriolanus asked, pointing at your purple legs. You giggled, happy to see him smiling at you again.

"That's right, dear."

"Listen, I have to take some measurements and make some notes for Gaul." However, he could see you uneasy as you spoke. So he gently grabbed your forearm.

"Hey. Are you okay?" You sighed, closing your eyes. That’s why you missed him so much. Sejanus was busy, and Coriolanus was also busy. You haven’t talked with anyone about Clemensia.

"It's Clemmie. She's...It wasn't only flu, Coryo. Her skin... and her eyes" he worried after seeing you on the verge of tears. He grew curious, immediately remembering that she hadn’t come to class again. And while he didn't have time to ask more. He would soothe you at least.

"Hey, hey... It's not your fault. You didn't know Gaul was going to use the snakes to punish Clemensia. Okay?..." you nod wiping a tear.

"It's not your fault. Say it... It's not your fault, y/n" You nod, holding onto his words like a lifesaver. Just like you thought Coriolanus was in your life.

"It's not my fault. But I'm still looking for a way to help her" he smiled briefly. Always so kind. "Look at me, y/n." You do, and you get lost in his ocean-blue eyes. Like the first time. "You're good." Again, you nod.

The songbird watched how he talked to you, and then you smiled at him. She knew what love looked like. And Lucy Grey figured out very easily that you were in love with Coriolanus Snow. You kissed his cheek and soon the peacemakers followed you. You started inspecting the arena, taking notes in a little notebook.

And as soon as he was back with Lucy Gray, the bombing started.

"Y/N!" Coriolanus screamed as he watched how you got lost through the flames and haze of ashes. And then... darkness.

...

Tigris disliked how her cousin asked for Lucy Gray first rather than you. But Coriolanus could only think of her being safe, then on you.

Both were okay. You prepared the interviews for Lucky Flickerman. Lucy sang her song about revenge, and Coriolanus noticed everyone tearing up. He knew you were not. Wherever you were, you didn't have the kind of heart to cry because of a song. Instead, you cried from guilt for ruining your female best friend's life by helping to create poisonous snakes.

"Now, y/n y/l/n. How does it feel being the youngest person in the history of the Hunger Games to be directly involved in the creation and supervision?" Lucky asked you. And suddenly, Coriolanus was fixed on you on the screen. You looked fine. Stunning as usual with your exotic taste in fashion and attractive hair.

"It feels like a big responsibility. And although sometimes I question the brutality of the games. I know we deserve peace. All of Panem. So if we have to hold tightly to get there... So be it" The blonde could see how Sejanus wasn't pleased by your answer. He always seemed to disagree with everything related to the games.

"Honest answer I see. And one more question and I let you free. Would you say this games will finally make the show a spectacle?" You smile. Because on the other side, as you look at the microphone pointing at you, you can't help it. You can already see Lucy Gray's dirty intentions. You know she saved Coriolanus. You know he cared for her. And it was evil, but you weren't sure you wanted her to win.

"Guess we'll all see it for ourselves tomorrow." Coriolanus saw you smiled differently. It wasn't one of bright smiles. But he decided to let it go.

Just as he abruptly stopped himself from kissing Lucy Gray at the zoo. Because the image of you wouldn't fade.

...

After Sejanus left before the start of the games, you repressed the urge to go after him. You felt like you needed to talk to him. He knew you could have done more for his tribute and the games in general. Suddenly working for Gaul was putting between the sword and the wall.

But that was forgotten as soon as you stepped in front of all the mentors, instructing how the timing would go. Coriolanus seemed off. Almost avoiding you. But you also felt a little awkward, so you didn't try to catch up with him. Only sent a bouquet and dinner for him to the hospital after the bombing.

You could feel his eyes on you. But you were looking at the arena. The massacre had started. And everyone thought you had a strong stomach to see all the gore without making a disgusted face. Some were vomiting and the whole room feel like the games were actually a polo bet night. The only think that made you feel less stressed were the comments from Lucky Flickerman.

After midday, you left. Coriolanus stayed very late. Until Dr. Gaul appeared and told him about Sejanus. Soon he learned the elder woman called you too. And it frightened him. Since you two were best friends of Sejanus, you two had to get him out of the arena. Coriolanus believed his frien was trespassing the Capitol’s trust. When you two arrived at the Arena, he stopped you.

"You're not going inside." He says.

"I can't let you go there alone," you explain worriedly. Also, Sejanus was your best friend. "And I can't risk you going there and getting hurt" he cared, but it felt different now. Maybe it was because of her.

"Please, y/n. Not you, please" you sigh, letting him go and enter the arena.

As soon as you hear "enjoy the show", your heart starts pounding so fast. And although you can't see very well, you start screaming for your friends when Coral and her allies start chasing them. You were used to the violence and disturbances of the games since your father hosted parties to watch them and celebrate.

Tears start falling as soon as you hear the crack of the tribute Coriolanus had just killed. You cover your mouth in shock. Time seems to pass slower than usual as he and Sejanus run towards you on the exit.

You want to rip the doors and take them out. But you can't, and then... the peacekeepers do it. And the first thing you do is to catch Coriolanus in your arms. You hold him tight as you hug Sejanus with a free arm. They also seem shocked, you can hear Sejanus cry and it tears you apart.

"It's okay. It's okay" you soothe them. Coriolanus holds your waist so hard because he can't imagine losing you. But that would exactly happen in less than 24 hours.

But for the rest of the night, you have him in the little laboratory Dr. Gaul let you have. Coriolanus is still, but you can see a couple of tears falling. You swiftly clean his face, his healthy arm again holding you.

"I killed that boy. It was a kid." You feel bad for him. So sad to see him like that. But you understand, he never imagined he would end up fighting for his life in the arena of the Hunger Games.

"It was either you or him, Coryo. Can you understand that? It was your life and Sejanus too. Imagine the shame if a tribute ended up killing two mentors" he looked at you. He wondered why you were reacting so neutrally. He expected you to take this differently, but you defended his actions seriously.

"Yeah. Right..."

"You're here, alive. You can still win that prize and make Tigris and your Grandma'am happy" you explain finally.

"And you? What can I do to make you happier?" He meant the prize wouldn't change a thing between you two.

"You already make me happy, Coriolanus. Just by seeing you for a minute in my days, it's enough" he couldn't help it, he traced your scar so tenderly, making you feel special before he kissed you abruptly. You dropped the gazes and the alcohol bottle. But soon your hands ended up on his messy hair. And again that thing. His hands are on your hips. The urge to touch was growing the more you two kissed. The kiss turned passionate, for the first time, his tongue met yours. And by the time Coriolanus was about to slide his hand under your dress, a peacemaker entered, demanding your report to hand it to Dr. Gaul.

"Water mutts?" Coryo asked after you handed the paper.

"Something I've been working on lately" you admitted.

Tomorrow was the big day. Where all would collide.

...

"I'm so nervous..." Tigris said, sitting beside you. The whole room was full of students. The second day of the games. Dr. Gaul warned you about the snakes that would end the games. And you didn't say no. Even if that made Coriolanus lose.

"It's okay, Tigris. It's almost over" you reply, accommodating your gloves. She looks down and smiles.

"Hey! Are those the gloves I made for you?" You nod giggling. A pair of grey elegant gloves. "Yes. I love them. They have been washed a lot lately" She feels so happy that you wore her present.

For the last hour, you could only think about Coriolanus kissing you last night. It made you blush and realize it. You loved him. And you couldn't wait for the games to be over. Because you would ask him. That if there was anything he could do to make you happy, was to make you his girlfriend.

“ Miss y/l/n." Dr. Gaul appeared beside you. She tilted her head, indicating you to follow her. You excuse yourself with Tigris and leave.

"I have eyes and ears everywhere. What was Mr. Snow doing two nights ago by the zoo talking with his tribute?" You frown, confused. You knew she didn’t want to keep an eye away from Coriolanus.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Dr. Gaul. I hadn't seen it personally since yesterday after... the incident with Sejanus" She nods. She knows a liar. And she knows you are telling the truth. "Well, interesting is the fact that yesterday was with you and two nights ago kissing the songbird. So I thought he had shared his plans with you" You feel blushing, embarrassed. You turn down to look at Coriolanus. He's so invested in seeing the screen.

And before you can't answer the woman beside you, you hear Lucy Gray Baird singing again, the snakes cuddling all over her. You frown again. You don't want to accept it, but did he?... No. Coriolanus would not risk everything like that for her nor the prize. But the snakes would only remain still with people they’re used to. Lucy Gray had never been in contact with them, and singing to them wasn’t enough. And then you look at Coriolanus again, and you know his face so well. You know it already.

Dr. Gaul turns to look at you, hoping to see you have the answer on your face. But she sees you confused, even angered. Like herself.

Coriolanus demands her to let Lucy Gray win, and you pray she says no. The confusing feelings over being on the of Sejanus and his rebellious thoughts. The guilt of what happened to Clemensia. The weight of designing the games. The weird back-and-forth thing with Coriolanus.

Dr. Gaul accepted Lucy Gray had won and everyone cheered. Everyone cheered for him. But you couldn't. Not after hearing he had kissed Lucy Gray. Not after being almost sure he cheated. Not after you realized he had been playing with you.

After he celebrated with Tigris, he felt your eyes on him. You immediately left. And he followed you.

You were almost at the end of the hallway when he saw you.

"Y/n!... wait up!" You turned, tears flowing deeply. He got taken aback by how hurt you looked.

"Was it worth it? Risking everything for her?"

"I did it for the prize" he stated, looking worried. Did you know what he did?

"LIAR!. You kissed her!" By that point, he knew you had feelings for him. So it made him feel worse.

"I didn't..."

"I'm sure you almost did" Soon the tears were dry, and all you could feel was anger.

"Was her voice? Her singing? Her silly dress? Why her?" He almost felt ashamed. But tried to remain looking at you in the eyes.

"It's difficult." You laugh, genuinely laugh. He finally accepted it. It was her all along.

"You know?..." you ask, spitting venom with your voice. Your cream nail pointing at him, gloves on your other one.

"If you were smarter than you think you are, you could have started dating me soon after meeting me."

"We would've eventually ended up marrying and half of my fortune would've automatically been yours. No need to win the prize." He's finally ashamed. He meets this new version of yours, and he doesn't like it.

"But you decided to risk everything. For a nobody girl from District 12. How shameful for a Snow" You smile, and he can feel it coming, losing you.

"Please, y/n..." he said, but you interrupted him.

"One last thing. If you don't get caught and punished. You'll either receive less than what was expected from the prize, Casca's demand." He remained quiet.

"That little songbird is going to hurt you. She's used you since the beginning. And when you feel like you lost it, you're gonna remember me. I promise you, Snow" you never called him that. It hurt him in many ways that surprised him. Marking the end of the history you two had made up.

"But remember... Snow always lands on top" The way you said it, so cynical, making fun of him. It almost made him fall on his knees for you. But all he did was appreciate your evil smile as you left him standing there. He felt like he hadn't just won, like Lucy Gray didn't.

...

Exile. That's what he deserved. But it boiled your blood that he decided to bribe you to serve as a peacekeeper in District 12. He left you for her, officially. And Sejanus was leaving too. You hadn't visited Clemensia in days for being crying in your room as soon as you left the Academy. But an idea appeared in a dream. Where you magically made your scar disappear. Since Snow continuously kissed and traced your scar, you would get rid of it. At the same time, you would help treat Clemensia's condition. And if it worked, it would give you honors for graduation.

But for now, it has been hours of testing, mixing, and injecting. Until Sejanus appeared. And you explained to him everything. And revealed about the exile.

He left a week after the games. In the meantime, he never reached you. And it finally broke you. But your big ego wouldn't let you crumble publicly again.

"Does it sound ridiculous? That I'm experimenting with myself to be beautiful?" you asked. Sejanus sighed. The desks were full of chemicals and different herbs, which unsettled the young man. "You don't have to do this. You're fine... you're already beautiful. And you're also doing this for Clemmie" he made you giggle.

"And you're leaving after telling me this? Who's gonna remind me of my beauty then?" Sejanus was a sweetheart, and you constantly wondered what could have been if he let you sit beside him instead of Coriolanus.

"I'll send letters. And... Do you want me to tell Coryo anything...?"

"No." He sighed.

"He's going to see it. He'll come back to you" his words settled an uncomfortable feeling in your guts. But you did your best to smile honestly.

"Maybe this is the way it was supposed to end. And it's okay..."

No, it wasn't.

"No matter what...You'll be happy. I know you're going beyond expectations" Sejanus was that friend you really appreciated. You couldn't help but tear up when he decided to hug you. "You can make it better. Take care of Clemmie and yourself." Your eyes widened. Remembering that maybe... Sejanus was a rebel sympathizer. And it made you wonder if you were one too. It brought you to an inconsistent decision. Where you worked for a woman who was the opposite of him in many ways.

"Good luck, Sejanus," he smiled. Gently squeezing your cheek and letting you go. "You're full of that. I'll just miss you" and with that, Sejanus was gone.

And that would be the last time you saw him…

Sejanus didn't make it to graduation. He was hanged for treason. Clemensia had surgery and she refused to go out in public yet. You finished the treatment for her, but it still needed examinations. You were not at your best moment, to be honest.

So you graduated alone, with no best friends, and no blonde guy you loved. Just you. Soon you started university, and your father became head of the president's cabinet. Your mother made her first fashion show and you saw Tigris. You didn't ask about Snow and she didn't mention him either.

However, rumors filed across The Capitol. You knew he was back. And that the Plinths made him heir of their fortune. Lucy Gray disappeared. And you were the most influential person in Panem apparently. Mixing in the world of fashion, science, and politics. The Capitol's dream girl.

You felt powerful, confident, and strong.

So the day you feared came. Seeing Coriolanus Snow again.

Different hair, different clothes, different look, same eyes. The counseling center of Capitol's University was a desert. Just you and him.

He smiles, looking at how much you changed in a matter of months. Longer hair that made you even more irresistible. Your scar seemed to be fading. Your eyes weirdly looked even lighter, and your skin looked different too.

You make your way past him, going three steps up in the giant elegant stairs of the building. "Can you listen to me? Just for a minute?" You turn, looking at him. His father must've looked like that.

"You had a week to talk before you left for District 12." He remained still. Of course it wouldn’t be easy with you. He had always had it easy and now, you demonstrated being tough in reality.

"It happened, right? What I predicted..." His silence was a yes to you. So you giggle, proud to know he suffered at least.

"Have a nice day, Snow"

"Marry me..."

You turn again, looking down at him in shock. No, we wouldn’t…

He waits for a response. Your painted lips and killer eyes won't look away from him. Somehow, Snow believes you are now just like him. Carrying errors and guilt.

Your heels, he could never forget the sound of them. He inspects your steps closer, you looking taller some steps up. He was taken aback when your wine nails gently dug into his neck, and your sweet-looking lips smashed his.

Somehow he felt wrong, but the kiss felt right. It was meaningless, but it was unleashing some kind of lustful awakening again. Surrendering, finally, his hands landed on your hips, keeping you aligned and centered almost between his legs.

"You'll never love me. If I married you, I would be nothing. Because I'll never be her..." You felt him gripping your hips harder. He didn't like the comment. But you had just begun. "Remember. We're still kids, Snow. Just nineteen. You still have a long way to reach power. And you need my father's help. You need my influence. You win, I lose..." his jaw tightened, and finally you stood straight stepping away from him.

So he also stood on the same step as you. The height difference is even more evident. Your heels made some effort to make you feel confident, as your chin would barely make it past his chest. But his eyes pierced you. Those deep blue ocean eyes seemed to be hosting a tsunami.

At the same time, he was getting lost in the almost frozen honey of your eyes. Trying to describe how you could ever forgive him. Believing it was because of his hunger for power, he leaned.

Again, his lips grazed yours. Your eyes are glued to the black and white tile floor. And his eyes locked in your neck.

"I'm going to marry you." It was a statement. There was a need in his words. But no love. But you stepped even closer. Ready to counter back.

"We'll see." Without a last look, you hurried your pace upstairs. That didn't stop your confidence from looking visible. Snow believed you hated him to death. That was a lie. Snow could feel how much he had hurt you and how that changed you. That was true.

As your graceful figure disappeared through the hall of the building, Snow stood there alone. Trying to convince himself that he was putting much effort into marrying you because of the money and your father's political position. Rather than his wounded heart trying to heal with the sweetest person he met some months ago. The first person who he didn't feel the need to fit in. The only person who had offered him respect and time without expecting anything back. He had every chance with you and he wasted it. For Lucy Gray Baird. For nothing.

As you looked at the Capitol through your car, you reminisced. You knew he would insist. You knew being a teenager was over.

When you make it to your home, there's a big bouquet of white roses on your bed. You don't read the note. The logo of the family Snow was enough. It angers you to the point where you smash the bouquet against the sheets, ruining it and making a mess of petals all over your bed. This little war of yours was just starting. And you knew you weren't ready to fight with a broken heart, a damaged pride, and a love you couldn't get over with. Coriolanus Snow would mean trouble. You knew it the moment he let you sit beside him. It would be a problem. But one thing was for sure. No matter what, he would never have all the power. And if it wasn't yours, control would be.

_______________________________

Special mention_ @earphonejack09

I'm thinking of doing part two with the proposal, tension, reptile Clemmie, drama, reputation + evermore era, and the wedding.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus x sejanus #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus smut

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daydreaming-nerd · 4 months

Text

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 2

Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: omg guys the love part 1 received has been so amazing. I seriously am so happy you're all loving this fic as much as me. As someone who hasn't written in so long it's been so fufilling to write this. Thank you for all the kind words. Please feel free to leave a comment! Hearing your guy's feedback is what motivates me to write!

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring.

Warnings (so far): SA, starting to get a little steamy

Word count: 2704

(all photos are from pinterest)

The next morning I woke with a certain lightness to my step that I knew shouldn’t be there. My hands skimmed over the countless dresses looking for just the right one. All of the sudden I had started caring more about my appearance for council meetings. Deep down I know why.

I meet my brother and Lucien in the foyer per usual, and I feel Lucien’s fiery gaze rake over the lavender chiffon draped over my body. I told myself that I had selected the revealing dress because of how hot the Day court was, but I think I had other motives backing my choice.

The Day Court, like all other courts, was utterly beautiful. Large pillars stood all around and like the summer court it was entirely open air, allowing the sunlight and breeze to float into the room. I sit between Lucien and Tamlin at a large table with the other High Lord’s and nobility. My eyes scan the room for a hint of that violet that I dreamt about last night but I don’t find it. It isn’t until a few minutes later, when my skin starts buzzing, that the High Lord of Night steps into the room. His presence commending, his eyes immediately finding mine.

I feel him pluck at the bond as if to say hello. After speaking to him through my mind for so long it was almost strange to see him in real life. Somehow he was always much more handsome in person. Like no matter how many times I tried to put together the image of his face at night it never compares to the sheer glory and presence of him.

As Helion began speaking a voice crawled into my head.

I’m glad you find me so glorious, darling.

“Shh you nosey High Lord. I’m trying to listen,” I silence him and to my surprise he obliges.

Helion talks on and on and of course there is arguing between Kallias and Beron as there usually is but I couldn’t begin to tell you what about. I spend the entire meeting noticing every move the High Lord of Night made. When he breathed, or flexed his hands, adjusted his spot on his seat. Whenever I felt his eyes sliding over to me I would do my best to evade them.

See something you like? I look over to him and find his eyes smirking.

“Yeah actually, Eris is looking especially delicious today,” I tease, I don’t break eye contact with him.

He chuckles brushing off my comment. You’re a vision in purple mate, but if Lucien looks at your cleavage one more time I might just leap across the table and rip his only good eye out.

“So violent,” I muse disapprovingly, looking towards where Kallias is speaking about potential war with Hybern.

I save my most brutal acts of violence for those who seek to harm you darling. My eyes flit back at him and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he averts his gaze back to Kallias.

“Enough talk of war my friends, let us adjourn this meeting until next week.” Helion finally says, causing the rest of the council to let out a breath.

Tamlin doesn’t say a word before he and Lucien stand and make a beeline to Tarquin, most likely to talk about problems we’ve been having on the border. I take it as my queue to walk around the Day Court’s terrace and I secretly hope that a certain High Lord follows me.

The Day Court and the Summer Court are like twin sisters. Except the Day Court always felt like liquid gold. All around me I could see clouds and honeyed sunlight peeking through the them. The rays warmed my skin as I basked in them, leaning against one of the many large pillars.

“I knew you’d look amazing in this light,” drawled that voice I had secretly wanted to hear.

I glance over to find The High Lord admiring me, the light of the Day Court doing wonders for him as well. “You shouldn’t be here,” I say, trying to act like I mean it.

“Yet you wanted me to follow you,” he smirks knowingly, slowly stepping towards me.

“What makes you say that?”

“This,” he says, pulling on the bond again. I take a sharp breath in and he chuckles. “I’ll never get tired of that reaction.”

“I really hate it when you do that,” I grumble.

“No you don’t,” he muses using one arm to cage me into the pillar I’m leaning against.

“Yes I do,” I affirm. His other hand lifts my chin to meet his stare.

“No you don’t, you don’t hate anything about me. In fact you think I’m beautiful,” he smirks, somehow stepping even closer to me. “And, you want me to touch you right now, your skin is practically on fire for it.”

“My Lord-”

“I told you to call me Rhysand,” he cuts me off. I want to lie and tell him no, I want to push him away but I fear that even the action of me touching his chest, even for a moment, would be too much for me to bear.

“Rhys,” I breathe out. Before I can even think his lips are on mine swallowing the breath that held his name, just like he promised.

The kiss is hot and needy, built up from the last two weeks of torture. One of his hands finds my face while the other finds my waist. His frame presses me into the pillar behind me. I feel my body ignite in a way I didn’t know possible, I need him closer. I pull on the lapels of his jacket earning a low grumble from him.

“Say it again,” he says between kisses.

“Rhysand,” I moan, his name like a prayer on my lips.

“Fuck,” he groans before sliding a hand down under my knee and hoisting it up to wrap around his waist. The slit in my dress parted for him, giving him full access to my bare leg. I feel his lips drag across my neck leaving opened mouth kisses on me. I practically come undone for him, the only thing keeping me upright are his hands and the pillar behind me.

In the distance I can hear footsteps clicking across the floor, in a panic I winnow both of us further away. He breaks apart the kiss and gives me a bewildered look.

“Sorry, someone was coming,” I say breathlessly.

“Let them see,” he grins before stepping closer to me. I take a step back and he halts his movements, surprised.

“We can’t, my brother will kill me, kill you.” I remind him.

He lets out a chuckle like he’s completely unphased, “I promise you that I hold more power in my pinky than Tamilin does in his entire body.” he boasts.

“Still,” I start. “You’re the High Lord of the Night Court, his sworn enemy, my court's sworn enemy. Think of what they would say about me if the truth came out. What they would say about you. You’d be the monster who stole away the princess of spring.” I ramble.

“I’ve been called a monster by those who know nothing but stories of me my whole life, what’s one more?” he states.

“I’ve heard stories of your court, that it’s the part of Prythian where the most feared monsters and beings of our kind reside,” I say fearfully. I start to remember who he is. Not just a pretty face, but the High Lord of the Night Court. He’s dangerous, and he is a monster.

“Part of that is true,” he affirms, and I can see a tinge of hurt in his eyes.

“And the other part?” I ask on bated breath.

“You’ll see soon enough mate,” he says.

“My Lord we cannot be together,” I state firmly.

“Back to formalities now are we?” he sighs. “I’ve waited 500 years to find my mate y/n, don’t think for one second that I’m going to stay away from you just because you’re afraid of that pathetic excuse for a brother.”

“He’s not pathetic, he loves me!” I growl.

“You don’t know half the things you think you do about your brother,” he sneered.

As much as I hated to admit it he was right. Tamlin and I had never truly been close. We hardly ever did anything together. I always sensed a darkness in him that I couldn’t place. There was so much he simply refused to tell me just because I was a woman. But I couldn't bear that truth to Rhys, not when I needed his silence.

“This conversation is over,” I huff before walking away, I feel him grasp my arm.

“No darling it’s not,” Rhys says with frustration in his eyes.

“Wanna bet?” I ask smugly before winnowing back to the Spring Court.

The next few days I don’t hear from Rhysand, and I don’t feel a tug on the bond. All of the sudden my life is filled with a sense of melancholy, I never had before. I had grown so used to his constant tugging on the bond or his remarks throughout my daily life that I felt a little empty without him.

So empty that I now found myself nudging around the food on my plate at dinner. Lucien had been out with the emissary of the Summer Court fixing the problems on the border, which meant it was just me and Tamlin.

We spend the whole meal in silence until he finally breaks it, “I have something I want to discuss with you,” he says, placing his napkin down on the table.

“What is it?” I ask, starting to wonder if maybe he saw me and Rhysand the other day.

“I’ve been talking with Beron Vanserra, and it seems that his eldest son Eris has taken a liking to you. We think it might be in the best interest of our two courts if you two were to marry.” he says casually, as if the words weren’t a huge punch to the gut.

“What?” I breathe in disbelief.

“Come on y/n this has always been our plan, to get you an advantageous marriage.” he reminds me, irritation laced in his voice.

“Not my plan Tamlin, yours.” I seethe. “Eris is a viper, I won’t marry him.”

“You’ll do as you're told and that’s final!” he screams slamming his fists down on the table making the silverware rattle.

I leave my plate full of food on the table and get up. If I wasn’t hungry before I certainly am not now. I leave the dining room and make sure to slam the door on my way out. The halls of the palace were dark save for the moonlight drifting through the windows. My mind was a mess of Tamlin’s words, I was so angry I could hardly think beyond it. At the end of the hall there was a door and even from where I was I could see the doorknob turning. A head of red hair popped through the door and Lucien stumbled to close it.

I kept my head down trying to avoid him but it was no use. The second he passed me his hands were on me shoving me into the nearest wall.

“Hello my flower,” he slurred.

“You’re drunk Lucien,” I pointed out, jerking my head away.

“Yes I suppose I am, the emissary for the summer court knows how to celebrate. We went to a tavern after completing the job on the border to indulge in some women and maybe a few drinks,” he chuckled.

“Yeah a few hundred drinks you fucking idiot,” I gripe trying to get out of his grasp but his hands only pin my wrists tighter.

“It was fun, but being around all those women made me long for my little flower,” he smiled drunkenly before kissing my neck.

For months now he’s been doing this, stealing touches whenever he could, and kissing my neck like this when he was feeling really bold, or in this case, drunk. He never took it further than that though. Never kissing, never fully fucking me, and I think it’s because he knew that it would be where Tamilin drew the line. But tonight he was drunk, in a way I had never seen him before, and I wasn’t sure if the line that had held for so many months would be held now.

“Get the fuck off me Lucien,” I growl trying to push him off again.

He completely ignores me, “You know my dear I’ve let my hands wander every expanse of this magnificent body, but I have yet to taste you,” he says lowly. “I think I’m going to change that.”

I don’t even get a chance to try and fight before his lips are on mine. He tastes like shitty whiskey and he smells like cheap perfume. It’s vile and it has me sick to my stomach. I find my opening to rip my lips off him and take it.

“Lucien what the fuck!” I scream in his face. His eyes just go down to my heaving chest, where my breasts are pushed up high due to my corset.

“And these,” he drawls before placing open mouth kisses on the peaks of my breasts. His hand lets go of my wrist and flies to my waist to pull me closer to him and I take the change of position as an opportunity to knee him between his legs.

His knees hit the ground and I run down the hall towards my room. I slam and lock the door as fast as possible, barricading myself in with a chair. I pace back and forth trying to dispel the pent up adrenaline that’s inside of me but in the end I sink to my knees and start to cry.

What happened?

That calming voice cleaves its way through my mind and it feels like a huge weight off my chest has been lifted.

“It was Lucien he tried to…” I let my voice trail off not even wanting to finish the sentence. I know the High Lord of Night is at the complete other end of Prythian but I swear I feel the ground beneath me tremble.

Did he? He asks, like he would winnow here right now and make due on his promise of ripping out his good eye.

“No, I fought him off,” I assure him.

Are you safe?

“As safe as I can be, I barricaded the door,” I say, as my heart rate calms down.

You shouldn’t have to live in a place where you have to barricade yourself in your room.

“Well I do so I’m handling it the best I can,” I gripe at him. I would gladly change the situation if I could but I can’t. There's a silence and I can feel him ruminating over my words as I crawl into bed.

I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said it like that.

“It’s okay I understood what you meant,” I say pulling the covers up to my chin like they might protect me.

And I’m sorry for what I said about Tamlin. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you, he’s your brother, of course you’re going to defend him.

“It’s okay, maybe everything you said about Tamlin wasn’t entirely false,” I confess remembering the conversation that had me fleeing the dining room in the first place.

What happened?

A moment passes and I think about telling him. But saying it almost makes it real and I choose not to, “I’d rather not talk about it now. Too much has happened tonight,” I say

Alright we won’t then. I sense disappointment in his voice but I am happy that he respects my wishes.

“Rhys?”I ask, and there’s a hesitation there.

Yes darling? He purrs and I can hear him practically swooning at the fact that I said his name.

“I don’t wanna be alone, will you stay up with me?” I confess feeling like I’m baring my soul.

Of course I will darling, all night if you want me to.

Taglist: @heyyitsnat21 , @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson , @randomperson1234sblog , @local-fangirl09 , @bleh-81 , @annaaaaa88

(I've never made a taglist so hopefully this works)

#rhys acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff #rhysand x y/n #rhysand acotar

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coffeeshades · 1 year

Text

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART III

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who are obliviously in love.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 13.5k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). filthy smut. angst. cussing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: i know i made you guys wait a lot for this but i wanted it to be perfect and i was really busy but it's finally here now! thank you for the love on the first two parts, i love all of you. happy reading!!!

"Oh yes! I forgot about the most exciting part. It's your friend, Pedro Pascal."

You're not sure who it's exciting for, because it's certainly not you. Sure, Jon had no idea what had happened between you and Pedro, but you were hoping he did at the time. Because if he did, he wouldn't be gushing about how exciting it is that the two of you are going to collaborate.

You try to hide your dismay and muster up a smile as Jon continues to talk about how great Pedro is. You can't help but wonder how you're going to make it through this project without letting your personal issues with Pedro get in the way of your work and finally driving you into insanity.

Regardless, you know you have to remain professional and focused. It's just a job.

"Does he know about me?" you hesitantly ask.

"Yeah, he's known for awhile." Jon replies, "We asked him not to mention anything, but I've gotta say I'm surprised he actually didn't."

"I've got to say I'm surprised too."

•••

For the next few weeks, the only thing on your mind was Pedro. You couldn't stop thinking about what he might have said or what he thought when he found out you were going to work together. This war between you and your brain was pretty stupid because you could just call him or send him a quick text.

Hey, guess what? We're finally going to work together! :)

Simple as that.

The problem was that you didn't want to be the one to bring it up first. You weren't the type to hold a grudge over trivial matters, but here you were, silently punishing him for what he did last month.

One of your last shows on the tour was in New York, and as usual, you invited most of your friends. Even though Pedro had been living in London for the last few months, you still sent him a text inviting him. He had taken a flight for other stuff, so it was safe to assume he would make the effort for this as well.

You: Hey! I know you're in London, but my show at MSG is next week, and everyone's coming. I would like for you to come too :)

Pedrito: Hi, my schedule here is pretty tight for next week. I'm sorry. Next time?

You: Bummer. Sure.

Despite your disappointment, you understood the situation perfectly. His work schedule has become quite hectic recently, as he has been traveling and shooting movies in various locations such as Hawaii, Boston, and now London. Your schedules no longer seemed to be in sync, and neither of you made an effort to rearrange your plans to fit the other.

Those months he spent filming with Oscar in Hawaii were by far the worst. Mostly because they were having fun and you weren't part of it. To put it mildly, the FOMO nearly killed you. The group chat and his Instagram were filled with pictures of them surfing, hiking, and exploring the island while you were miles away alone.

The night of the show arrived, and everything went smoothly as planned, leaving you with a feeling of relief and satisfaction. That later changed when, backstage, in the midst of winding down, Oscar approached you with a smile, "Too bad Pedro couldn't make it, he would've loved this outfit."

You smile as you look down at your own stage outfit, knowing he'd like it because of its purple color.

"Too bad he's in London," you reply back.

Oscar's face falls slightly as he responds, "London?"

You nod as you chug down the last of your water bottle.

"No, he got here days ago," he says, huffing a laugh. "I called him so we could ride together, but he never answered. I figured I would run into him here."

"Oh."

Oscar's expression is slightly puzzled, as if he's trying to connect the dots between the two statements. "Is everything okay between you guys?"

You wanted to lie so bad; say yes and play it cool. After all, that's what you two have been doing for the past nine months: playing pretend. But this whole exchange has caught you off guard, and you're not sure if you want to continue with the facade or finally be honest about the situation.

"I don't know anymore."

Your attention snapped back to the present.

For days, you tried to brush it off and convince yourself that it was no big deal, but deep down, you couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment and hurt. He had been there and chose not to go. Not even a call or text to explain or apologize. Nothing.

So, no. You weren't going to text him first, were you?

Manhattan Beach Studios, Los Angeles.

October 2018.

If somebody had told Pedro three years ago that he would be starring as a bounty-hunting badass in a signature Star Wars series, he would've laughed in their face. But here he was, about to start the table read for the first episode of The Mandalorian, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as he waited to see how his character would come to life on screen.

It was a pinch-me moment. He had come a long way since his early days as a struggling actor, and he was grateful for the opportunity to work with such talented people on a project that was sure to be groundbreaking. As he looked around the room at his fellow cast members and crew, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Until his eyes landed on you.

He then felt shame and guilt for how he handled things a month before. He knows he fucked up. You're sitting across from him, the heavy, discerning quality of your gaze sending shivers down his spine. It's as if you're peering right through him, past the gleaming politeness to the rough edges beneath. If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

Your expression says, "Wipe that smile off your face. There's nothing to be happy about."

He was convincing himself that he didn't exactly know what drove him not to tell you the truth about his availability. Except he did. His time away from you had allowed him to get you out of his system, and he didn't want to fall back down the maybe-I-have-feelings-for you rabbit hole again. So in true Pedro fashion, he avoided it.

He knew he'd be back in New York for your concert when you texted him. Yet he boldly lied. And it bit him in the ass.

He couldn't throw away all the progress the two of you had made, so he knew he had to make amends for his behavior before it was too late. He made a mental note to talk to you after the reading was over.

•••

The reading was over in what seemed like an eyeblink. You were so thrilled to be part of this, and even given everything that has happened between you two, you would be lying if you said you weren't happy you're doing this with him.

Though you weren't doing a particularly good job of displaying it. You barely talked to him when you got here, quickly exchanging hellos and moving on to something else.

You were settling into your trailer with your agent, going over some details, when you heard a knock. Your agent quickly rises to unlock the door as you continue to put some of your things in a drawer. When the door opens, you hear him before you see him. "Taylor, Taylor, Taylor!"

Taylor couldn't help but laugh at his antics, and you can't either. A smile formed on your lips as you closed the drawer before collecting yourself and remembering that you were really mad at him.

"Pedro, long time no see!" she says as they hug and exchange pleasantries.

Taylor looks my way. "I am going to get some of those snacks we saw earlier," she says, "I'll be back in a bit."

As she exits the trailer, you make your way to the door. Pedro is standing there, dressed in a black sweatshirt, olive green trousers, and white sneakers, which you can only describe as attractive.

Needless to say, he was making it difficult for you to hate him right now.

•••

Pedro's mind goes completely blank when he sees you; it's as if he has forgotten everything else around him and all he can focus on is you, making it hard for him to form coherent sentences.

"You cut your hair," he blurted.

"Yes."

"It looks very pretty; I like it."

"Is that why you came here?" you inquire, "to tell me my hair's pretty?"

"No, I came here to apologize," he replies back as he steps into the trailer and closes the door behind him. He watches you sit on the edge of the sofa that adorned the room, hands on each side of you, waiting for him to continue.

He takes a deep breath. "I know I messed up and hurt you. I just wanted to make things right, kid."

"Why?"

"Because you’re the last person in the world I want to upset. That would be, like, devastating."

"Hmm," you hum, a blank expression on your face, "you're not doing a very good job at it."

Pedro couldn't help but smirk at your jab, "Clearly. You looked like you were plotting my murder in there."

"Oh, I already know where I'm going to hide your body."

His laugh fills the room, and your face softens. He began walking towards the couch, and you both slumped back into it at the same time. "It's nothing really; I'm over it," you say, staring at the wall.

Pedro tilts his head to look at you, "When will you learn that you're so bad at lying that it's not worth even trying?"

You face him, your beautiful eyes catching him off guard. "This is the worst apology ever, by the way."

"I know, princesa," he says softly. "But I mean it. I'm sorry I didn't go, and I'm sorry it took me this long to apologize."

You slowly nod, your face displaying a hint of uncertainty. As if you're trying to figure out whether he's sincere or not, which he wishes you didn't have to even wonder about. "It's okay if you didn't want to go; I just wish you would've said that instead of lying and making me look like an idiot, P."

No, no, no. I wanted to go, but I'm a fucking coward.

Your words pierced him like a dagger, and the pang of guilt washed over him again. He's been drowning in it for the past few weeks, but to actually hear the disappointment in your voice is a completely different beast.

Before he could even muster up a response, you speak again, "But I forgive you."

Pedro's breathing slowed down as you placed a hand on his thigh, and he heard those words. He reciprocated the gesture and then put his hand over yours, gripping it softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Good," he says, "because now we can properly freak out about this," excitement overflowing through him as he couldn't keep it in anymore.

He needed to share this with you. When the creators of the show approached him, you were the first person that came to his mind. One of the things you've always wanted to be part of was Star Wars, so he knew you would be jealous to find out he was cast in this and couldn't wait to give you a hard time, just like Oscar did when he got the role of Poe.

That plan quickly fell apart when the creators revealed they were bringing you aboard, and even though it meant he couldn't torture you any longer, he was overjoyed you were going to be by his side in this.

“You must be ecstatic,” you tell him, your hands still connected, "this is a big deal."

"Yeah, who would've thought?"

"I did," you attempt to correct yourself, but it’s too late. Pedro has already saved the words for later in his mind. "I mean, we did! We all did. Your friends, I mean. We knew things were only going to get better for you. Even before I met you, I knew you were going to do great things. Sarah talked about it all the time, too, and we're pretty sure this is only the beginning."

He's stunned at the rambling explanation of your thoughts about his rising career. He looks at you with gratitude in his eyes, feeling fortunate to have supportive people like you in his life who believe in him.

The lack of hesitation in your voice did the opposite of what your words had done; it cooled down the hope that had lit up like a flame in his chest.

"Now, come on, let's find Taylor and those snacks," you tell him as you rise up from the couch and extend your hand to him, "I'm hungry, and we still have costume fittings," you add. He puts his hand in yours, restraining himself and letting you struggle to pull him up as you try your hardest to do so.

"You asshole!" you yell, tightening your grip on his hand, "Stop that and get up!"

He can't stop laughing as you finally manage to pull him up. "you need to work on your strength, baby," he says between chuckles.

You scoff and playfully hit him on the shoulder, "My strength is fine, thank you."

"Ow! Who's the asshole now?" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder.

“And don't call me baby,” you tell him. "I forgave you, but that doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you."

"I don't think it works that way, baby."

"José Pedro!" you exclaim, clearly irritated.

"Sorry, old habits die hard."

The next two months were amazing, to say the least. It's as if all the two of you needed was to work together on a TV series to realize how much you needed to be together. Just like your on-screen characters, you two were tied to work together by a third thing, that thing being, of course, the child.

Speaking of the child, you were obsessed with it. You couldn't believe a green, Yoda-like animatronic puppet could win your heart in such a short period of time, but here you were. It was magical. Truth be told, everything about The Mandalorian was magical.

Every day you had to step on that immaculate set that's built and surrounded by volume, which creates an infinite sort of visual experience in terms of skies, planets, space, ships, and all kinds of things, was magical.

It just felt like you were stepping onto these highly sophisticated amusement park rides, with very little being left to the imagination because of how incredible the design work is from all the departments.

Another magical thing was seeing Pedro bring the character to life. His ability to convey so much depth and complexity to a character that is mostly hidden behind a mask is truly impressive. From crafting his "Mandalorian" walk and stance to his deep, jarring voice.

That voice.

That voice was made to torture you and send shivers down your spine. That voice made you forget all of your life's problems. Actually, that voice was made for one thing and one thing only, the bedroom.

"Oh my god, it doesn't sound like a bedroom voice!" he protested, as he highlighted lines in his script.

You were joining him and the creators in the recording booth for his voiceover session.

"It does! It's a sexy bedroom voice." you teased, making everyone laugh. "That's not very Disney of you, P."

He gets closer to the mic and whispers, voice altered because of the modulator, "Bite me."

"See? It works perfectly."

•••

You were having as much fun as you could. Simply put, you two were menaces on set.

You could tell Jon, Dave, and the rest of the crew were patient with your antics, but it was clear that they were also entertained by your on-set dynamic. It's not everyday that you get to work with your best friend, and you two made it everyone's problem.

Although sometimes you have to admit you take it a little too far.

"Catch me if you can, Boba Fett wannabe!" you scream.

Pedro was chasing you through the set with a prop sword, trying to get you to stop teasing him about his costume. "You are one insult away from getting a taste of this sword!"

"Okay, tin can man!"

You were running away from him as fast as you could, hoping to find a place to hide before he caught up with you. You quickly hide behind one of the makeup trailers and peek out to see him come to a stop, catching his breath. He was wearing his Beskar getup, minus the helmet.

“Give up yet, old man?"

He laughs. "We're being extra cruel today, huh?"

Taking advantage of his momentary pause and facing away from where you were hiding, you slowly inch closer to him, trying not to make a sound. As you get within arm's reach, you draw one of your prop knives from your costume pocket and hold it to his back. Using your free hand to hold him steady, you lean in and whisper in his ear, "I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold."

He turns his head slightly, and you can see the smirk on his face. "That's my line, thief."

Before you could pull away, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back toward him. He takes hold of you and tightens his grasp on your waist. "Let me go, P!"

You struggle to break free from his grasp, but he only holds you tighter. "I am going to squeeze you so hard you will fart," he chuckles.

You snort. "You have such a way with words."

As you try to wriggle out of his grasp, you accidentally elbow him in the face, causing him to release his hold on you and stumble into a piece of plywood that had been propped up.

"Aw, fuck!" he cries out, clutching his nose.

"Holy shit, I'm sorry!" you rush to him, cupping his face. "Are you hurt?"

He removes his hand from his nose, revealing a cut and a trickle of blood. "It's alright, just a bloody nose," he says calmly.

You touch his nose gingerly, and he winces in pain. "Nevermind, I think it is broken."

•••

You begged Jon to let you ride to the hospital with them; after all, this was your fault. When you get there, the doctors rush to Pedro's side and begin examining him.

If you weren't preoccupied with being mortified over this, you'd laugh.

The scene before you is straight out of a sitcom, with Jon frantically explaining the situation to the doctors, Pedro in full costume with fake injuries and blood that you were pretty sure the doctors thought were real, and you standing there with an expression that screamed: Hey! It's me! I did this!

After a couple of minutes of clearing up that it was an accident and that the blood coming out of his ears was fake and not the cause of a brain hemorrhage, one of the doctors led us to a room to examine his nose.

"It's not broken," the doctor said, as she prepared to clean the wound. "He's just going to need a couple of stitches."

"Oh great, we still need to finish a scene, and they're waiting for us." Jon replies.

"This will take 15 minutes, tops," she says, grabbing a tray of medical supplies. “I will be fast.”

"I'll call the guys," Jon tells you as he exits the room.

You nod in agreement and stand in a corner as you silently watch the doctor carefully clean, anesthetize and stitch up the wound. You feel relieved that it wasn't anything more serious.

After she finishes, Pedro thanks her, and she nods with a smile. "You're going to need to take some analgesics for the pain. I'm gonna go grab my prescription pad. I'll be right back."

She exits the room, and you walk over to Pedro. He moves his head slightly, showing off his nose.

"How does it look?" he asks teasingly.

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I can't believe I ruined your perfect nose."

"Who said it isn't perfect still?" he says it as if it were a challenge. His brow is arched, with the tiniest smirk hidden in one corner of his mouth.

"Don't start. I'm mortified."

"Tranquila, princesa. I said it was okay after you apologized 20 times on our way here," he reassures you. "Plus, now we have a funny story to tell during our press tour next year."

You sigh. "I guess you're right."

"You know," he says, "what hurts right now is that today is our last day of shooting. I can't believe it's been two months already. Time fucking flew."

Your heart sinks as you're once again reminded that this amazing experience is coming to an end. The day you've been dreading for weeks is finally here, and you're not ready to say goodbye. It's not like you already know you'll be back next year for the next season, but you're not ready to say goodbye to him and the daily routine you've formed, which mostly consists of breakfasts together, long hours on set, and late-night movie marathons.

"Yeah, I'm trying not to think about it," you muttered, "gonna miss our little routine."

Pedro studies you. "Maybe we can extend it for a little while longer."

Not knowing where this is going, you raise an eyebrow inquisitively. Pedro smiles, "I..I was thinking maybe... maybe you could come with me to Chile for Christmas with the family."

Your heart skips a beat as you process Pedro's words. You open your mouth slightly to say something, but you close it again, momentarily speechless, overwhelmed by the unexpected invitation.

"Uh… I know you probably have plans with your family,” he interjects, “but I thought this would be a good time for you to finally meet my father and the rest of the family, and—"

Before he could finish, you nodded eagerly, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending Christmas in Chile with Pedro and his family, “Yes, I would love to."

You've never seen him smile as broadly as he does now, and you know that you have made the right decision.

New York City

December 15, 2018

“Dude, he invited you to his hometown with his family, and you still think that man has no feelings for you?”

“Taylor...” you paused, picking up a clothing item that had fallen to the floor. “It's just a friendly gesture.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he invites everyone to his hometown to spend the holidays with his family. Sureee.”

You didn't want to go there; you'd promised yourself that you wouldn't get entangled in what ifs, so your friend's teasing wasn't helping you keep those thoughts at bay.

“I told you, he doesn't like me like that. I know he doesn't,” you say, suddenly remembering that night when you overheard him telling Sarah how he felt about you. “Plus, as my agent, you more than anyone know I can't do relationships right now; my life's too busy."

Taylor finished zipping up the last of your bags for the trip and gave you a reassuring smile. "I know, but it doesn't hurt to have a little fun, does it? And who knows—maybe he has changed his mind. Just enjoy the trip and have fun."

No, he hasn’t changed his mind.

“Yeah, I just want to have a good time, really. Things have been so good between us these past couple of months, It just feels...right again. I don’t wanna mess it up.”

"Understandable, bestie. However, I think you’re both making a huge mistake.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Thanks for helping me pack.”

“Thanks?” she scoffs. "I'm expecting a raise."

Santiago, Chile

December 20, 2018

After the chaos of the day leading up to the flight, it was actually a relief to be sitting here. The large, comfortable seat, with your feet tucked up under you as you gazed out the jet window, felt very much deserved.

While the gentle buzz of the flight filled your ears, you laid your head against the window of the plane and watched the clouds and the seemingly endless expanse of sky fly by.

As you began to drift off, you did your best to keep your attention on what was outside the plane rather than allowing your mind to wander to what would await you once you arrived at your destination. The mixture of excitement and exhaustion lulled you into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of the journey that lay ahead.

•••

The taxi ride from the airport to the Balmaceda-Pascal's was a blur of unfamiliar sights and sounds, but you couldn't help feeling a sense of wonder and curiosity as you took in the new surroundings. As the car comes to a stop in front of the house, you shoot Pedro a quick text.

You: I'm here, tonto.

Pedrito: I'll be right outside, tonta.

Since you still had a few things to attend to in New York, he had arrived two days earlier. After insisting like a madman that he could pick you up from the airport and you insisting like a madwoman that you could easily get there on your own, he gave up and let you take a cab.

The driver has already gotten out of the car to wrestle the luggage from the trunk. You clamber out after him into the brilliant sunlight, the heat instantly making your travel outfit—which consisted of a pair of black leggings, a sweatshirt, and Pedro's Freaky Tales green hoodie—feel suffocatingly thick. The change in temperature is a shock to your system, having just come from New York's freezing climate.

“Hey you!” Pedro's booming voice interrupts your thoughts, “Nice hoodie. Where'd you get it?”

“Um, someone left it at my place a while ago, and I decided to keep it. It's really comfy.”

Pedro smiles and nods, "It suits you. You should wear it more often."

“Thanks, but not here,” you tell him, your face flushing from the heat. ”It's burning hot."

“Welcome to Chile, where it's scorching hot during the winter and freezing cold during the summer,” he says in a joking tone, as he tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “Let's get inside, it's cooler.”

The moment you stepped into the house, you were greeted by a refreshing blast of air conditioning. The house was lovely. You take in the Mediterranean decor style and the large windows that let in natural light as you look around. On either side of the foyer, stone archways lined the way up two stories to an ornate ceiling.

As you make your way to the living room, you catch a glimpse of the various family pictures that adorn the walls. The living room was spacious and inviting, with plush couches and a fireplace that made you feel right at home.

Dropping your bags next to the stairs that led to the second floor, Pedro places a hand in your back and gestures you towards a hallway, “C'mon, everyone is out back.”

At the back of the house, tangled trees press close, the forest extending as far as you can see, and off to the left, in the meadow, a gazebo adorned with wild grapes stands within a smaller thicket of trees. Bright glass-shard wind chimes and cutesy bird feeders swing in the branches, and the path cuts past a row of flowering bushes before curving onto a footbridge and then disappearing into the mountains on the far side.

It's like something out of a storybook. Charming, picturesque, and perfect.

“You're here!” A familiar voice drew your attention back to earth. “And right on time. How was your flight?”

Pedro's sister, Javiera, lit up with a smile as she hugged you tightly. You returned the embrace, grateful for her warm welcome. "It was long, but good nonetheless," you replied with a smile.

“Well, if it isn't the infamous best friend I keep hearing about?” you turned around to see Pedro's father approach you with a friendly smile on his face.

"Yup, that's me," you reply, extending your hand for a handshake.

"I'm glad to finally meet you," he says, shaking your hand. "Pedro talks about you all the time."

“I hope good things,” you chuckle, “and it's great to finally meet you too, Mr. Balmaceda.”

“Oh, please call me José,” he tells you, waving his hands. Just like his son, you notice that José has a warm and welcoming personality, making you feel at ease. “And please, make yourself feel at home; we're thrilled to have you.”

“No, he's thrilled to have a world famous superstar staying at his house,” Nicolás, Pedro's brother, retorts back at his father. Making everyone laugh and leaving you feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Oh, I don't know about being a superstar," you say lowly.

“Are you kidding?" Nicolás cuts you off as he takes a seat, "Don't be modest. It's literally an honor to have you here."

“Yeah, you're sooo cool,” Javiera's older son added.

"Okay, alright, that's enough." Javiera must have noticed your embarrassed expression. She reached out to you and held you by the shoulders, reassuring you. “Let's not overwhelm her with too much praise. Let's give her some space, she must be tired."

And she was right. The almost 12 hour flight has left you feeling exhausted, jet lagged, and in need of a very long nap.

"Vamos princesa, I'll take you to your room." Pedro turned around and led the way towards the room while you followed him closely, trying to keep your eyes open and fighting the urge to just collapse on the floor.

As you reached the second floor, your attention was drawn back to the house. “This place is so gorgeous, P.”

“We got it a couple of years ago. We wanted something a little bit bigger so we could have everyone over for vacations, and we also wanted something that felt like home, you know?”

“I love it,” you tell him.

“This is your room,” he says, jerking his chin at the door on the right, “and this is mine.”

He opens the door to the room on the left. His room, much like mine, is absolutely huge. The bed is along the wall immediately to your right as you enter, a recklessly comfortable looking king size bed doused under the weight of a fluffy duvet and an insane amount of pillows.

The bedding is bright white and contrasts sharply with the dark wooden floorboards. "Your bed looks like a big fluffy cloud," you say, giggling.

"It feels like one," he says, smiling. He can tell what you're thinking by the look in your eyes,"Go on, I know you want to."

Like a little kid, you start running towards the bed, feeling the softness of the plush carpet under your feet. As you sink into the bed, you realize that it's even more comfortable than it looks, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh.

“P, I’m never moving again,” you say, your voice drifting over to him.

"Ha. You’ll have to.”

“Hmm, why exactly?” you turn over onto your stomach and lean against your elbows to face him.

"Because it's my bed," he simply states, "and I have plenty of plans that don't include you spending the entire trip in my bed."

Bravery takes over, and you give him a playful smirk. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make sure those plans change then."

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Good luck with that, sweetheart.”

You know this is cruel. You were torturing yourself. Being so optimistic was cruel, but because of your longing and deep, hidden desires, you couldn't help but indulge in silly fantasies and play along.

“Alright, I'll go to mine,” you say with a forced smile as you get off the bed, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. “I need to nap right now, or I'll die.”

“I will, uh, come get you for dinner later.”

“Sure, boss,” you tell him, patting him on the shoulder as you walk past him to leave the room.

“Sweet dreams.”

In the past four days, you've learned many things.

First, Chile was sickeningly beautiful. The vibrant colors of the buildings and the breathtaking scenery of the Andes Mountains made you feel like you were in a dream. It spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt, with each square representing a different aspect of its culture and history. From the bustling city streets to the serene beaches.

The food was also a highlight, and you're pretty sure you gained a few pounds from indulging in the delicious local cuisine.

“Here, try this one.”

“That's the biggest empanada I've ever seen in my life,” you exclaimed as you took a bite of the savory pastry, filled with juicy meat and vegetables. “This is so fucking good.”

Pedro chuckles. “It's filled with a mixture called Pino.”

“Okay, forget the manjar. This,” you say, mouth full, “is my new favorite thing in this country.”

Pedro gasps. “I thought I was your favorite thing in this country.”

You grin and give him a playful nudge. "Okay, fine. You're still my favorite, but this empanada might take the top spot."

“That's better,” you look up at him, trying not to melt then and there at the signature wide grin spread across Pedro's gorgeous face. “But you know, there's still plenty of time for me to prove that I deserve the top spot.”

You chuckle at his remark, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "We'll see about that, Pascal," you reply, taking another bite of the delicious empanada and secretly hoping he succeeds in his mission.

•••

Second, Pedro's family were the warmest hosts you could have imagined, eager to share their traditions and stories with you. They accepted you as one of their own and made you feel like a member of the family.

They took you on various adventures throughout the city, showing you hidden gems that only locals knew about. The tradition of taking a trip to a hiking site outside the city whenever all of them got together was in motion and this year it was the Valley of the Moon's turn.

“That hike was so worth it, guys," Nico says, a little out of breath from climbing up the steep trail.

Damn right, it was. As you're standing atop a giant sand dune, you're bewildered by what you're witnessing. The view as the sun slips below the horizon is out of this world. The ring of volcanoes and surreal lunar landscapes of the valley are suddenly suffused with intense purples, pinks, and golds. It's the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen.

You quickly grab the camera that's hanging around your neck and start taking pictures, trying to capture the breathtaking moment before it fades away. “Guys, get together!” you shout, “A family photo with this stunning backdrop is a must.”

As you finish taking the pictures, Pedro's voice breaks the silence, “Javi, grab the camera and take one of us, please.”

You comply and hand the camera to her. Pedro sneaks a hand around your waist and pulls you close, “Smile, princesa.”

“Don't tell me what to do," you playfully retort, leaning into him and smiling for the camera.

•••

And third, Pedro has always had a thing for theatrics. Today, some of you decided to take a trip to the beach. The heat was unbearable, and the cool ocean water sounded like the perfect way to beat it.

He would often come out of the ocean dramatically, splashing water all around and pretending to be a sea monster to scare his nephews. As soon as he saw the waves, he ran towards them and jumped into the water with a loud roar. His nephews laughed and cheered him on as he swam towards them, pretending to be a giant creature ready to attack.

After spending most of the day in the water, you were sitting down on the sand, attempting to make sand castles with one of Pedro's cousins. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was soothing, making you feel relaxed. “My god, he's like a kid,” you tell her, looking at Pedro as he continued to play with his nephews, now closer to the shore.

She laughs. “He's always been like this. As a child, he was always playful and energetic, and he never lost that spirit as he grew up. It's one of the many things we love about him."

The sandcastle you were working on was slowly starting to take shape. Pedro's cousin continued to build it and tell you stories about him, letting nostalgia wash over you.

She told you about his grandfather and how he used to take them to watch double features of old movies, and how that heavily influenced Pedro's love for storytelling and cinema. You didn’t know him then, and you'll never understand why it feels like you did. “But you know, one of my absolute favorite memories is when he recited Hamlet here on the beach with Grandpa."

“Actually, it was Death of a Salesman, cousin.”

His voice startles you as you turn to see him standing behind you, a small smile on his face. "I do remember that day," he continued as he lowered himself onto the sand behind you, legs on each side of your body. He places a hand on your thigh for a brief moment as he settles behind you before removing it.

You want nothing more than to reach out and put his hand back on you, to insist he keep touching you but you don’t.

He starts helping you with the sandcastle, and your breath catches in your throat as you feel his familiar warmth spread through your body. Droplets of water from his hair fall onto your warm skin, and the small elephant tattoo on his right inner thigh catches your eye as he reaches for a shovel, "I was about 14 years old. I videotaped it but lost the fucking camera on the trip back to the States.”

“Damn, I would've loved to see that.”

He chuckles in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Maybe I can reenact it for you.”

“Please do.”

•••

Pedro suggested you two go outside and stargaze with a glass of wine after returning from the beach. The evening summer breeze was much cooler than the daytime breeze. You were both sitting on the back porch, leaning back on the cushioned chair, the wooden floor creaking under your weight.

“Want me to open another bottle, princesa?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Pedrito?”

You can't help but stare as Pedro throws back his head, a bellowing laugh escaping him into the quiet night air. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he shakes his head, still chuckling. "No, I just want to make sure you're enjoying yourself. And if that means another bottle of wine, then so be it."

He reaches for your glass, hands touching briefly, and pours you some more. Even in the dark, the blinding white of his smile and the twinkle in those achingly beautiful brown eyes are impossible to miss.

With the moon low in the sky, his silhouette was even clearer to you: the way the bridge of his nose dips into the top of the large glass, the delicate hold of his fingers on the stem, and the mess of his hair.

Cicadas screamed into the night air as the taste of the rich, velvety wine danced on your tongue. Now, slightly tipsy on the red wine, you were nearly too lost in your memory of the moment to notice that Pedro had turned his head from above to look at you. Clearly, your staring had captured his attention, but you went to stare resolutely at the night sky again.

He sobered quickly, but his eyes never left you. You felt the weight of his lingering stare and were thankful that the darkness of the night and warmth of the fire covered your suddenly flushed cheeks. “Excited for Christmas tomorrow?” you ask softly, trying to break the tension with a light-hearted question.

“Yes,” he replied with a small smile, "but I'm more excited that you get to spend it with us."

A warmth filled your chest, and if your cheeks weren't already blushing already, they certainly were now, but you wouldn’t look away from him. The meaning wasn’t lost on you. “Thank you for inviting me, really. I thought I was going to be sad, but you guys have made me feel at home."

Pedro frowns. “What do you mean? About being sad.”

“I kind of hate this season now because it reminds me how lonely I am,” you chuckle, gripping the wine glass slightly tighter. “And don't get me wrong, I love my family and my friends, but after you spend years with someone, Christmas just feels different without them around, you know? It's like...” you trail off, trying to put into words the feeling of emptiness that lingers within you. “Like there's a void that can't be filled no matter how many people are around you. And-and it's not like I miss that person in particular, I just miss having someone.”

His unblinking eyes hadn’t left yours, and you continued, feeling vulnerable but also relieved to finally get that out of your system. “I know it sounds silly, but I think it’s just a reminder that things change. you meet people and you love them, and then you lose them. It's inevitable, and it happens to everyone.”

It falls quiet between you again, the familiarity of the years of friendship meaning you are both comfortable with it. The weight of what you just said still hangs heavy in the air until he nods slowly, breaking the silence. “I get it. I feel the same way somehow,” you tear your eyes away from the constellations above to stare at him quizzically, a raised eyebrow telling him to elaborate.

He huffs out a laugh, as if he's amused by your confusion or embarrassed by his own vulnerability, and continues, “I guess that's one of the reasons why I don't date. I'm saving myself from that.”

“Yeah, I guess now I am too,” you respond, nodding in understanding.

"Also, not to sound like an arrogant asshole—"

“Which you probably will anyway,” you add in a playful tone.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” he says mockingly. “But my schedule is busy, if I wanna be involved in something, I want to pay attention to it and nurture it. It takes energy to be with someone.”

“It's not arrogant, it's the truth. I was telling Taylor the same thing the other day,” you tell him. “I can't date because I don't have the time to, but...”

“But what?” Pedro interrupts.

“Don't rush me, dude,” you chuckle. “But I'm also human, and I have needs sometimes, and it sucks that I can't just go to a bar like a regular person and sit on the barstool, have a drink, and wait for someone to approach me so we can go to their place and have sex and forget about it the next morning,” you finally admit, staring down at your finger swirling over the rim of your glass.

“No strings attached," he adds, his voice scratchy. “I, um, ha. I wish I could do that too. You're not alone.”

“Hooking up with someone like that in our world would involve lots of NDAs,” you say, laughing.

“Oh yes, very romantic stuff.”

His eyes were doing the thing, the Pedro thing, and you did your best to ignore the way your heart lurched. The moment was charged with tension, and you both knew that there was more to say, and since neither of you dared to break the silence, someone else decided to break it for you, clearing their throat loudly and making you both jump. You turn to see Javiera standing by the door, looking amused and a little bit smug.

"I just wanted to let you guys know the rest of us are going out for dinner, in case you're interested in joining us," she said, her eyes flickering between the two of you. “Uh, no. Thanks, I'm beat. The wine has made me sleepy.”

“I'm gonna have to pass too, sis,” Pedro tells her. “You guys have fun.”

“Yeah, you too,” she says with a sly smile. “We'll be back late!”

After she leaves, you stand up and stretch your arms, feeling the effects of the wine yourself. “Woah. Too much wine,” you chuckle. “I should head to bed now before I regret it in the morning.”

“Me too,” he breathes out as he gets up, collecting his glass and yours. "Goodnight, princesa," he adds with a smile before you head towards the door. “Goodnight, P.”

•••

As soon as you entered your room, you immediately hopped in the shower, hoping to wash away the exhaustion from the day and also the dirty thoughts that had been lurking in your mind.

The warm water cascading down your body helped ease the tension in your muscles, and you let out a contented sigh. After a few minutes, you stepped out and changed into fresh clothes.

As you lie in bed, the conversation you had an hour before with Pedro seems to replay in your mind.

I wish I could do that too. You're not alone.

You promised yourself you wouldn't cross that line again. The last time you took that black, bold line and made it gray, it came with consequences. But you're not known for making the best decisions when it comes to these matters anyway.

You start to feel anxious and restless, unable to quiet your thoughts or fall asleep.

Perhaps a glass of water will help.

As you walk out of the bedroom, everything is dark, meaning everyone is still out for dinner. You have only the soft glow of the city outside the large windows to guide your way.

Hesitating as you walk through the hallway towards the stairs, you slow your steps, not entirely trusting your eyes to keep you from running into anything in the dark, unfamiliar space in such low light. Before you reach the stairs, you notice the light underneath Pedro's room, casting a faint glow onto the hallway carpet.

He's still up, you thought.

Before you even realized what you were doing, you were heading toward his room.

“Pedro?” you call out his name as you gently knock on the door, “You up?”

“Bathroom! Come in!” he screams. You reach the doorknob and push it open. The sound of water running fills your ears as you step inside. You plop down sideways on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, and wait for him to finish his shower. The chilly night air seeps in through the slightly open door of his balcony, making you shiver.

“Can't sleep?” His voice is soft and soothing as he walks out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry and wearing only black boxers. You avert your gaze, trying to ignore the way just looking at his face, with his golden skin from all the sun exposure, the shadow of dark scruff on his cheeks, and his brown eyes crinkled by a soft smile, makes your heart race.

“Nope,” you mumble. “Too much on my mind, I guess.”

“Enlighten me, please,” he quickly replies, returning to the bathroom. You get off the bed, take a deep breath, and try to compose yourself, but the sight of him in those boxers makes it difficult. You know that if you start talking about what's really on your mind, things might get even more complicated between the two of you.

“Uh...” you huffed out a laugh as the scenario played in your head, your legs almost giving out as you felt your guts twisting. Your mouth fell slightly agape as he stepped back into the room, “What's so funny?” he inquired. You fidget with your fingers and look at him, still chuckling a bit, “That conversation we had earlier. I can't stop thinking about it,"

Pedro leaned against the bathroom door, his face puzzled, reflecting that he had no idea which of the many conversations you two had today you were referring to. “The one about hooking up, I mean. And how you wish you could do that too," you continue, not bothering to try and hide the small beginnings of a smile from Pedro's watchful gaze, entirely more interested in testing the waters than anything else.

“Oh?” is all Pedro gives by way of a reply, not that you mind much since that works just as well as a real answer theoretically could. “Oh," you confirm. This could go either way, but as of right now, you're willing to take the risk.

His gaze is fixed on you, and you go back to lying on the bed, closing your eyes as if you're bracing for the impact of the unknown. “I was wondering if—and I might be making a complete fool of myself by saying this—but what if...” you trail off. "What if we..?” you can't bring yourself to finish the sentence, suddenly realizing that once you say it, you can't take it back.

“Fucked?” he interrupts, and your eyes shoot open, surprised by his bluntness. You sit up on the bed, heart racing as you try to gather the courage to speak. “I mean, we-we know each other, and we're both horny, and we wouldn't have to sign any NDAs,” you joke, trying to lift the weight off the air.

"That's true," Pedro quips quickly, though any hint of eagerness in his reply is tempered by the softness of his voice. You feel the blush that rises in your cheeks at the implication in his words and you look away, seemingly breaking the trance you’ve been in. “Okay.”

“Okay?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

“Would you rather have me say no?” he chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans one shoulder into the doorframe and deciding that for now he’ll stay where he is, knowing he looks like a smug jerk but unable to help himself.

“No!” you tell him, rather eagerly. “I mean, of course you can say no. We don't have to do this if you're not into it,” you add softly.

He says your name and looks into your eyes, "My answer's yes.”

“Okay, but I have some rules,” you get off the bed, body tensed with anticipation. “Of course you do,” Pedro says, arching his eyebrow and giving you a knowing smile.

“No feelings. This can only happen while we're here. Once we go back to our normal lives, this never happened,” you tell him. He nods, taking a slow step forward and then another, and although there’s still a great deal of space between the two of you, you can feel the tension building. "Also, we can't tell anybody about this, not even our closest friends,” you continue.

He's closer now, feeling his breath on your face, and his hands find their way to your waist. "It's our little secret," he whispers, and you grab his shoulders to steady yourself.

“And no nicknames. No princesa, no baby, no love,” you try to sound stern but your voice betrays the excitement you feel.

He grins mischievously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “But there's no fun in that.”

“Fine. You can call me whatever you want,” you give in, finding his amusement endearing.

“Well, that was easy,” he chuckles, his grin widening. “Are you done with your rules?”

“Yes, I guess so,” you stammered, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so easily swayed by his charm.

“Good,” he says, and you feel a shiver run down your spine as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “So I can start doing this,” he whispers, his hand sliding down your pajama shorts, sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin. "And this," he adds, as his lips press against your neck.

When you finally make yourself let go and stop fighting for some false sense of restraint for even one second longer, you notice that something changes in the way Pedro touches you, as if he's more confident and sure of himself.

His free hand moves up to hold the back of your head to hold you in place. You do the same, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders for support. The tip of his finger under your shorts traces over where you’re slick and too ready for him. His mouth is tantalizingly close to yours, brown eyes staring into yours, pining and desperately waiting. “Can I?” he asks.

It's humorous and sweet even that he's asking permission to kiss you when one of his hands is already under your pants. Every rational thought disappears, and you crush your mouth against his.

Everything is slow and heavy, and he never lets his finger slide into you even when you silently beg for it. Just dragging it over and back—too little and too much all at the same time.

He presses the pad of his finger into your clit, and you have to break away from his mouth to groan, overwhelmed, knees wobbly. Pedro laughs quietly and nuzzles against your neck so his beard scruffs.

“Mi princesa,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly, “you make such pretty sounds."

There is a real chance you could spontaneously combust into flames just from the sound of his voice and his sweet nothings. He continues to draw circles on your clit making you moan and writhe in pleasure, feeling like you're about to explode with ecstasy. As he whispers more sweet words in your ear, you can't help but surrender to the intense sensations he's giving you.

“Is that good?” he asks, his voice rough, “Does that feel good?”

“Yes," you whisper, a hand traveling to his hair, tugging it tightly. “Yes.”

Just when you're about to come undone, he suddenly stops. Your eyes quickly find his for some explanations as to why he decided to put on hold the very satisfying and impending orgasm that was building up within you. “Oops,” he simply states, a grin plastered on his face.

“I fucking hate you,” you whine, pulling away from him. “I was so close! What you do that for?”

"I have some rules, too."

“Now?” you ask him, clearly frustrated with his antics. “Well, go on.”

“Actually, it's just one,” Pedro says, arching his eyebrows and giving you a knowing smile. His reaction is met by narrowed eyes, like you’re making sure to watch him closely until you figure out where exactly he’s going with this. "You do as I say. Which also means you come when I say."

“Sounds—” you're regaining your footing, regaining control over yourself, trying to reinstate some power, but the way he just said those words has taken away any sense of authority you thought you had. His voice is commanding, with no room for compromise or disobedience. “Sounds dangerous, but... alright.”

“Good girl, now get on the bed,” he says, and the timbre of his voice nearly kills you then and there, the dropping pitch making the words come out rough and serious. Pedro still sounds like himself, since his normal voice is more than enough to make you a little weak at the knees on a regular day, this new variant is a completely different monster.

You lay there, waiting for his next instruction, as the shadows danced on the walls and the sound of his footsteps echoed in the silence. Once he reaches the bed and fists his hands in the sheets on either side of your thighs, bending down until he’s face to face with you, your eyes level with his. You let your hands roam over his broad shoulders and down his torso, feeling his tense muscles relax under your touch.

“I need you now, P,” you mumble, and you move your hand lower to hold him through his boxers. He twitches into you.

“What did I say?” his dark eyes are fixed on you as he reaches for your hand and pins it above your head. "I don't think you fully understand the consequences of disobeying me. We'll do this my way," he whispers menacingly.

This dark side of Pedro is one you've never seen before. The Pedro you know is a sunshine. However, the man on top of you right now is a completely different person, and you're more than the ready to get to know him.

“Keep your hands above your head. No touching."

Your body is aching for him, all willing and open, but he’s sliding down you, pushing your shorts down as he goes. His soft hands trace your thighs and stops at your knees, “Open up for me.”

"So pretty," he says, voice thick. You look down to see his face, pupils blown wide. “Can't wait to taste you, baby.”

You're a wreck. A writhing, moaning, shaking wreck. Shit. You don't even need to be looking at his face to know how arrogant he is right now, not that you could—it's buried deep inside between your thighs. You're desperate to grab his hair just to see where misbehaving will take you, but you settle for the headboard.

He kisses your cunt, messy and hot. A groan rumbles in his throat and he moves his tongue in circles, exploring every inch of your wetness. You arch your back, lost in pleasure, as he continues to devour you with his mouth. When you look down again, his brown eyes are staring back at you as his fingers slide into you, finding the right spot in milliseconds. It's fucking game over.

His pace increases as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly coordinated with his tongue and his goddamn nose. “Pedro...” you whimper, out of breath. “P-Please let me cum."

“Not yet, baby," he chuckles, fingers continue to expertly tease and stroke your sensitive areas, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. "I know you can hold it for a little longer,” you cry out, gripping the bedsheets as you desperately try to move your hips to ride his fingers. Your eyes are watering slightly from how good he’s making you feel.

“You can cum now.”

Every part of your body spasms, and you scream, everything buzzing and vibrating as you tighten around him, bucking and thrashing, pleasure and electricity flooding your body. Removing his fingers, he starts kissing the inside of your thighs, all the way up to your belly and lips. As you try to catch your breath, he whispers in your ear, "That was just the beginning. I want to make you cum again and again."

You can tell Pedro loves the way your face heats up at his words. “Please do,” you tell him, grabbing the waistband of his boxers, and your wandering hands are met by bare, warm skin and the short, neatly cropped hair that grows thicker the further down your fingers dare to venture.

“I know you said you're in charge, but I really need you to take this off,” you say, losing your ability to wait for orders. To your surprise, he complies and gets off the bed, slides down his boxers, just as you get rid of your t-shirt. You can't help but admire the sight of him fully exposed and ready for you, moving to the drawer to pull out a condom, tearing the packet and rolling it onto himself.

“You can take a picture, it'll last longer."

“Don't get cocky.”

Pedro settles between you once again, and you grab his face. His eyes glistened, his hot breath on your skin as he leans in closer. Your thumb brushes against the tiny white scar on his nose. “You've marked me forever,” he chuckles, as he cradles your head and kisses you, his nose brushing against yours.

You grab his length and give him a slow, steady stroke from base to tip, then back down. His mouth leaves yours as his dick twitches in your firm grasp, causing him to groan involuntarily. The pace of your hand up and down his length never picking up or slowing down, instead maintaining the same teasingly slow pace.

“Are you sure?” he whispers softly.

“Yes.”

Pedro guides himself over you, the head of his cock slipping over where you’re open, up to rub on your clit so your fingers dig into his shoulders. His nose nudges gently against yours, “I'll be gentle, princesa.”

“I don't want you gentle. I want you rough.”

“Is that so?”

You moan, eyes closing. You can't even remember how to breathe, let alone speak. Pedro pushes only his head into you, opening you before pulling out, leaving you contracting around nothing. “I'm going to fuck you roughly, and you'll take it like a good girl, won't you?”

“Yes, P,” you rasp, hands sliding across his back. He's playing with you and knows how to make it almost unbearably good. He pushes deeper into you this time, and you can feel your body resist, protesting that he's too big, too much, and he pulls out. He drags his cock over where you're slick and messy before thrusting forward as far as he can. Your nails sink into his broad shoulders, back arching and pushing your stomach into his. "Oh my God.”

“You feel so fucking good, baby. Like you're made for me."

Your legs wrap around his hips, ankles crossing at the bottom of his back, to keep him there, deep inside you. His head drops to your shoulders, pressing his lips to your collarbone. You're close, again.

“Please...” you beg, moaning like you've lost all sanity, his mouth pulls away slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Please what?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

“More, please, I need more."

The way Pedro's fucking you right now borders on dangerous, making you question lots of things—things you'd rather not think about right now, as he reaches for your hand and places it on your lower stomach. “Feel that?”

You're not sure who moans louder: you when you realize why he's put your hand here, or Pedro when your walls clench involuntarily around his cock at the sensation. Your entire body tightens as you cry out, coming undone once again.

He presses his lips against your forehead and rolls you over, his cock still buried inside you.

“Pedro…that was…” you pant, body on top of his. “Did you come?”

He smirks. “Not yet, because you're gonna ride me now.”

Despite the fact that your body is weak and spent, the simple thought of being on top of him is enough fuel to make you feel a surge of energy. You straddle his hips, feeling his hardness against you, and sinking down on his dick.

“Like this?” you ask as you begin to move your body in sync with his, Your hips swirl and grind down, and Pedro's face is filled with pleasure. “Yes, mi amor. Just like that.”

Every rock of your hips and the way Pedro's pushing into you are the perfect rhythm. His hands grip your hips so tight, you're pretty sure it'll leave bruises for days. You lean down, his mouth close by your ear, as he fucks into you, hearing him whisper things only you get to hear. “you feel so good, baby, taking my cock so fucking well.”

Everything is so overwhelming—your body responding to his every thrust and word. It's a moment of pure ecstasy, and you never want it to end. Collapsing onto his chest, your fingers reach up to grip his hair. The satisfying sound of slapping skin echoes through the room, and you're suddenly glad there's no one in the house.

Pedro slaps your ass as you're still rocking back against his thrust. “You're gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” you moaned as your body trembled with pleasure, mouth crashing into his, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back, and you feel him spill into the condom. He curses out your name as he's twitching and spasming inside you.

The post-sex haze settles over you both as you lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. After a couple of minutes, Pedro finally slips out of you and heads to the bathroom. You manage to get up, body aching. As you gather your clothes from the floor and dress up, he emerges from the bathroom, his face puzzled.

“What are you doing?”

You chuckle, “Leaving.”

Of course you didn't want to leave, but since you agreed this was just sex and nothing more, staying sounds like a dangerous situation.

There's no need to make this situation more complicated than it already is, even if you gaslight yourself into thinking this is fine as long as you're both on the same page.

“No,” he interjects. “Stay.”

“Pedro, we said—"

“I know what we said, but stay. Just for tonight.”

You give him a warning look, and he gives you the same look back. “It'll make me feel dirty if you leave." you burst out laughing, and his face turns red. How's this the same man that just minutes ago was whispering the filthiest things into your ear?

“Okay, I'll stay.”

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed and no signs of Pedro. If you weren't lying on his bed, legs hurting like you ran a marathon, and your body wrapped in his warm blankets, you would have thought it was all a dream. Because in your dreams is the only place you are together, it's where you come home to him and he comes home to you.

You could still feel his hands moving over your skin, his breath on your neck, and the way he whispered in your ear, making you feel like the most loved person in the world.

Except it wasn't lovemaking; it was just sex.

The warmth of the hot chilean sun spilled through the bedroom window, casting a golden glow on the walls and illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air. The distant sound of soft music and laughter from downstairs made you smile as you sat up against the headboard.

The sound of the door opening interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up to see Pedro wearing the coziest looking sweater, his dark hair all over the place, and presumably a cup of coffee in his hand. “Good morning, solecito,” he says sitting down next to you. "I made you a cup of coffee, just the way you like it."

You take the cup from his hand, fingers touching. “It can't possibly still be morning,” you rasp, voice still hoarse.

“No, it's not," he tells you. “It's 2:30pm.”

The fear in your face is palpable. “Fuck, did I miss the gift exchange?” you blurt out.

Pedro's pursed lips and guilty expression made it clear that you, in fact, missed the happiest time of the day. “No...” you dragged out, “Why didn't you wake me up?!” you demanded, hitting him on the shoulder.

“I didn't want to disturb your sleep, you looked so peaceful," he replied with a sheepish grin. "But if it makes you feel better, everyone loved what you got them."

You groan in response. “I hate you so much.”

“Are you always this mean when you wake up?"

You shrug, bringing the cup to your lips. “Eh, only when I have to deal with people who make me miss the fun part of Christmas."

“Let's talk about how my dad got the better gift, by the way,” he tells you, moving his hands energetically. “And how I'm definitely not jealous at all.”

“I had to impress him, and you can never go wrong with a Rolex,” you remark with a grin. “Plus, you deserve it after doing the most evil thing you could do to me.”

“You mean caring for your wellbeing and letting you rest after the very... eventful night you had?” he says teasingly. “Shut up,” you reply, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. In true Pedro fashion, he dramatically dodges the pillow and grins slyly, "You can't silence me that easily."

“I have other ways,” you quickly reply.

Oh, how you love to play with fire.

Pedro raises an eyebrow and chuckles, “Is that so?”

You hum. The tension is palpable in the air as you look into his eyes, trying to read his face. You wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart.

“Wanna see what I got you?” he asked, breaking the silence that had settled, his eyes still on you.

“Dying to,” you say, pretending not to notice how he changed the subject, setting the coffee mug on the nightstand, “but first I need to shower before I go downstairs.”

“No need,” he reaches for his front pocket, pulling out a small wrapped package. You eagerly take it from him, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Espero que te guste.”

Tearing the paper off and opening the black box, you find a beautiful necklace with a delicate gold chain and a small emerald pendant. “Now I feel like an asshole,” you say, immediately regretting getting him a bunch of funny socks. Your eyes are still fixed on the necklace.

Pedro laughs, your favorite sound in the world, “Hey, I love my socks. You didn't have to get me so many though,”

“I didn't know which ones you'd like better, so I got you a bunch of ‘em,” you say, a hint of embarrassment in your voice. “This is so beautiful,"

“It's your favorite gemstone," he says softly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, everything is okay.

You rush forward to embrace him, catching him off guard by the way he chuckles and says oh. He wraps his arms tightly around you, and you nuzzle into his neck, feeling the soft fabric of his sweater and the familiar scent of his cologne. “Thanks so much, P,” you say, voice drowning on his skin.

“Merry Christmas, mi amor."

No strings attached, spontaneous, fun, and only while you're here. That's what you and Pedro agreed upon when you decided to have sex five nights ago. But the way he has you pinned against the shower wall and making your legs tremble with pleasure right now has you thinking of a way to make him not want to do this with anyone else.

The slick, wet sounds of Pedro's fingers pumping in and out of you filled the bathroom as you moaned in bliss. “Can you be a good girl for me and be quiet?” his nose brushes against yours, “We don't want them to hear us, do we?”

You shake your head, blown away, feeling suffocated, as he drags two fingers over your swollen clit. Your jaw sags as the pleasure floods your body as he applies more pressure to it, causing you to grumble in pleasure. As two fingers slide into you, deliciously stretching you, he covers your mouth with his, absorbing your satisfied moan.

He pulled his mouth away from yours, and the water slipped through his hair, dampening it and sticking it back on his forehead. "Open your mouth," he says, a glint in his eyes as you look at him, bewildered. He presses two fingers against your tongue and the sweet-salty taste fills your mouth as you suck on his fingers. “See how fucking good you taste.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need to feel you inside me."

Pedro lets his hand wander around your hips and slowly drags it down, lifting your leg and securing it around his hip. He took the space between your thighs, aligned himself with your entrance, and pushed in, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling out and thrusting back in.

He was moving faster, and you felt like a ragdoll in his arms, so euphoric from your high that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to you and you'd gladly accept it.

“F-faster, please,”

You've had sex in a variety of positions over the last few days, but there was something about this position and the access it provided that you found incredibly satisfying. His wet, solid chest pressed against yours, his hand tight against your thigh as he buried himself deep within you.

Pedro let out a low groan, one you were all too familiar with by this point, indicating that he was about to finish. His hips trembled and he let out a final grunt, his breaths ragged and heavy as he came inside of you, mouths meeting in a kiss.

The two of you stood there, still in that proximity for a moment, full of love and softness because above all else, he was your best friend.

“Can I wash your hair?”

“Only if you let me wash yours after,” he replies, reaching for the shampoo bottle.

“Deal.”

Since they had a low-key Christmas consisting mainly of hot chocolate, fuzzy sweaters and movies, the family decided to plan a big New Year's Eve celebration to make up for it. Which prompted you to take a quick trip to the city yesterday in search of a dress because you hadn't packed anything fancy.

Pedro insisted that you didn't have to stress over that, to which you obviously objected.

“Sorry, but I'm not taking fashion advice from someone who has like three t-shirts and a pair of jeans,” you said, scrolling through your phone in search of stores. “You wound me, baby,” he replied, putting a hand on his chest in mock pain. “But if you insist on shopping, let me take you.”

“No, you still have to help Javi with the party,” you said, getting up from the the couch. “I'll drive there, and I'll take Pedro and Bruno with me.”

Pedro looked at you slowly, processing your statement, looking uncertain.

“Google Maps is a thing, and we'll be fine. Now give me your keys.”

“I like it when you're bossy,” he said, his voice lowering with a hint of a smile. “They're on the counter."

And thanks to the heavens, you decided to make an effort and find something suitable for the occasion because they went all out.

The bass pounded through the walls as the guests danced and laughed, enjoying the party. The colorful decorations and delicious food made it a night to remember.

“Oh my god, they're gone,” Javiera groans, referring to the tray of now empty lemon bars that were apparently the highlight of the dessert table. “I wanted another one!”

“I made another batch, I hid them in the oven,” you quickly tell her, feeling a little proud of yourself over the fact that people were enjoying what you made. “I'll go get them.”

“I will come with you.”

Once you both reach the empty kitchen, you go straight to the oven, pulling out the tray of lemon bars and setting it on the kitchen island.

“Thank you for taking Pedro and Bruno out yesterday, by the way."

"I had so fun much with them. They're great boys and even better fashion advisers,” you tell her, gesturing to your burgundy dress.

“Glad to know I've taught them well,” she says laughing.

As you cut the bars into perfect squares, Javiera grabs one and takes a bite, savoring the tangy sweetness. "These are amazing, you should consider selling them," she exclaims, closing her eyes in content.

You smile. “In another lifetime, I own a bakery in a small town with a living unit attached to the top. I have a beautiful green kitchen, and I don't feel the need to prove myself to people."

Javiera gives you a warm smile as you grab the powdered sugar. “You know,” she says reluctantly. “I see things and I feel things,” you stop what you're doing to look up at her, confused. “My brother's just scared.”

Confusion is quickly replaced with clarity as you realize where she's going with this. You open your mouth to say something, but she shuts you down. “He's created this wall to protect himself, he's been through a lot, and he has convinced himself that this is enough, that he doesn't need more, but I know better.”

A sigh leaves your lips, all of those feelings bubble up until you can't get a good breath, until you’re drowning. She continues, “I have seen you two together, friends don't look at each other like that."

You know that she's right, but things aren't so simple. Not when it comes to this.

“Maybe in another lifetime," is all you tell her, grabbing the lemon bars and heading out of the kitchen.

•••

The backyard is a wonderland of string lights and bunting, the air is filled with the sound of laughter and music as people dance under the stars. You were lost in conversation with Pedro's father. He shared more stories of his youth, what got him to pursue medicine, and how he met Pedro's late mother, leaving you feeling nostalgic for a time you never knew.

He catches you looking away, follows your gaze straight to Pedro, and smiles knowingly. “I hope you have a good flight tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you say, blushing a little at your own transparency. “Thank you for everything, really.”

“We hope you come back soon, It was a pleasure to have you,” he tells you, placing a hand on your shoulder, reassuring you. He walks off, pausing for a moment to talk to Pedro. Smiles were exchanged, and then he continued his way.

Pedro looks exceptionally good tonight. Hair perfectly styled, white shirt perfectly stretching over his back. You drink up his movements as he approaches you, a smile plastered on his face.

“Who did your hair?” you ask him, knowing damn well this was someone else's doing because he didn't know how to do it. “My sister,” he replied, chuckling.

“She's doing the Lord's work,” you tell him, folding your arms, feeling exposed by the way he's staring. It's comical that you feel this way, as if he hasn't seen you naked for the past week.

“I'm gonna have to hire someone to do my hair at all times if you like it this much.”

“I like it either way,” you admitted, "but I just think it looks extra good when it's styled like this."

His mouth splits into quite possibly your favorite of his various smiles, the one that makes it look like there's a secret tucked up in one corner of his mouth. “Dance with me?”

“Always.”

You take his hand and pull him to the deck, beneath the twinkling lights and away from the crowd, while the Bee Gees' “How Deep Is Your Love” plays like the universe just wants to mock you. Pedro folds your hand up in his warm palm, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes to focus on how this feels.

It feels right, it feels perfect, and it feels like it's gonna end.

He nestles his mouth into your hair and breathes you in as you sway. His sister's words ring in your ear once again: My brother's just afraid.

You allow yourself to imagine this feeling lasting. A world within a world just for you and Pedro, where people just let you both be. Where you belong to each other. And then you invite reality forward to change the story.

You're working all day, taking endless flights to different locations, because you're trapped in a cycle of wanting to do more and never feeling like it's enough. Pedro exhausted from long days of shooting, press, taking endless flights, and getting pulled down by gravity.

Unaswered texts. Missed calls. Grief. Hurt. Distance. Missing each other. Fighting. Falling apart.

And you realize you're afraid too and this can never be.

“Pedro.”

There's a lengthy silence. His voice is a raspy, growly mutter. “I know. But don't say it.”

You don't look at each other. You just need to hold on to each other because if you look, you'll see that this make-believe game is over. You both feel the warmth of each other's embrace and the unspoken words between you. The silence is comforting yet suffocating.

His arms squeezed around you as everyone started to countdown. Cheers filled the air. Fireworks broke out over the sky in a thousand different colors. He tells you happy new year, and you say it back, never letting go.

Even though you never said it to each other, you both knew. The love was there, and it didn't change anything.

Maybe in the future, maybe in another lifetime.

Reblog or like if you enjoyed it, thank you for reading :) (i know this ending feels like this is it for them HOWEVER i will be making several other parts because i can't stop writing about this lol)

#love is complicated fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fic #my writing

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crownofgildedlilies · 2 months

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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