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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 9 months

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Being a Pict spy and falling in love with Virilus would involve:

Titus Flavius Virilus x reader

Probably the first and only Centurion (2010) fic on Tumblr! I can't help it, Dominic West is so handsome in this movie!

*****

🗡️ The conquest of Britain has reached a stalemate, Roman and Pict forces facing each other in an endless series of skirmishes and ambushes that can't tip the balance towards one side or the other. The morale is low, even in the Ninth Legion, and Virilus spends more than a sleepless night fearing that no matter how brave and loyal his men are, none of them will ever leave Britain and return home - which fills him with guilt, not for himself but rather for the many men who trust him with their life and look at him for leadership and victory.

🗡️ Then, one night, after he has already retired to his tent, he is told someone came to see him; he expects a messenger or an envoy of governor Agricola, and instead he finds himself face to face with you, a Briton woman who quickly bows in front of him. "I mean you no harm, my lord." you say, speaking in a comprehensible latin "I only ask you to listen to me; I offer you the opportunity to kill Gorlacon and destroy the Briton people once and for all."

🗡️ It is quickly clear to Virilus that you are a spy, willing to betray her people and ally herself with those she should hate and oppose - something that he has already seen, and does not trust. You ask for gold in exchange for your help, which was to be expected... and that is why the general finds himself doubting greed is the -only? Or real?- reason you are turning your back to what you should hold dear.

🗡️ "Why are you doing this? Have you been cast out by your people, and swore revenge? Or did another tribe pay you to betray Gorlacon?" he asks, and he sees you stiffen, still kneeling in front of him, as if his questions touched an issue that you would rather keep for yourself. "That is not for you to know, my lord." you answer, polite but firm "If you wish, I will leave and you will never see me again; but if you want to give me a chance to prove myself, I can promise you will not regret it."

🗡️ Virilus is not in the habit of trusting those he does not know well, especially since he has no reason to think you are not been sent by Gorlacon himself to lure him and his men in a trap; even if you claim to know all about the Briton leader's strategies and weaknesses, the last thing he should do is rely on you, when you might very well have been sent by his sworn enemy himself as a talking, walking weapon.

🗡️ The safest thing would be to put you to death and forget the whole matter; still, Virilus finds himself hesitating. Spies are occasionally useful, every commander knows it, and it cannot be denied that with the whole expedition in Britain being at an impasse, unless something tips the scale in favour of the Roman forces, the Ninth Legion could remain there for the next century, without ever achieving victory; you might be exactly what they need to break the stalemate and force the tribes to accept the Empire's dominion over Britain... which means, primarily, destroy Gorlacon. On the other hand, it would be unwise to let an enemy into their midst, considering she could slaughter them in their sleep at best... and open the doors of the fort to Gorlacon's forces at worst.

🗡️ "I know you have no reason to trust me, my lord; quite the opposite." you admit in the end, standing; you have remained silent as the man in front of you reflected on your proposal, finding yourself unexpectedly curious. Not being a warrior, the only Romans you have ever seen are the prisoners Gorlacon and his men occasionally brought to your village, but this man is different: not a fire-breathing demon as the stories the children of your people are told to caution them against leaving the safety of the village, but a man not unlike those you have grown up with, strong and imposing even when unarmed and not wearing his armor, but in his dark eyes you can see cleverness, and cunning, and the capacity for both bravery and ruthlessness. According to what the warriors told you about Virilus, his troops are completely, almost fanatically loyal to him, which is proof of his value: any officer or commander can lead through force and fear, but it takes an exceptional man, your father once told you, to do it with love. "And I could swear on my life, and on my Gods and on everything I hold dear, that I am telling the truth, and it would mean nothing to you. But there is something you can trust, and it is my hate. I... I despise Gorlacon with every fibre of my being; I would gladly damn my soul to make sure he suffers even just a tenth of what he put me through. He... he hurt me; I will not tell you how or why, now or ever; but this I can swear, I would gladly butcher every Briton on this island, children included, if it meant making him pay. I have nothing left to live for, but vengeance. I do not really care for gold, or for protection, or for anything you may have to offer; bring me his head, and I will never want for anything else. Promise me you will kill him, and I will gladly put my life in your hands."

🗡️ You have spoken more than you had intended to -what is so special about this man you have just met, you wonder, that compels you to share, if not the reasons behind your betrayal, the pain and the rage that have taken over your heart?- but you have only a moment to regret your loquaciousness before your gaze meets that of the man in front of you, still busy evaluating you; you thought you were now beyond fear, but the strength in his dark eyes, his potential for courage and nobility as well as relentlessness and brutality, is enough to make you tremble.

🗡️ "If I so much suspect you are less than sincere, I will slaughter you with my own hands." he says in the end; you do not know whether he is speaking slowly to help you understand or to hempasize the intention behind his words, but one thing is certain: not only he is not making empty threats, but he would be ready to make good on his promise without a moment of hesitation "If there is something I hate more than traitors, it is spies; should I discover this is what you are, not even your Gods will protect you from me. Is it understood?" You simply not, inwardly grateful you have nothing to fear and still unable not to tremble as you face the unexpressed ferocity of the general; you have gone beyond fear of pain and torture, but he really is the last man you would want to make an enemy of... the sort of man you might respect. "It is understood, my lord." "You may call me general, since you are under my command now. And do you have a name I can use?" "I am named (name). I am at your service, and I swear I will follow you to the end of the world, as long as you bring me my prize."

🗡️ From that day on, your life as part of the Roman army begins, and being the only woman among hundreds of men is hard... but slightly less than you would have expected. Virilus has made clear that while he will do his utmost to protect you, he cannot guarantee your safety, from external enemies as well as the attention you might be given from his soldiers, which you have accepted, since you are not a child and he is not your father. Virilus makes sure the soldiers of the Legion knows you are to be left alone and that any man who tries to hurt you will have him to answer to, and most of them begrudgingly obey, out of loyalty for their commander. Lustful gazes and obscene jokes are something you can bear and ignore, since they are nothing new and you understand that most of those men have been alone for months if not years; it does occur at times that you are pushed against a wall or grabbed and then pulled inside a room, and you use your nails and knees to defend yourself and escape, shaken but safe. You do not complain to Virilus, but in another occasion a drunk man is dared to enter your room at night; finding him touching you while sitting on your bed, you scream loud enough to wake the whole fort, and when the general himself rushes to your aid, he sees that you put the dagger you always carry with you, hanging from your belt or hidden under your pillow, to good use, and the man has to be cared for by the healers before Virilus has him flogged. From then on, no one bothers you again, and you start bolting your door.

🗡️ You mostly keep to yourself, both out of a natural preference and to avoid unnecessary attention, and in the end, most of the men get used to you and treat you with the rough camaraderie they typically reserve to each other. Some do not even try to hide the contempt they feel for one belonging to the race they have been fighting for decades, and a traitor of her own people besides, which you accept; a few are more agreeable, maybe because they appreciate your help or simply because of the trust their commander has put in you. Septus, Virilus' attendant and close friend, incidentally discovers you have received basic training with a sword, and the two of you spar a few times; Tarak, the cook, takes a liking to you after you catch a few rabbits for the mess and makes sure you receive the same rations as everyone else.

🗡️ You have the opportunity to prove yourself, and the sincerity of your intentions, just a few days after your arrival at the Legion's command post. You inform Virilus that Gorlacon is expecting a visit from a few of his allies, the tribes that have united under his command against the Empire, and that will meet to plan an assault on the Roman forces; you help organize an ambush thanks to which two important chieftains fall into Virilus' hands, and are later convinced by the general to reveal Gorlacon's plans. You are also acquainted with a few members of other tribes who oppose the Briton leader, and introduce them to Virilus so that he can propose an alliance against him; your knowledge of Briton territory, society, military forces and strategies are likewise useful and freely shared, unlike what might be confessed by prisoners. Your arrival does not magically solve the Legion's difficulties, nor it ensures a rapid, easy victory, but in the next two years the general has no reason to regret accepting you in his service.

🗡️ Virilus is highly protective of you, which at first seems the most natural thing; after all, no one likes spies, soldiers least of all and even if they prove yourself useful to the cause, and a woman without friends or protectors living with hundreds of men would have to watch her steps. This is why he has you sleep in a room far from the soldiers' quarters but close to his own -so that he can intervene in case of necessity, and hear you shout should you need help- and has secretly asked Septus to spar with you -without telling you he had, but rather as if his friend simply wanted to cross swords with an opponent who had been taught a different style of swordmanship- to make sure you are able to defend yourself. He is intrigued by you, not last because the army is everything he has known ever since he was only a boy, and for years he has considered any native of Britain as an enemy he had to kill before being killed himself... but you are different; you are, he is sure as soon as he sees you, even though it takes him a long time to understand how, and why.

🗡️ His days are as busy as they can be, between patrols, hours spent planning and organizing his troops, and sparring; Virilus sincerly enjoys spending time with his men, who in turn treat him with both respect and familiarity, but occasionally he needs to be alone with his thoughts, reflecting on his past and his future, on the events that have brought him where he is and what the Gods might have in store for him... and in those moments, the only person whose company he finds himself welcoming, is yours. He knows better than to share confidential informations he has been entrusted by his superiors and he is not the sort of man who easily shares his emotions, but he feels at ease with you, even more than with the men he has served with for years.

🗡️ You are perhaps the first Briton and Roman who have a chance to live side by side and talk in peace, since your peoples have been at war for decades, and you spend hours discussing the differences between your two cultures. Since birth you have been taught to consider Rome as your most bitter enemy, the cruel and bloodthirsty invasor who aims to conquer Britain and enslave its people; you have not changed your mind, but at the same time you listen, fascinated and rapt as you were when the elders of your village recounted the stories of Gods and heroes, as he tells you of the great men who have led Rome, transforming it from a village not unlike your own into a huge empire where the sun never sets, about their Gods, much less different from your own than you had imagined, and about the city itself, where greatness and brutality coexist in a whirlwind of races and colors and languages, a place of culture and civility and knowledge where slaves are slaughtered by wild beast and warriors kill each other for the entertainment of the crowd.

🗡️ It is all so new and interesting for you, so much that you wish you could write it -something you are unable to do, since such an ability is considered a prerogative of men and your father never allowed you to learn- to make sure you forget nothing, but the thing you are most fascinated by, and that you are never sated to hear about... is him. Titus Flavius Virilus -a cognomen that, you must admit, suits him perfectly- general of the Ninth Legion, an expert commander and soldier; it is easy to see why his men love and trust him so completely, and would be ready to follow him to the end of the world: brave, strong, completely void of the self-importance and superiority so common among officers, he is the sort of man who can happily spend an evening on an equal footing with his subordinates, drinking and playing dices, and then command their obedience without even raising his voice. He has deep, clever dark eyes, a booming laugh, a big, burly frame, and callous hands; he treats you with the same respect he uses with the soldiers, apparently unconcerned of both your origins, which should make him hate you, and your gender. He appears to trust you and to sincerely believe in his promise to reward your help with Gorlacon's head, and for a long time this is everything you need and want; it takes you a while you realize you sincerely appreciate his presence and company, and even more before you allow yourself to accept, in the depth of your heart, how... fond you have become of him.

🗡️ He is capable with a sword, and ruthless when need be: the first time you witness a battle between the Legion and the Briton forces -your own people, you cannot help thinking, but you have hardened your heart against pity and fealty, because everything Gorlacon and his men will suffer, he will have brought it upon himself- your eyes avidly follow him from the rear, and you feel yourself shivering out of awe and fear together as you see him cleave himself a path through the enemy forces, every slash of his sword meeting the arm, the chest, or the neck of a Briton warrior; he is relentless, merciless, steadfast in his determination to survive another day or at least bring as many enemies as he can with him. More than once he is wounded, but that only helps increase his lust for blood; astride on his war horse, the sun rays playing on the metal of his armor and the plumed helm that makes it easier for his men to locate him on the battlefield, Virilus appears like a war God bent on conquer and distruction. When in the end he returns to you, bleeding and out of breath but victorious, his sword in an hand and the standard of the enemy troops he just vanquished in the other, you stare at each other for a moment, and when you finally speak you can barely hear yourself above the pounding of your heart. "Did you find him?" you ask, and Virilus does not need to ask who you are referring to, nor does he asks you to wait until the wounded have been cared for and the troops have returned to their post; he shakes his head, clear and sincere regret in his eyes. "He was able to escape." he confesses "I am very sorry; I had hoped to capture him, but he was quick to disappear when he realized his troops had been vanquished." You are disappointed, and angry, even though you knew that even if defeated Gorlacon would not have been an easy prey to catch, but then Virilus rests his hand on your shoulder, and you look at him, feeling as if, just for a moment, whatever distance existed between you had disappeared like snow at the first song of spring; it is pleasant, even if it does not make you feel any better. "I am sorry." he repeats "I know this is not what you wanted, but I will bring you his head, as I promised. You have my word." You can only nod in response, feeling for the first time in months as if hate and desire for revenge are not enough to make you wish to go on... nor is the empathy this strange man who barely knows you feels for your plight.

🗡️ Two years pass like this, with periods -weeks, or months- that you spend in peace, even content, with the men of the Legion, among which you have found, if not friends, allies you can reasonably trust will not stab you in the back and who have gotten used to your presence, and Virilus, to whom you are now bonded by a peculiar, unexpected friendship, made of a the shared goal to vanquish a common enemy, and a genuine and chaste pleasure in each other's company. The news that a Briton woman has allied herself with the Romans has spread all over the land, and you are sure there are many among your people -well, what you once considered your people- that curse your name because of that betrayal and would gladly kill you. You do not care, not in the slightest, but while you have asked Virilus to reward your help with Gorlacon's head, sometimes you hope you will have a chance to look him in the eyes before he is sentenced to death, to make clear he is paying for what he has done to you. Most of the time you are... not happy, because that is an emotion you are probably not able to feel anymore, but at least in a place where pain and solitude cannot hurt you as they once did; you can even feel a flicker of joy, occasionally, when the soldiers drinking in the mess hall put a cup in your hands and let you sit among them to share a drink and a laugh, or when Septus compliments you after you disarm him for the first time, or Tarak shares with you an old recipe of his family and lets you help prepare it... or when Virilus asks you to ride by his side during an expedition to ask you questions about the terrain or the tribes living nearby who could be convinced to oppose Gorlacon - matters, you suspect, of which he has a perfect understanding already. In moments like those, you can almost fool yourself, and think there still exist a future for you, and something that is worth living for.

🗡️ And then there are other moments, shorter and sporadic, but still enough to make you feel as if you were losing a part of you each time. Moments in which you miss your people, your family and your friends, and you cannot believe you have actually done it, that you have left everything you knew and held dear to throw yourself in the arms of the enemy, the army sent from the other side of the Sea with the sole intent to kill and enslave every single Briton on the island; the betrayal is certainly enough to earn you an eternity of torment after your death, but it is not only that, and even though you are treated civilly, sometimes even friendly, by your Roman allies, and even if Virilus were to make good on his promise to kill Gorlacon for you, vengeance would not give you back what you have lost, nor would it free you from the pain, the solitude and the regret that have become your constant companion.

🗡️ One day the Ninth Legion faces the united forces of Garlacon and his allies in a great battle, achieving an important victory that, you hear Virilus discussing, might represent a concrete progress on the road to the complete conquest of Britain. That result has been reached with your help, since you were able to advice your allies regarding the strategies the Britons would use and the best terrain to face them, but celebration is the last thing on your mind: Gorlacon has escaped once more, slipping away with the men of his personal guard once he realized ruin was upon them. The disappointment, yet another ever since you joined the Legion, pushes you beyond the brink; you argue with Virilus, accusing of having forgotten the word he had given you to pursue his own goals, and then you storm away, pushing away the soldiers ready to grab you and let the general discipline you.

🗡️ Hoping Tarak will not be crossed with you, but too saddened and upset to stop, you steal a bottle of fine wine from the kitchen and find a corner on the border the woods, where you drink and grumble and cry and feel alone for a while, while at a stone's throw from you the Legion celebrates their great victory; night has fallen, and you are starting to feel uncomfortably cold, but you do not want the men to see you in your sorry state. You have been sitting with your back against the trunk of an oak for a while, feeling sorry for yourself but both too proud and too shy to return to the fort and beg for the general's forgiveness, when the man you were thinking about -which is not surprising; Virilus has become an unexpectedly regular presence in your thoughts, a fact you have not quite come to terms with yet- appears by your side, looking not crossed nor surprised to see you there, a warm cape on his large shoulders. He briefly hesitates, and then, seeing you are not going to shy away from his company, he silently sits next to you; after a moment, you extend the bottle as an offer of peace, that he accepts. "I am sorry; I should not have spoken to you in that manner... and I think I have been drinking your wine." you confess, and Virilus laughs - a pleasant sound; even though he has been wounded in two places and briefly even lost consciousness on the battlefield, he seems in very high spirits, which is understandable, given the almost decisive victory he has achieved that day. "I am not angry; you, on the other hand, have a reason to be crossed. I had ordered one of the centuriae to expressely search for Gorlacon, so as to bring him to you, but he was able to escape. I know this is something I have already said plenty of times... but I am sorry."

🗡️ He is so honest and sincere in his regret, you feel your rage disappearing - or at least, you are now capable to accept it is not fair to accuse him of indolence. "Thank you, general; I did not mean to accuse you, I know you are the sort of man who believes in his word, but..." "But you were angry." he easily guesses as he passes you the wine once more. "Angry and disappointed, which I can understand. You really hate Gorlacon, do you not?" "I do. He has..." you begin, and then you hesitate, because you are coming dangerously close to the topic you had both sworn and ordered yourself to never discuss, and the simple act of thinking about him breaks your heart, but you have carried that sadness in your heart for so long, that sharing it, even just partially, might ease that weight from your heart...

🗡️ "I hate him with every fiber of my being." you reveal in the end, staring in the darkness in front of you while your memories bring you back, back to that terrible night when you lost everything you could have lived for "I hate him so much, there is no space in my heart for anything else. I would gladly give my blood, my life, my very soul, to make sure he pays. He has destroyed my life; he has taken the... the things I loved the most away from me. And because of this, i will never know peace before I make sure he pays for it." You have started crying again, which is terrible, because Virilus is right next to you, and the last thing you want is to have him think you weak and prone to tears, as it is said it is common for women, but Virilus is not the sort of man who loses respect in someone when he sees them in pain. He looks at you, and his own heart aches as he sees you suffer, and there is nothing he could do to comfort you - which he desperately wishes; he trusts you fully, and he has come to consider you a close companion, not unlike the comrades he has served with for years, but there is something more, something he is both fascinated and unsettled by; the fragility in your pain, mixed with the courage to overcome it and keep living, even if just to earn your revenge, the pure joy on your face as the soldiers let you sit among them to enjoy companionship and a cup of wine, and the safety and peace you find in solitude, aware that you are not one of them and never will be. You are full of contradictions and secrets, a person who has been marked by mourning and has decided to make it her armor and sustenance, and Virilus may not know what exactly has happened to you, what you have lost and why exactly you want Gorlacon's head on a pike, but one thing he is certain of: he is glad you are part of his troops, glad you decided to entrust him with your purpose in life... and if you are ready to damn your soul to make certain your enemy dies, he will gladly taint his own to ensure you are satisfied... and able to smile again.

🗡️ He asks no questions; he wishes you would confide in him -he really does; but why? Does he really want to know what brought you to ally yourself with the sworn enemies of your people... or does he simply wishes to know you trust him enough to share your secrets with him?- but he knows it is not his place to ask, and this is why he holds his tongue, and slowly, awkwardly, rests his muscled arm on your shoulders; he feels you stiffen for a moment, almost reflexively, before you seem to determine he poses no threat, and you keep sobbing quietly, the wine bottle still in your hands, and then a few minutes later, whether because of the long day or because of you are more than a little inebriated, you start nodding, and soon after his arm on your shoulders is the only thing keeping you upright; you have fallen asleep against him, and Virilus laughs softly and for a minute he stays where he is, his arms -both of them now- around you, both shielded by a night dark enough to hide any secret. There is nothing inappropriate, let alone prurient, in what he is doing, but the general cannot help feeling guilty as he holds you close, your heart beating against his ribcage, your breath brushing against his cheek.

🗡️ It is the first time he sees you asleep, since you always lock yourself in your room, and Virilus finds that you look at ease, even peaceful in your slumber, as if the pain and the resentment that have been part of you ever since the two of you met had relented, leaving you in peace at least as you walk in Morpheus' realm. He holds you in his arms, the weight and the substance of your body a source of a sweet, chaste comfort he could not explain in words... like a child that hugs her doll to find courage in the darkness of her bedroom. He is not scared of, or particularly worried for, anything, but still, it is a pleasant sensation, especially after you move in your sleep and rest your cheek on his shoulder... something he had not felt since he had stepped on Briton soil. He lingers for a while, knowing he is expected back at the fort and the longer he waits the more awkward it will be in case he is spotted, but he allows himself to enjoy that sweet feeling, knowing in his heart it will never happen again, because you would never let him get so close to you, at least when you are awake. Or would you?

🗡️ In the end, he lifts you in his arms -you are lighter than expected, the shape of your body that seems almost as if it were made expressly to rest against his- and carries you back; he chooses the corridors he has reason to hope will be desert as he reaches your room, not wishing to have to answer to awkward questions -or, worse, to have gossip spread on the two of you- but he does runs into someone: Septus, returning from the latrine, and whose eyes open wide seeing his commander with the woman fast asleep in his arms. "I am carrying her to bed." Virilus explains, and Septus respectfully nods; he will tell no one what he has seen, and he trusts his commander's good intentions, but still, Virilus is embarassed... as if he had been caught doing something illicit, or intimate. In the end, he reaches your tiny room, planning on closing the door from the outside and then slid the key under it to keep you safe... and make sure you can leave on the following morning. He lays you on the bed, the back of your head resting on the pillow, and for a whole minute he hesitates again, just looking at your peaceful, vulnerable form, and wishing he could forget propriety and duty, and simply lie next to you. There is nothing sexual in his desires; those he could deal, and make peace, with; what he feels in that moment is much more untypical, and unexpected, and it scares him a little. In the end he leaves, allowing himself to only brush his fingers against your cheek before retreating.

🗡️ He sleeps very little that night, your face appearing behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. From the next day on you never speak of that moment, and obviously you are not aware of what he did, since you were asleep, but you can assume -or maybe Septus told you, who knows...- and when your eyes meet, there is no need for words to know that brief, innocent moment is not something you are going to forget soon. Apparently, nothing changes between the two of you, but now for some reason his very presence evokes a queer feeling in you... as if you were made on edge every time he even just speaks to you -but it is not an unpleasant feeling- and at the same time, you felt unhappy when you have not seen him for a few hours. These are feelings you know well, having experienced them before -only once; but it is not something you can easily forget- and for a while you cannot believe it, since he is so dramatically different from the person who first aroused those emotions in your soul... but the heart follows rules of his own, and you had sworn yourself to never get attached to anyone ever again, both out of fealty to who you had lost and because you thought you were simply not able to anymore, but apparently you were wrong. You had drunk, yes, more than you should have, but you could not have fallen asleep in his presence unless you completely trusted him, and even though you were in so much pain, feeling your heart break once more as the tears would not stop falling, you felt comfort, and consolation, in his silent presence. You could have told you everything; even more, you wanted to tell him everything, to share with him the trauma of your past, and even though the matter did not concern him and like any soldier he must have witnessed his fair share of tragedy, you know Virilus would have listened intently, comforting you in his own way, since he is not the sort of man who openly expresses his feelings, holding you close and drying your tears, and the simple thought of him touching you -his strong hands, usually grasping the handle of a sword or the reins of an horse, but that you know would be gentle and even reverent as they brush against your cheek- and being held in his embrace, his muscled arms tight around your waist and shoulders, his breath hot on your face, would be enough to make you forget yourself...

🗡️ Everything happened in the span of a few minutes, and at the same time it has been slowly growing in your heart for months, maybe even more; it is an unexpected feeling, a source of guilt and joy at the same time... and that you can barely accept in the secrecy of your heart, but that you will never confess to the man who has elicited it in you. Why should you? It is absolutely impossible that Virilus shares and reciprocates your feelings, and in any case, the Roman conquest of Britain will be probably over in a few weeks, which means that you will have soon to say farewell before he returns home; it appears your destiny is to have your heart broken and to lose the person you care for the most, for the second time. No, it is better if you keep quiet, and your secrets to yourself… hoping that knowing that Virilus is safe at home will ease your loneliness, once the vastness of the sea has divided you.

🗡️ A few weeks pass in the routine you are by now used to; Virilus keeps seeking your company, and you could avoid him at least in part -after all he is not your father and you are not a prisoner- but you do not, even though being next to him is now a sweet torture you keep subjecting yourself to. And then suddenly, almost overnight, everything changes: you have gone spying in a village whose chief is an ally of Gorlacon, taking advantage of the fact that unlike the Romans you can easily pass for one of the residents and go unnoticed, and discover the chief of the Britons is preparing a last, desperate assault on the Roman forces, rallying his allies and former rivals against a common enemy. You inform Virilus, who quickly musters his troops, and launches an attack on Gorlacon's village on the day the alliance talks are supposed to begin: many men of the Legion die on the battlefield, but the chiefs are quickly captured, and forced to choose between death or swearing fealty to Rome. Not your sworn enemy, though: he is captured, ten men tasked to make sure he does not escape or take his own life to avoid the humiliation of servitude, and brought to Virilus; they look at each other, the victorious general and his hostage, and Gorlacon is still defiant, ready to welcome death before submitting to his enemy's will… and then next to Virilus you appear, and the flabbergasted, incredulous expression of the chief would almost look comical, were it not for all that brought you to that point, the hate and the thirst for vengeance that pushed you to betray your own people. "You!" he cries in disbelief; he has been pushed to his knees, while you loom over him, for once in a position of strength in front of the man who took everything you loved from you. "Yes. Me. You should have killed me that day; did you really think I would not seek to make you pay, after what you did? You may hate me, and consider me a traitor of my people; I care not. Yes, for two years I have helped the Romans against you, and now, thanks to my help, they have vanquished your forces, and conquered your land. You may curse my name, and call upon the Gods' revenge on me, but one thing you need to remember: this is all your fault and your fault only, and the ruin of the Briton people falls on you alone."

🗡️ A man approaches with an axe in his hands, and asks Virilus whether he wants to carry out the sentence himself; before he can answer, the general's eyes meet yours, and there is no need for words before he silently signals to the man to pass the axe to you. Beheading someone is much less easy than you imagined, since the first swing, taken with all your might, is not enough to completely separate a head from a body... nor to kill its owner. You have to swing a second time, and a third, and even a fourth, and by then, there is blood everywhere, the soldier who gave you the axe had to leave because he was feeling sick, and you are crying and screaming like a banshee. In the end, Virilus gently takes the axe from your hands and takes you in his arms, and you try to wriggle free, fighting without a real reason, but he keeps holding you until you collapse against him, feeling too weary and exhausted to cry and with the terrible knowledge that it did not do any good already taking root in your heart. "It is all right; it is over. He is dead, he cannot hurt you anymore." Virilus keeps repeating, and while he is right that is not enough to comfort you, nor you realize in your moment of mourning that he is holding closer that you remember him ever doing, as close as it is normal only for kin... or lovers. You can feel his heart beat against your chest, but that sweet, intimate sensation, is lost in the sea of pain and solitude you feel yourself drowning in. Yes, it is over; you got your revenge, and those you have lost have been vindicated. But then, you wonder as you sob against the general's shoulder, why does it not feel like a victory at all? Why do you feel even worse than before?

🗡️ That night, while the Legion celebrates their victory and, consequently, their imminent return home, Virilus asks you to walk with him out of the fort, an offer you gladly accept, since you are in need of fresh air. You walk quietly for a while, still on the look-out since the triumph of that day does not mean there are not Britons lurking in the dark waiting to get revenge against at least one enemy, but both aware of the peace surrounding you, and that each of the two has come to identify with the company of the other. "How do you feel? I know it meant much for you to see him dead, but sometimes revenge does not actually brings the peace one had hoped to find." he notices, and you slowly nod, admitting you do feel happy Gorlacon is dead, knowing you were the reason for his doom, but at the same time, the peace and relief you had hoped to find still escape you.

🗡️ "He was your father, was he not?" he asks in the end, and for a whole minute it is as if you could not breathe anymore. "How... how did you know that?" you ask in the end. "The way you spoke about him made me suppose you knew him well; at first I thought you had been a servant in his house or related to one of his commanders, but there was more to it... it seemed you had an almost preternatural ability to foresee his decisions, regarding alliances and battle strategies and much more. And when I saw the two of you face to face, I had to wonder how could I not realize there was such a familiarity... even though your father was infinitely uglier." Those last words draw a smile from you -was that a compliment, he was trying to pay you?- before your expression turns sad once more. "You think me a monster, do you not? A daughter who not only betrayed her own people, but who did it to kill her father." you suggest, so afraid to see contempt on his face, but Virilus shakes his head, saying that while the act of patricide would normally horrify him, it is clear that Gorlacon did something terrible to you, and maybe he deserved what he brought upon him. "He did. He..." you begin, and then stop, struggling against the words you had sworn you would never utter; Virilus is looking at you, waiting and intent, and you know he will never ask to know more, both because the matter does not concern him and because he knows how painful it is for you, and this is exactly why you decide to tell him.

🗡️ "I had a lover once; a good man, who lived in my village. We had promised to never part as long as we were alive, and planned to marry soon. The problem was, my... Gorlacon would never give his consent; he did not care much for me, since he had five other daughters by his various wives and mistresses and only cared about sons who he could train as soldiers and commanders, but we knew he intended to marry me to one of the other chieftains, to secure an alliance or as an exchange of favours; my lover was not a soldier, since he had a lame arm, and he was exactly the sort of man my father despised. So, after two years of secrecy, we decided to run away and build a new life far from Gorlacon's influence; I had realized I... I was pregnant, and we knew soon it would have been impossible to hide our relationship. We had told no one, but someone must have seen or heard us discussing, because on the night my lover and I had met in the stables to steal two horses and disappear, Gorlacon ambushed us, with six of his men. "You really thought you could leave without me knowing? You belong to me, you foolish girl, and I'll teach you to defy my will!" This is what he told me, and before I knew he had raised the dagger in his hand; my lover attempted to defend me, and Gorlacon killed him without mercy or a moment of hesitation; he stabbed him in the heart, and a moment later my lover was dead at my feet, and Gorlacon had ordered his men to take me, and was raising his dagger once more. "Please, do not; please, I am with child." I said; I begged him, something I had sworn never to do in my life, but it was for nothing; he grinned, and "Why would I want to let your little bastard live?" he said, and he stabbed me in the belly. I must have fainted, because when I came to my senses I was in a cell, prisoner. I was able to escape at night letting one of the guards have his way with me and then stunning him with a rock; I stole an horse... and two hours later I was here, in front of you."

🗡️ Your tone was inexpressive as you spoke, completely emotionless, as you were repeating a lesson you had learnt from your teacher and not a dramatic series of events; the death of your lover, the loss of your child... even the abuse you had to bear to regain your freedom. Virilus has known his fair share of pain, death and affliction, but he cannot help being moved by your plight. No wonder you hated Gorlacon with every fiber of your being! All you asked for was to live in peace with the people you loved... and that was taken from you by the greed and the cruelty of a father who considered you his property. He has never been capable to express simpathy, and the way he would attempt to comfort a comrade -a rude hug- would be inappropriate for a woman, especially one who has been assaulted like you had; in the end, all he can do is take your hand in his -delicately, as if you were something fragile, which you are not, and precious, which you are- and whisper "I am so sorry." and you smile, comforted by his evident sincerity. "Thank you. I fear what happened will remain with me for a while, even though my lover and child have been avenged; but now my heart can rest, and one day I will be able to leave all of this behind me."

🗡️You walk for a while, in peace with yourself and each other, leaving the voices and the noise of the fort behind you, and in the end you reach the tree under whose leaves you sat together on that night, and Virilus did something only your lover had before: he saw you cry, and you let him, finding comfort in his presence. You stop there, silent, and that is when you realize he is still holding your hand; the night has fallen silent around you, as if in wait. You feel yourself go scarlet in the face, because, headstrong and brazen as you have always been, you would rather walk naked in the snow than express your feelings, especially when you are almost sure the other person will not reciprocate... but you are going to lose him soon, and that knowledge, rather than push you to stay away to spare your heart the pain, makes you desirous to enjoy the little time you have together. "Now that you have conquered Britain... you will return to Rome soon, will you not?" you quietly ask. "I will; we will, as soon as we are sure the chieftains who swore fealty to the Empire will keep their word." "I see. And since we are going to part soon... would you let me share your bed tonight? I will be very careful not to be seen by anyone..."

🗡️ Your tone is hesitating, but the hopeful look of your eyes proves how sure and eager you are; you are not trying to seduce him, just openly offering yourself to him, clear and sincere as you have always been, and that sight fills Virilus' heart with a tenderness he has never experienced before. He takes your face in his big, warms hands, and lets his smile express all the joy he feels. "(name), there is nothing in this world I would wish more." You return to the fort together, and Virilus leads you by the hand to his room, as sparsely decorated as those of the soldiers. "I desire you so much; I have for a long time." he confesses as you are both standing next to the bed "I... I am a rough man, and you have been reviled; If I were to hurt you, I..." You smile, silencing his fears with a finger on those lips you cannot wait to feel against yours. "I know. But you cannot hurt me, general; I know what sort of man you are, and nothing you could ever do would be... unwelcome. Quite the opposite, actually. Please; will you not kiss me?"

🗡️ He does, long and hard enough to leave you both breathless, and from then on you stop talking; there is no need for words between you, but on that night, you express everything you feel and that you have no shame and embarassment in sharing, because you know now Virilus' heart and yours beat as one. After the loss of the man you loved, and the abuse you had to submit to in order to escape, you had been sure you would never know pleasure or the joy of being close to another person again; you were sorely wrong, and you do not care if you are going to have to say farewell soon, you just want to keep the memory of this night in your heart forever, and you will be content with just that. Virilus is a passionate lover, attentive to your pleasure and relentless in pursuing his, and your body is a flower that blooms in the warmth of his embrace. You fall asleep at dawn, and it is not much later that you are awake once more, and he is already astir, fastening his sandals and making sure his dagger is in the sheath at his belt. He looks at you, openly pleased to see you happy and satisfied in his bed; he does not need to ask if you are all right, or if he hurt you, but he bends on the bed to kiss you. "You may stay, if you wish." he offers, and you both know the longer you linger in his bed the more probable it is you will be seen by the men once you will leave, and you do not care. So what if the soldiers gossip about you and their general? You have done nothing to feel ashamed of or guilty for... and in any case, you reflect as the happiness in your heart trembles for a moment, he is going to leave soon, and what you shared, what you lived together, will matter no longer but for you...

🗡️ You stand from the bed and pick your clothes up from the floor, reminding yourself you have nothing to embarassed, and sad for; Virilus, on his part, is hesitating, his arm resting on the wall as he contemplates the view out of the tiny window. "Have you thought about what you will do once the Legion has left?" he inquires in the end, turning to look at you, his tone deliberately casual "I doubt you would be welcomed in your old village, even though Gorlacon is dead." "Oh, I know. I could never go back, nor I would want to, but I had thought I could move somewhere else; I am sure a few of the chieftains who are now allies of your Empire would let me stay in one of their villages." you answer as you shrug; your mother passed when you were five, you have no desire to see your siblings and the sole family you ever cared for was the one you had hoped to build with your lover, a dream that has withered like a flower at the beginning of winter. You have no interest in becoming an hermit, but in the end, any place would be acceptable. "I see." Virilus says "But..." "But?"

🗡️ He sits on the border of the bed before taking your hand; his is the face of a man who would rather gladly fight Gorlacon's army all on his own, rather than facing you in that moment. "But, I was hoping you would consider leaving Britain with us, and coming to live in Rome." he says, and had he said he wanted you to go live on top of a tree in a nest like a bird, or on the Moon, you would have been less astounded. "Me? In Rome?" you repeat, barely able to picture such a situation in your mind "What would I ever do in a place like that?" Virilus tells you that, Rome being the centre of the civilized world, full of culture and industry and beauty and entertainment, it would be easy to find something that appeals to you; to move from a village, or a military fort, to a city with a million people living within its borders, would be a major change, but you are smart and resilient, and would easily find your place. Moreover, his house is not exactly in Rome, rather it is a farm in the countryside surrounding it - a more tranquil place, a convenient compromise between isolation and the bustle of the city.

🗡️ "Your home?" you wonder in a whisper, your heart skipping a beat or four. By now you are sitting as well, and Virilus slowly nods; he has not blushed, but you can easily see the discomfiture in his bearing, the hopeful and fearful expression of a man who hopes to receive a positive answer, but knows it would be unwise to expect it. "Yes. I... I hoped you would decide to come and live with me, now that you have nothing to keep you in Britain." he confesses "Not as a bed-slave or a servant, but as my guest and friend, and... and whatever you might decide to concede. You are dear to me, (name); dearer than anyone has ever been, and I... I do not wish to part from you. If you wish to think about it you can, of course, but..." You stop his speech with a kiss, light but passionate, and you look at him, the most complete and pure happiness shining in your eyes. "Yes. I will come with you." you promise, and you have no need to think about it, to evaluate the advantages and disadvantages, because this is the most beautiful surprise you have ever received, the chance to leave pain and solitude behind, and an adventure you will share with the man your heart beats for "I will; there is nothing I wish more."

🗡️ You share a smile, his forehead resting against yours. "Forever?" he proposes in a whisper; "Forever." you promise, and a new kiss is exchanged as the sun spreads its rays on the valley and the woods.

Many thanks to @animusrox for the gif!

#Centurion #Centurion 2010 #Titus Flavius Virilus #Titus Flavius Virilus x reader #Bellona's stuff

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authorhjk1 · 2 months

Text

Dea Romana

(Minatozaki Sana X Male Reader)

(Author's note:

Hi everyone! Thank you for patiently waiting for me! I'm done with writing my exams now, so I will be able to write more again until Juli. Since I like history a lot, the beginning got a bit longer than originally planned, but I hope you will be able to enjoy it nonetheless. I tried to make everything as historically accurate as possible, but please don't expect everything to be true.

Stay healthy! I will do my best to upload the next piece as soon as possible!)

Every muscle feels like it's burning. Your legs and arms feel heavy. Your feet barely lift off the uneven ground with every step you take.

Dried blood stains your face. Your armour doesn't look much better. The shield you are holding, has a big dent in it. The javelin in your right hand feels like it's made out of steel. The chainmail on your chest weighs heavier than usual.

"Marius!"

Your second in command shouts at you from the back.

"The women need a break!"

You sigh in annoyance. It's bad enough that you almost got your whole century killed. Now you have to delay your reunion with the rest of the legion because of those Gaul captives.

"We will take a short break."

You announce to your eighty legionaries and the twenty rebels you captured.

Spotting a small stream near by, you walk closer, while most of the soldiers sit on the ground, some are standing guard.

Taking off your helmet, you start to wash your face. The dried blood sticks to your skin. After some effort, you are just a little bit cleaner.

Another sigh leaves your lips as you kneel in place. In front of the small stream, your century in the back, looking into the deep forest.

You have lived a hard life. You were not born a Roman. Not born a free man. But you took your life into your own hands, instead of hoping for the mercy of the gods. Because gods don't have mercy. Only you can change your own destiny.

"Let's keep marching. We are almost there."

You go back to the front of the century, your men following your orders. Most of the Gaul rebels you captured are women and children. Their husbands and fathers killed by your swords and javelins.

Orders are orders. To kill or to be killed. These are the only two principles you live by. At least most of the time.

"Have you heard yet?"

Quintus asks from behind you, catching your attention. You silently wave for him to walk next to you. It's not necessarily the gossip you're interested in, but you did learn that it's important to know what is going on inside your century and the legion itself.

"Aelius fucked up some of his soldiers."

You raise your eyebrow while you keep walking. Nothing new there. Aelius is a spoiled son of a whore. He only became centurion in the tenth, because of his family's status. And he is usually unnecessarily brutal with his century.

"Reason?"

"They ate some of the extra rations we all got a week ago. Aelius said that they are meant for centurions only. Not for legionaries."

You have to stop yourself from spitting onto the muddy path you are walking on.

Aelius paints the perfect picture of the Roman nobility. Rich assholes. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Did he kill someone again?"

Quintus shakes his head.

"But I heard that the premus pilus had a talk with him."

You let out a dry chuckle.

"All the centurions of the first cohort are the same. Do you really think he got in trouble?"

"No. But I thought you would be interested. It's not like you have very good connections with-"

"Shut it, fool."

It's not really a secret in the tenth legion that you and Aelius are bitter rivals. The two of you are the completely opposite of one another. A rich brat, who is the centurion of the third century in the first cohort. And you. The former slave, who climbed the ranks to be the centurion of the first century in the second cohort.

There aren't many ranks that separate the two of you. But making the jump into the first cohort as a former slave is nearly impossible.

Your century walks in almost complete silence for the next couple of hours. Despite being one of the most feared soldiers in the legion, you can't help but be cautious. In case there are more rebels lurking in the shadows of the large trees.

"Marius!"

The scout you send out to check the path ahead is jogging in your direction.

"We take another short break."

A light murmur of gratitude echoes through the ranks.

You wait for the young man, barely older than a boy, to reach the spot where you are standing.

"Someone seems to be traveling towards the camp. Our paths are going to cross, once we reach the small clearing ahead."

"Do you know who it is?"

"It looked like a person from the nobility. There was a carriage. And a couple of men with spears. Probably guards."

"We can't be too cautious. Titus!"

You shout for your second in command to walk to the front.

"Take your contubernia and make fast pace. I want to make sure that everything is going according to regulations."

"Yes, Marius."

The rest of the century starts marching at normal pace again, while the eight men rush ahead. The scout leading them towards the small crossroads.

"You know what's going on?"

You shake your head at Quintus' question.

"Might be a politician from Rome. Or a nobleman's wife."

"You know that that's against the law."

Of course everyone knows. It's illegal for a legionary to be married. And yet, some centurions always think that they are above the rest of the legion, when it comes to this kind of rules.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

An angry shout echoes around the forest, just as you and your men reach the small clearing.

The scout was right. A carriage, pulled by two grays, accompanied by a handful of men, armed with spears, and some servants.

An older woman is standing in front of the carriage's door, screaming at the poor Titus. Glancing over his shoulder, your optio rolls his eyes.

"Woman. Don't scream at a Roman legionary."

You make your presence known as you keep walking towards the middle of the clearing.

The servant, probably around forty to fifty years of age, looks at you with anger in her eyes.

"Do you even know, whom you are holding up?!"

"No."

You state bluntly, finally standing in front of her. Behind you, you can hear your men take their positions. Not to threaten the travelers, but to guard the area.

"Well, she is one of the most prestigious women in all of Rome."

"And what is a woman like her doing so far away from the city?"

"Visiting her husband."

You click your tongue. As far as you know, none of the centurions in the first cohort have wives. Which means, she must be the woman of a centurion, who ranks lower than you.

A smirk, which you can't suppress, plays around your lips. How are you able to enjoy a higher position than a noble in this republic?

You walk off without another word, leaving Titus in charge. There is no need to bother with this stuff. Some of the Gaul rebels fell a little behind earlier. You have to check on them. In case they are sick or badly injured.

"Her name?"

You hear Titus ask, before the woman let's out an exaggerated gasp.

"Sana Lucii."

You groan in annoyance. By Jupiter. Is this really his wife? Lucius Aelius? Just when you thought, you couldn't hate that man even more.

You despise men, who don't follow the law and rules of the republic and the legion. Of course, sometimes you can define them a little different for your own gains, but this is just breaking them.

Trying to stay calm, your fingers tap the pommel of your gladius. You don't hear a response from Titus. He must know which Lucius the old woman ment.

"Marius?"

He finally makes you turn around.

You walk back up towards the carriage, just as the door opens.

"By Bellona! What is taking so long!"

You have to say, you are amused by the woman's expression. You didn't expect her to call out for the goddess of war.

"Just doing our duty, lady."

Titus answers politely, although you know how hard it is for him to not lash out. He hates Aelius just as much as the next soldier. Especially, since he is your optio.

You are stunned, once the woman actually shows herself. Her beautiful face is slightly twisted with annoyance. Although, you would be sure that she could look like Venus herself, when she smiles.

She is wearing a turquoise stola, which also covers her brown hair. The thin material enables you to have a look at her white tunic underneath. Her skin looks flawless and pure. A golden necklace adorns her neck and collarbone. It's probably worth more than a whole year of your salary.

An image of a goddess.

"I hope we can speed up this process. I'm supposed to be by my husband's side."

Lucky bastard.

"Please. Speak respectfully with my legionaries."

Her gaze meets yours. You can feel your heart skipping a beat. Not one woman has looked as pretty as she does. Not one.

"Who are you to lecture me on speaking?"

"Salve."

Your fist meats the blood stained chainmail on your chest.

Maybe, if you behave respectfully, so does she. The army is for her protection after all.

"My name is Marius. And-"

"What's your first name, centurion?"

A cute smile suddenly plays around her lips. Maybe this will get her out of here faster.

"Gaius."

"I see, Gaius. I'm sure you have more important things to do than stop me from traveling further? My husband must be waiting for me."

If she didn't know better, Sana could swear that she caught a glint of hate in your eyes.

"This is protocol. We have to check on everyone, who approaches the camp."

"I'm a noble woman. Can't you make an exception for me?'

You don't fall for her sweet smile. You are on duty. Not even Venus herself could distract you. Well, maybe a little bit.

"Your choice. Here, or at the gate in front of even more legionaries. Like everyone else."

That last part makes her glare at you. You won this round.

Not waiting for a response, you gesture for your men to search the woman's belongings. Your Imperial legate has more than enough enemies in Rome to be cautious of. And you don't want him to end up dead inside his own camp. Even if she is allegedly Aelius' wife.

Quintus nods in your direction after going through her belongings, signaling that everything is alright.

"We will accompany you on your way to the camp. We are on our way back, anyway."

You turn around without looking at Sana again. A signal for your men to get into formation.

It feels like she stares at your back for a second longer, before you hear the door close behind you. You don't like the Roman nobility. At all. There is only one man you are willing to follow.

After two more hours of marching, your century and the noblewoman's entourage finally reach the camp's gate.

"The village, where the senior officers are staying, is right behind the camp. You can't miss it."

The older woman, who screamed at Titus earlier, still looks at you as if she is holding a grudge.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in these wonderful lands, lady."

You raise your voice a little, making sure that Sana can hear you. It drips with sarcasm and you can hear Quintus chuckle behind you.

"Vale."

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you walk past the old servant. Her shock at your rudeness visible on her face.

Already making your way past the guards, you can't hear Sana's scoff.

Who are you to talk to her like that? If she is gonna tell her husband about this, you are going to be in trouble for sure.

Sana will never be able to get used to this. She was able to decide that, immediately after she stepped out of her carriage. It took her only a couple of steps to enter the small house her husband is living in right now. But that was enough for her already.

Nothing here looks like Rome. Even the legionaries look out of place. And their shouts and the sounds of shields and stuff isn't what she hears when she is home. Sana is already missing the comfortable house with the atrium. She likes to bathe in the sun throughout the day, while sipping on a really good wine.

"You're late."

Lucius doesn't even look up from his small table as he hears his wife coming in.

"That's how you great me after a year?"

"You know how I value punctuality."

"Out of my hands. Some centurion insisted on searching my luggage. He was really rude."

Now Lucius is looking at her. Sana knows that he can't stand someone disrespecting him. And when she gets disrespected, it goes deeper. He is affected as well.

"Who?"

She can see his eyes becoming a little darker. He bites his lip, maybe trying to prevent himself from shouting.

"His name is Garius Marius. I think?"

"That son of a whore. How does a slave dare to stop you?"

Now, Sana feels shame run down her spine. If she knew that he was born a slave, she would've hit him for talking to her like that. No matter his rank, he is and will always be beneath her. Once a slave, always a slave.

"I swear to Jupiter. One day in battle, I will..."

Lucius takes a deep breath, before focusing back on his wife.

"We are eating dinner with the Imperial legate, the leader of these legions tomorrow, and the senior generals. I expect you to impress them."

"I'd be happy to, love."

Sana almost spits out that last word, but Lucius doesn't seem to notice. He sits back down, opening an envelope. She can see how his eyebrows are still furrowed. He won't let this incident pass without consequences.

Sana eventually leaves the house to explore the small town and it's market. Despite being married to Lucius, she can't stay around him for too long. She is only his wife, because of his money and connections. As soon as she can find someone better...

Sana feels a little dizzy as she steps out of the big house. Lucius told her to be on her best behavior. But that idiot was behaving the worst throughout the dinner.

She hated how calm and reserved the other centurion was, the man who stopped her. He was the lowest ranking soldier and yet, everyone listened to his advice and thoughts about future and past battles. And how is he on a first name basis with the imperial legate? And why is Lucius too incapable to enjoy the same treatment? How can he do worse than a slave?

Sana holds onto the wall, standing right next to the entrance. Suddenly, two men walk out the door. They don't see her because it's dark. She tries to find out who they are. The first one is a little taller, while the second has broader shoulders and looks more muscular.

"We can't do this forever, Gaius. We need a plan to wipe him out. I expect you to help me with that."

"Of course, Gaius."

Sana almost groans in annoyance. Of course it's that Gaius Marius. And the other one is the Imperial legate. Gaius Julius Caesar.

"Rome is an empire. We will defeat Vercingetorix sooner rather than later. His supporters will crumble soon."

"You did a good job today, centurion. You've proven once again, why you rightfully carry the name I gave you. Gaius Marius Antonius."

Sana assumes they are talking about some barbarian leader. But Caesar gave him that cognomen? She can't help but wonder what he must've done to be called "priceless".

"You know the political situation in Rome. The more time I waste conquering Gaul, the more powerful my enemies become."

"I swear to Mars. I will cut down anyone who tries to oppose you, Gaius."

She sees Caesar put a hand on the centurion's shoulder.

"It's only a matter of time, until you will be one of the Tribuni angusticlavii, leading the tenth legion into battle. And I will make sure, you will eventually become a rich senator."

Sana has heard enough. It's so disgusting to her. A slave becoming a senator. She is working so hard to become the most powerful woman in Rome. And with that in the whole empire. How can that lowlife become something better than she herself? Sana either needs to push Lucius further up the ranks, or she needs to find someone, who can match Marius' new found status.

Sana groans in relief, when she can finally leave the small village. It's not like someone forbid her to leave, but there just wasn't something to do in and outside the village. What was she gonna do in a forest? A very dangerous one at that?

But now, she heard of a big market place around two hours away. Sana is still looking to buy some oils and pottery. She could do that in Rome of course, but she is hoping to find them cheaper in their land of origin.

Looking out of her carriage, Sana leaves behind the village and the big camp right next to it. The constant noise made her head spin. Not that Rome isn't loud, but this is something else.

After about an hour, Sana hears a troop of men marching in front of her. She became familiar with that sound after a few days. She doesn't look outside, despite being curious. Why would a century be here? The battles would take place in the opposite direction. Right?

Sana hears how the carriage passes the back of the century. The heavy steps of the legionaries kick up some dust. Her old servant looks outside, curious herself.

"It's him again."

The older woman grimaces, before letting the curtain drop back into place.

"Who?"

"The man who stopped us a couple of days ago."

Sana's attention is now on the men outside. She remembers the conversation you had with Caesar.

"Really?"

She pretends to be cold, not wanting to get caught. After having seen you around a couple of times, the young noble woman is unsure on how to feel about you.

Yes, you are a former slave. A peasant. But you are also a great centurion. A trusted man to Julius Caesar.

Despite being not the highest ranking officer, Sana did notice how the other men look at you. She catches an occasional whisper of your brave actions in battle. She sees the men greet you with almost too much respect. Even the other centurions seem to want to be on your good side.

Maybe that's what Sana has to do too. In order to further climb up the ladder. It is risky. And it's still a long time in the future. But if Caesar can really make his ambitions reality, you will be one of the first people who benefit from it. And if Sana plays her cards well, she can benefit too.

For a moment, she wonders what a man like you would need. Something she could have to bargain with. Money? You probably earn quite a lot already. Especially compared to your earlier environment. Land? You will get that too, if you stay long enough in the army. A wife? You are a soldier. You are not allowed to be married.

As Sana is still pondering on what to do to convince you to help her gain more power, she gets closer towards the front of the century.

And it's not like she doesn't have influence. She could maybe even get you a promotion into the first cohort. Of course without her husband finding out.

Sana draws back the curtain a little with only one finger. Just a few meters ahead, she can see you walking.

Your helmet is decorated by a big crest of red horse hair. The back of the helmet and the rest of your armor shimmer in the light of the sun. She remembers your first encounter. Your armor was full with blood, indicating that you were more than able to fight a battle.

You turn around as you hear horses behind you. It wouldn't have been a surprise. One of the auxilia officers could be taking his men out to train.

Surprised at the sight of the carriage, you catch a glimpse of the passenger. Her eyes meet yours, a big golden ring decorates the finger that holds back the curtain. You could swear you see a small hint of a smile play around her lips.

"Salve."

You great her by hitting your armored chest with your fist. Not because you like her, but out of politeness.

"Salve, centurion."

Her passive aggressive mentioning of your rank indicates that she is still not over that incident a couple of days ago.

"Are you visiting the market?"

"I am. I suppose you are not here to buy pottery?"

A mocking smile replaces the earlier one.

"It may sound unbelievable, but I'm not."

A cute chuckle escapes her mouth.

"Well, I hope you enjoy this beautiful day."

Is she still mocking you, because you are on duty? You are not sure, but you can see her lazily wave goodbye as the carriage drives past you.

"Don't get too close to her. She is only gonna be trouble."

You look at Quintus.

"I'm merely being polite. I don't need trouble with angry nobles. At least not now."

"By Jupiter. One might think you've become a responsible, grown man now."

"Fuck off."

You raise your hand, but Quintus ducks away, avoiding a potential slap.

Only listening with one ear to the conversation next to you, you scan the market for the young noble woman. Despite her attitude and the fact that she is married, you can't help but glance at her occasionally. Plus, the market isn't as safe as it might seem. Cunning merchants, thiefs and rebels might roam the place, ready to strike at any moment. And being a beautiful Roman woman makes her one of the most desirable targets right now.

"Listen, Roman! I barely sell anything! How do you expect me to pay your unreasonable taxes?!"

"Shut it."

You turn back to the stall holder. Titus' and his conversation got heated.

"We are not hear to argue. We are here to collect taxes."

The man grits his teeth.

"I'm telling you! I don't have anything to give away!"

The other people around you look at the scene, before walking past. Only you and a couple of legionaries are here. The rest of your century is patrolling another village nearby and the rest of the market, making sure you are not getting ambushed.

"Don't scream at me, old man. Pay up."

"I don't have a fucking coin!"

You know he is lying. You saw someone buy his fabric from a far as you entered the marketplace. And, judging by the money bag he held earlier, it wasn't cheap at all.

"We can do this the easy way, or the heard way."

You take a step forward, towering above him.

"But the hard way won't end well for you."

"I already told you, I-"

You let your head fall back in annoyance. Collecting taxes is a necessity. Not something to be proud of. It's not as honorable as fighting in battle.

"Do you really want to go this far?"

You look down at him again, your hand now resting on the pommel of your gladius.

He caught the movement of your hand, worry creeping onto his features.

"What is it gonna be? Your life? Or coin?"

The old man is not stupid. And a couple of moments later, you walk away from his stall. The tinkle behind you indicates, that Titus is adding the silver denarii into the bag with the rest of the already collected money.

"Are you trying to rob me, old man? You are a con artist!"

Women screaming at a merchant are as common as clouds under the sky, so you don't pay much attention to it as you hear someone scream.

"How can you demand so much for this lousy work?"

You keep walking, although you kinda feel, like you heard this voice before. It sounds oddly familiar.

"By Bellona! I'm going to have you beaten for your rudeness!"

And there it is. With an annoyed groan, you immediately recognize, who is disturbing the rather peaceful market.

If she was a common local woman, you would've kept walking. The Galli could solve their own disputes.

But Sana is, as unfortunate as it is, not a local. She is a Roman woman. A member of the elite even.

You take a deep breath, before walking towards her screams. You can already guess whom she is screaming at.

"Keep going."

You tell Titus over your shoulder, as you approach her from behind. Her servant must have stayed with the carriage, because Sana is standing in front of the stall of the potter all alone.

Before the young woman can scream another word, you grab her arm.

"What-"

You spin her around and walk away, pulling her with you.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

"Silence."

You didn't say it in a loud voice, but your tone makes her go silent.

After a couple of meters, you stop, turning around to look at her.

"You're welcome."

"Excuse you?"

Her hands now rest on her hips. You can't help but catch how slender her waist seems to be.

"I just saved you from embarrassing yourself even further. You owe me."

You turn away, ready to reunite with Titus and your men.

"What the-"

It's now Sana's turn to grab your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"I don't owe you shit."

"Really?"

You turn to look at her again.

"Your temper is as bad as your observation skills. Minerva would strike you down for your utter incompetence."

You said the words, before you thought about them. You are aggravated. Because of the merchant earlier, because of her causing a scene, because of Lucius (as always) and because of her being his wife. Alright, maybe that last one was a little jealousy.

"How dare you? You are some rude-"

You stop her from saying another word by grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around.

"Look. Look and tell me what you see."

"What are you talking about?"

You see her frowning. An act that makes her beautiful face a little less flawless.

"Tell me what's going on."

You realize you are using the same tone as with the men during training. Harsh, straight forward, a little condescending. But not rude. Just factual.

"The merchant is still selling his stupidly expensive pottery."

You don't answer, waiting for more.

Sana, visibly annoyed, struggles against your grip for a moment, before giving in. You are a seasoned legionnaire. There is no way she is gonna get out of your hold on her.

"There are a couple of women and men who browse his items."

"Keep going."

"Someone is buying a bowl and an amphora."

"What is the woman on the right doing?"

"She is paying for her stuff. What-"

"Can you see how much she is paying?"

"Way too much for a stupid-"

"Do you see any of the locals complaining?"

Sana hesitantly shakes her head.

"Do you know the reason?"

"Because they are stupid. In Rome it's cheap-"

"We aren't in Rome, woman. This is Gaul."

You stand behind her, both of you silent for a couple of moments. You give her time to think about the possible reason. Although she is probably just complaining about you to the gods in silence.

"They all pay the price he demands, because he and his work are respected here."

"But they look-"

"Yeah. Some of his pieces aren't pretty."

You admit that.

"But he is an old man. His hands aren't as good as they used to be. He is obviously regarded with a decent amount of respect."

You gesture for Sana to look around the market.

"Most of the people here bargain over every single item. Food, cloth, tools and even pottery."

You turn her back towards the old man's stall.

"But not there. They respect him too much to try to get a better price. His work might not be the very best anymore, but his skill is known by everyone here."

Sana groans in annoyance and anger as she sees you coming out of the biggest tent of the camp. A week has gone by, since you treated her like a child at the market. Her blood still boils, whenever she sees you from a far.

She decided against telling her husband, not wanting to cause unnecessary friction. And if you have the favor of Caesar, it might be a bad idea to egg on her husband.

And Sana is still debating on your ability to help her seize more power. She is ready to do anything to get to the top. Even if it means working together with someone as low born as you.

Sana stops in her tracks as she sees her husband walk towards you.

"Aelius."

You don't greet him like any other lower ranking centurion would. The young woman can feel the tension between the two men, despite standing barely in earshot.

"Marius."

His face shows a disapproving twitch.

"It seems like we are catching up to Vercingetorix. I hope you don't make any mistakes in battle. I would hate to lose a lower ranking officer."

You click your tongue, taking a step forward.

With the two of you standing right in front of each other, Sana realizes that you are bigger than her husband. Not just in statue, but also in the way you carry yourself. With slightly less arrogance and more discipline.

"Don't worry about me, Aelius. As you know, I always make sure my men are taken care off."

Sana feels a shiver run down her spine. She heard more than enough stories about the battles of the tenth legion since she joined her husband. The amount of times that you were mentioned in one of them was noticeably high.

The young woman heard of a battle two summers ago. You weren't a centurion at the time. Merely a soldier of the second cohort. But in battle, your centurion chose to let his men die, while he stayed behind, watching his century getting slaughtered. After half of the eighty men were dead, you walked straight towards the cowardly centurion. A nobleman, which the storyteller didn't fail to mention with a hint of disgust. Your gladius seperated his head from his shoulders in one swift motion and you took command of the second century until the end of the battle. Caesar honored your bravery and agreed with your actions. Instead of getting executed, you got promoted.

"Are you implying I'm not leading my men well?"

Sana hears you chuckle.

"News travel fast among the younger men, Aelius."

"Maybe you should discipline your soldiers like I do. Your century is a disgrace to the tenth legion."

"Nugas garris. You are pathetic."

You walk off, leaving him behind.

Sana almost expects her husband to draw his gladius. How can you call him a disgrace? And idiot? He is higher ranking than you and he is a member of the elite.

But Aelius just watches you leave, before entering the tent you just came out of.

That short interaction reminds Sana of the power you actually hold. You might not be the highest officer, but almost the whole legion treats you as such. If it wasn't for your low birth, you might have been able to be the centurion of the first century of the first cohort.

Sana's decision is slowly forming in her mind. A plan to gain more power than she has right now. Siding with you might be risky. But the rewards could be great.

Sana glances at you from across the room as you stare at Caesar, who is currently talking. She is still not quite sure what she can offer you to make you join her side. But when the leader of the legion mentions the nobility in his speech, she sees your expression change for just a second. It is obvious that you hate all the wealthy and arrogant men and women. Maybe Sana can offer you something to get back at them. Or at least get back at Aelius.

"And that's why the tenth legion outshines any other. Your bravery and honor are praised throughout the whole empire. Rome is grateful for what you have done. And the gods smile down at the men, who give their lifes to the republic."

Caesar ends his speech. And with that, the long meal is finally over. It is night time already. Only the moon and the stars still shine.

You walk out of the large tent, ready to sleep. It has been a long day and there is no doubt that you will be fighting soon. Caesar's promise to promote you to such a high position still rings in your ears. You can't believe you've come this far.

"Gaius."

Her sweet voice makes you stop in front of your tent. She doesn't sound as angry as she usually does.

"Yes?"

You turn around, standing face to face with Sana.

"I'm here to ask you for something."

You look at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I heard that you are the bravest and most powerful man in this legion. At least unofficially."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Where is all of this honey suddenly coming from?"

Sana gives you a melodic chuckle. Only now do you realize how close she is standing. Her oils make you breath in the flowery air that surrounds her.

"I want to strike a deal with you."

"What would you want from such a low ranking officer like me?"

Your sarcasm makes it hard for Sana to not lash out. Just because she needs you, doesn't mean that she likes you.

"As far as I've heard, you won't be a low ranking officer for long."

"Is that so?"

You cross your arms in front of your chest.

"Well, it's actually quite simple. You have something I want. And I have something you want."

"I highly doubt that."

You watch Sana turn her head left and right, making sure that no one is around.

"There is a always something a man wants from a woman."

You are surprised at what she is suggesting.

"Judging by the look on your face, I can comfortably say that I'm right."

You shake your head, which seems harder than usual.

"Have you never thought about having your way with me? A noble woman?"

She takes another step closer. Now, Sana's sandals are touching yours.

"A married one at that? I bet you would love to destroy my husband. This could be your first step to success."

You narrow your eyes, still unsure of what to do. You've never been in this kind of situation. Is she making fun of you? Did Aelius put her up to this, setting a trap for you? Or is she genuine?

"What would you get in return?"

"Your power. Your influence. I can't live, knowing that another person might have more power than I do. I need to be at the top of the republic."

"And you think, I can get you there?"

Sana nods.

"With my support? Definitely."

She looks at you, waiting for a response.

You are still torn. She has a nice body, yes. But you're not fond of her attitude. She is a noble woman. And she is married. Getting caught would have serious consequences. For the both of you.

But the chance to use her? A noble woman? Fucking her, while her husband is only sleeping a couple of tents away? More than just tempting.

You look around the camp yourself. No one in sight.

"Get in."

A victorious smile forms on her lips. As she walks past you, she lets her finger glide over your armoured chest.

You follow her immediately after.

"Now that we have come to an agreement, I-"

You push Sana forward, bending her over the wooden table.

"What-"

You don't give her time to speak. If you're going to do this, you're going to do this quickly.

Hiking up her red stola, you reach underneath her tunic. The smoothness of her legs makes you hard as you reach between them.

"It seems like you are enjoying this more than I expected."

Your fingers graze her lower lips. She is not just a little wet.

"Hey, I didn't give you permission to-"

You shut Sana up by covering her mouth with your other hand.

"I don't need you permission. I'm going to ruin you anyway."

Her gasp is muffled by your hand as you push your first finger inside.

You haven't slept with a lot of women, the army being mainly responsible for that. Nonetheless, you do know how to pleasure a woman.

Sana's moan escapes between your fingers as your digits slide along her wet walls. Her pussy is already gripping them tightly.

If it weren't for your hand, her head would've sunk onto the table already. But you are holding her in place, which ultimately makes her arch her back.

She tries to say something, but your grip on her mouth makes it impossible for her to speak properly.

You are surprised at how wet Sana is.

"Was your desire for power just an excuse? Do you just want me to fuck you?"

She tries to shake her head. You don't let her.

"Do you get off, knowing that a lower born man is fucking you?"

Sana is unable to respond, when you let go off her face. Her whole upper body is now lying on top of the table. You drop your belt and hike her clothes up a little further.

"Don't get confused. I still don't like you."

Sana's growl doesn't sound very convincing with your fingers inside of her.

"Might be true. But you aren't married to Aelius because of his personality anyways."

Pulling your fingers out of her core makes Sana moan loudly. She blushes in shame. Doubt starting to rise inside of her. Is she really only doing this to team up with you?

"You only seem to care for power."

"So? Only a coward wouldn't want power."

You shut her up by letting your tip graze against her lips. Sana hisses through her teeth, unwilling to moan again.

"I'm just curious about how far you would be willing to go. How dedicated you are to this cause."

"Don't worry. I'm ready to do anything."

"Anything?"

You raise an eyebrow, which Sana can't see.

"Anything."

"That's reassuring."

Your nonchalant tone makes Sana shiver.

Finally, you push inside of her.

"Fuck, woman."

You can't help but marvel at how tight she actually is.

"Fuck me already."

It's a mixture of plea and demand.

With one hand you grab her hair, pushing her cheek against the wooden surface. Your other hand holds her waist.

Another moan escapes Sana's lips as you thrust forward. Before she can react, you pull back and push inside of her again.

After just a couple of seconds, you start to fuck her hard. The table rocks back and forth with every thrust. Her moans escape her lips, whenever you bottom out inside of her.

"Harder!"

Sana holds onto the edge of the table, her knuckles slowly starting to turn white.

Because you keep pushing her upwards with your thrusts, the young woman's feet eventually dangle in the air.

You are now able to fuck her even deeper. Her moans become louder when she feels your cock invading her pussy even further.

At this point, Sana is merely a hole for you to fuck. She doesn't move. Only your thrusts rock her body back and forth. The thin material of her clothes makes Sana's nipples rub against the wooden surface. They've become hard due to her arousal and are now adding to the pleasure she is already feeling.

"So good!"

She moans yet again. You suddenly realize, that this isn't really a save place to be this loud.

"Shut up."

You growl into her ear, trying to quiet her.

But Sana can't help it. She has already lost control over her body. Your cock is parting her walls again and again, making her clench around it tightly.

She is even unable to produce a disappointed whine, when you stop fucking her. You leaver her snug pussy, before getting her off your table.

Turning her around, you push Sana against the wooden post, which is holding up the roof of your tent. Reaching for your belt, you hold her arms up, before tying them together.

Sana is now unable to leave. You pick up her light frame, making her impale herself on your cock.

"By Bellona! Fuck!"

"I told you to stay quiet."

Your faces are barely an inch apart.

Because you push her body against the post, you are able to lift her up with only your left hand. Your right one moves upwards to wrap its fingers around her throat.

"One more word..."

You let the threat of unknown punishment linger in the air for a moment.

But you can't hold yourself back for long. Sana's pussy drips her juices onto your cock, coaxing you into resuming your pounding.

A whimper escapes her mouth, when you start to fuck her again. You can tell she is at least trying to stay quiet this time. While you make her bounce on your cock, you thrust upwards. It makes her eyes roll back, whenever she feels your cock pushing against her guts.

"Venus!"

A louder sigh escapes her mouth yet again. You close your fingers around her throat a little further.

"Behave."

The conflict in Sana's eyes amuses you.

She should be the one in charge. She is the noble one of the two of you after all. But here she is, bound to your post, your hand around her throat as you fuck her as hard as you can.

Sana tries to fight the belt, wanting to tell you that you have to choke her harder. She can't keep quiet when you fuck her like this.

Another moan escapes her lips and you tighten your grip yet again.

"I warned you."

You hiss into her face.

Sana's wide eyes look beautiful. The way she stares at you, begging you to fuck her harder, while she tries her best not to make any noise.

But she fails miserably. A loud sigh echoes through the tent.

Without a word, you reach upwards. The sound of metal on metal cuts through the night as you pull your pugio out of its sheath. You let Sana get a good look at it. Then, you slowly part her lips with its blade.

"If you don't want to hurt your pretty face..."

You don't continue your sentence once more. But Sana is well aware of the risks.

With your dagger in her mouth, Sana has to pull back her lips, while simultaneously biting onto the blade, to make sure it doesn't fall or hurt her.

You see her closing her eyes as you keep fucking her. She is now really quiet, focused on keeping your pugio in place.

"Finally. Your voice so annoying."

Sana blushes in shame, able to see your honesty in your eyes.

"At least you have a nice body. I could fuck you every day."

The young woman almost lets out another moan. She really has to hold herself back. This was the first time someone reduced her to nothing but a wet hole to fuck. She didn't expect it to feel this good.

You suddenly hear footsteps outside. You stop moving, almost making Sana whine in disappointment, but then she hears it too. The two of you hold your breath. Neither of you wanting to get caught.

As the footsteps disappear into the night, you resume your fucking.

You make Sana bounce up and down on your cock. She glides along its full length. Whenever you impale her on it, Sana's eyes shoot wide open. She would scream if it wasn't for the dagger between her teeth.

"I'm gonna cum."

You hiss into her face, unable to hold back longer. Her tight pussy has been working on draining your cock this whole time. It feels perfect, almost too good to pull out. But cuming inside is obviously not an option.

You put Sana back onto her own two feet, taking the knife out of her mouth. Undoing your belt, you free her arms. Sana drops to her knees, opening her mouth. You catch a couple drops of blood on the corners of her mouth, before she wraps her lips around your cock.

Your pugio falls out of your hand and you take a fistful of her beautiful hair. Her eyes look up at you, telling you to finish inside her mouth. Her tongue glides over every inch of your cock it can find, while her lips are tightly sealed around it.

"Sana."

You manage to groan her name, before you unload inside her mouth. You feel dizzy, having to close your eyes for a moment.

When you open them again, you see Sana gulping down your cum.

"How often do we need to do this, so that we have a deal?"

"I think you know the answer."

It's so dark that Sana's face is barely lit by the torch outside. You could swear a small smile plays around her lips though.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #twice sana #twice #sana minatozaki #sana twice #sana smut #sana #twice smut

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

Note

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

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crownofgildedlilies · 1 month

Text

wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it -> cool about it [2]

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: you guessed it! more angst and cursing!

word count: 6.4k

a/n: did not mean for it to be this long but, im obsessed.... no like u don't understand. so much to be said! inbox/comment to be added to the taglist!

one [two] three four

At least you had the comfort of preparing for war to distract you.

Armor polished to perfection, swords sharpened, denarii in your pocket to pay for passage to the Underworld, should you meet your end facing an endless army of monsters that couldn't die.

Really, how Roman of you to seek the blissful nothingness at the start of battle.

You knew the exact number, down to the minute, of how long it had been since you had last seen Jason. But if someone were to ask you how many days Percy, Frank, and Hazel had been off on their quest, you would have stared at them blankly.

And even as you readied for war, your eyes had a glossy look to them, pinned on a fixed point just above the horizon.

"Don't let the legionnaires see you like this," Dakota had murmured in your ear as he adjusted the straps of your armor. You knew he had a point, but hated him for saying it, anyways.

What did it matter? The legionnaires had already seen you in hysterics in the camp center, tearing through the place in search of Jason. They wouldn't be surprised to see you were still not right, even with the promise of military glory.

But it didn’t change the fact that he had a point.

You were a centurion for a reason, and not just because the great Jason Grace followed you like a shadow. You needed to be strong and brave and ruthless, because that was what a Roman leader should be.

And the reason you became a centurion was apparent the moment you stepped onto the battlefield, New Rome at your back and your brothers-in-arms at your side.

See, the giants hadn't taken into account how much anger and fear you had bottled up inside you, uncorked with the first swing of your sword and spilling out over their armies.

Violence untethered, one of the now-retired centurions from the First Cohort had once described the way you fought. Brutal. Efficient. Roman.

And if you had been untethered before, when you still had Jason at your side—

The casualties on the Roman side were few.

You had taken a couple of big hits, but you welcomed the pain. The first actual bite of something other than heartache felt almost like a relief, like a promise that you were not trapped in a body that could only grieve.

The rest of camp may have been rejuvenated by Percy's retrieval of hundreds of Imperial Gold weapons, but all you could do was grit your teeth and limp back into the city.

The cries of 'Praetor!' that echoed after you, announcing Percy as Camp Jupiter's second leader, felt like they were twisting a knife in a wound long infected and left to rot.

Jason was praetor. Jason.

You liked Percy, you really did. He was funny—or at least, you would have thought so, if you weren't constantly looking for the next excuse to leave camp and search for Jason—and kind. He had Roman bravery, if not a little rebellious, which the Mercury in your blood seemed to enjoy.

Percy might have even been your friend, in another life. One when you had met him with your hand tucked in Jason’s, the son of Jupiter the levelheaded side to your double edged sword.

And at least you trusted Percy a whole lot more than Octavian.

"These... Greeks," Octavian hissed the word, lips curling in distaste. The day after the battle, still bruised and wounds leaking blood, you found yourself in the forum, dressed in a toga wrapped over your armor. You still couldn’t put too much weight on your ankle, and the shoulder on your shield arm was swollen. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought if you trust them."

You rolled your eyes, but bit down the dramatic gag. If Jason had been there, he would have been very pointedly ignoring you—because you had been guilty on more than one occasion of making more and more ridiculous faces in an attempt to make him laugh.

And after the third time you had gotten him to break his stony facade, Jason had implemented a 'no looking at you during meetings' rule, which he more or less succeeded in executing.

Or less, being the key words.

"Talking about fools," You murmured, and from beside you, Dakota jammed his elbow into your side so harshly, you almost yelped. In his defense, you hadn’t told him about the Cyclops that had probably broken your ribs, but you wished he hadn't hit you where you were so sore.

"Look, they're my friends up there." Percy gestured widely towards the open air roof as he spoke. You found yourself studying the skies, as if the flying Greek trireme Percy claimed would be arriving might suddenly appear out of thin air. "I trust them, and you voted me praetor. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It's something, alright." Octavian scoffed. You rolled your eyes again, almost growing dizzy with the movement.

A bad habit during meetings, Centurion, Jason had chastised you, once, with a smile so warm it didn't feel like a punishment. The two of you had just left the forum, still wrapped in your togas, your hand curled around his forearm as he led you through New Rome and towards a bakery you favored.

Wouldn't happen if you let me challenge Octavian to combat, Praetor, you had fired back, and in a moment of weakness, pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw before darting off ahead of him, giddy.

Soldiers, not lovers, you had to remind yourself. No matter how much you wanted, you couldn't force Jason to be anything he wasn't ready to be—or maybe what he just wasn't.

Octavian's watery stare landed on you, snapping you back to the moment like a rubber band pulled taut.

"I can hardly imagine you support this, Centurion? With Jason Grace gone—"

"Do not," You snapped, breath coming out in short, labored spurts. Violence untethered, indeed. "Neither I nor you get to decide who is praetor, and the spot was open—"

Your voice cracked. It tasted like a lie. The spot wasn't open. It belonged to Jason, just as your heart and tears and smiles did.

"—and Percy Jackson was raised to the rank after receiving glory in battle." You recited. You hoped it didn't sound like you had practiced in the bathroom mirror that morning, trying to make it seem like you believed it, even if you had. "I seem to recall a certain Apollo legacy cowering beneath my shield during the second Cyclops onslaught, don't you, Augur?"

And maybe it was a low blow, calling a Roman's battle bravery into question, but Jason had always been your bridge to your self-control.

"I—no—it—!" Octavian stammered, flustered, and Percy laughed. Dakota and several of the other centurions Octavian hadn't managed to blackmail or brainwash to follow him pressed their palms over their mouths to suppress their own chuckles, and even Reyna was struggling to bite back a grin. "You think you'll still hold rank as centurion, come the next election?"

He was threatening you, you realized, and you would have hauled off and socked him in the mouth, consequences be damned, if a shadow hadn't crossed over Octavian's head, darkening the whole of the forum.

Twisting your gaze up, heart hammering, you found a flying Greek trireme.

Percy was right.

And maybe he had been right about something else, too. Something you hadn’t dared to consider.

While Percy was dropped at Camp Jupiter, Jason might have been carted off to Camp Half-Blood.

Mercury swiftness blessed you once more as you took off, darting out of the forum before Reyna could finish saying dismissed.

There wasn’t much that could have stopped you, not even the bitter cold of crashing through the middle of a Lar.

You didn’t even bother pausing to shout an apology to Cassius, glowing purple and claiming to curse your bloodline for such an insult.

If you have been able to breathe, you would have told him your bloodline already felt a little cursed.

There was shouting, but you barely could hear it over the buzzing in your mind. You felt like you were going to vibrate out of your skin, eyes squinted, head tilted up, and fighting against the sun for even a glimpse of your missing half.

“Helmet on, fall in line,” Dakota tugged your arm, pulling you back to his side. You felt a little, a lot, frantic—felt desperate—but Reyna was already struggling to get everyone to fall in line, and she had given you so much leeway in the past months, that you stepped beside your fellow Fifth Cohort centurion.

“I left my—“ Left my helmet behind, you would have said, but Dakota shoved the metal piece into your hands. With buzzing fingertips, you placed on your helmet, adjusted the straps of your armor that were already perfectly done up.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Seconds ticked by like hours, limbs swimming through thick air like you were in a dream. From your spot nestled between Dakota and Paulette from Fourth Cohort, tucked under the hull of the flying trireme, standing behind Percy and Reyna, you couldn't see any of the ship's occupants.

But then they dropped a rope ladder, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Nails bit into your palms, your own fingers the culprit, and you forced yourself to stretch out your hands in an attempt to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

Jason, please, Jason, I need you, oh, gods, please—

It was like a mantra, repeating on a loop in your head. Tears stung at your eyes, overwhelmed by just the sheer possibility that your golden haired love could be so, so close to returning to you.

The first body began to climb down the ladder. A girl, with yellow hair dragged into a ponytail. In front of you, somehow, you heard Percy inhale sharply and you realized it must have been Annabeth.

The only person he remembered from his past life, until he had drank the gorgon's blood and gotten his memories restored. Unease trickled through you. There wouldn't be such a quick fix for Jason.

A second girl descended the ladder after Annabeth, with choppy brown hair, baggy clothes, and a wicked dagger at her hip.

You started to doubt Percy's theory. Maybe Jason hadn't been taken by Juno or Hera or whichever deity you felt like blaming. Maybe he was stuck somewhere else, alone, and hurting, and you were—

A purple shirt appeared over the side of the ship, atop a set of broad shoulders you could have recognized blind.

Jason.

Your Jason.

Home, to you, at last.

A gasp shuddered through you as he started to climb down the rope ladder and into New Rome. You started to step forward, but Roman training froze you to your spot as Reyna pinned you with a look that screamed 'don't break rank, not in front of Octavian,' which would never be enough to keep you from reaching Jason.

But still, you stalled.

It didn't mean you stopped staring, your eyes tracing his form from head to toe, trying to see what changed about him, what was still the same.

The scar on his lip, the sky blue eyes, the golden rays of his hair. It was exactly as you remembered, except for the hair, which had grown out just slightly. You liked it better, but you would never tell him. You knew how much he liked to keep it short, in regulation.

Look at me, please, you begged him in your mind, because you were forbidden to say the words. Another boy scaled down the rope ladder, but you paid him no attention. Jason, Jason, Jason.

It was dizzying. In all the years you had loved him, never had it felt so much like a compactor was pressing in on your chest.

Their group approached, four rag-tag demigods, three Greeks and a Roman. It sounded like the set-up to one of the awful jokes you used to tell Jason when you were stationed on guard duty together, just to pass the time and see him shake his head with a smile.

Reyna stood tall before you, strong and powerful and part of you wanted to push her to the side and race into the arms of your lost soldier.

Why hadn't he looked at you yet?

This was it, the moment you had been dying for, for months. When Jason finally came back to you, his eyes locking with yours, rules and regulations tossed aside as he wrapped you in his arms so tight your toes left the ground and his mouth slotted over yours, a kiss nearly a decade in the making.

Fear and emotion clogged your throat, and you had trouble swallowing around it. Didn't he see you? He knew you always stood between Dakota and Paulette, just to the right of the second praetor—his rank, formerly, now given to Percy Jackson.

But, there—his blue eyes scanned the row of centurions lined behind Reyna and Percy, starting with the First Cohort and making his way to you. Oh, how you were going to scream and cry and hold him later, all as punishment for making you worry—

Jason's eyes passed over you, carrying on towards Dakota like you were nothing more than another face in the crowd.

Fear and routine and fear of your routine were the only things stopping you from tearing off your helmet and slamming it into his chest, demanding to know who the hell he thought he was, scaring you so thoroughly for months and then acting like he didn’t know you.

But then you remembered Percy, and how he hadn’t been able to remember anything.

That couldn’t be right, no, Jason loved you. And maybe it wasn’t in the way you loved him, but hadn’t Hadlee, the daughter of Venus, gone on and on the other night about different types of love? You knew with a certainty you had never felt before that Jason loved you, even if it was only in the sense of friends.

The way fellow soldiers would die and bleed and get torn to shreds for each other.

You had gotten upset when he asked what else was there for the two of you to be. Now, you would trade every scrap of pleasure and freedom for the chance to be only soldiers with Jason Grace for the rest of time.

You pressed your arm tight against your side, elbow pointed in and poking at the unhealed, unchecked injury from the Cyclops. At first, you had refused to go to the medics because they were still all cheering for Percy to take place at praetor.

Then the pain just became a good enough distraction from losing Jason, even if it didn't really work.

These thoughts and more swirled in your mind as Jason introduced himself and the Greeks he had arrived with. Annabeth, Piper, Leo, Coach Hedge. The names meant nothing to you, but still you memorized them, because they were important to Jason.

He and Annabeth took turns explaining the quest they were on. You only understood half of what they were talking about, because every time someone other than Jason even attempted to speak, their voice was drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Gaea is rising. Giants trying to wake the earth mother. Need to go to the Ancient Lands to stop them.

You gathered enough to know that whatever was happening was bad. They needed Jason, your Jason, and the fate of the world was more important than the heartbeat pulsing in the tips of your fingers.

Wasn't it?

Miles and miles away, maybe already in the Ancient Lands, you heard Reyna's voice cut through the static.

Let's discuss over a meal, she had said, your stare watching the relief wash over Jason's face. You were certain no one but yourself noticed the minute reaction on his behalf. At least, you had hoped. We reconvene in the city proper for a lunch. Centurions, dismissed.

There it was, that permission you had been waiting for.

Your helmet was torn from your head before Dakota even had time to slouch, shoulders dropping from the stiff way he held them while in formation.

It clattered to the ground beneath you, and you might have even stubbed your toe on it as you stepped forward, desperate for proof that you weren't imagining things. Your soldier was home, gods praise, he was home and within arms reach.

The rank of centurions behind you remained still, anticipating the long awaited and bitterly fought for reunion between two of New Rome's finest, the two soldiers that rarely ever separated, but spent six and a half months apart.

You surged forward. Jason stayed still. You understood what was happening, but you wanted to pretend for a moment longer.

"Hey, soldier," You breathed, voice tight and eyes burning. You clenched your hands into fists, then splayed your fingers wide, stretching, desperate to reach out and touch.

But you were on very uncertain ground. You had to wait for him to make the first move, even if it killed you.

"If the legion weren't here, I'd kick your ass for making me cry." You settled on saying, knowing that he would understand just how much you missed him.

Once, during a particularly violent round of training, Jason had caught the underside of your jaw with the blunt end of his lance. Nothing had broken, which considering Jason's strength, had been both a shock and a blessing, but you hadn't been able to control the tears that sprung to your eyes and raced down your cheeks in pain.

I did this to you, he had lamented, torn between anger at himself and grief for having hurt you. His aching in his words had been nearly enough to get you to resent yourself for feeling pain. I should have been more careful. Next time, I will.

His hands had been cradling your face, turning in it ever so gently to the side to inspect the bruise already forming on your jaw. His touch on your skin had felt like too much, but now you were realizing it had never been enough.

Next time, I'll be faster, you had promised hooking your leg around the back of his and shoving into his chest, sending him sprawling backwards and landing square on his ass in a move that never would have been possible if he hadn't been distracted by your tears at his hand.

You had barely cried then. What would he say, now, learning of the hysterics you had been reduced to?

“Er, do I know you?” Jason asked, stammering, flush coating pale cheeks you could have drawn from memory.

The simple question felt like being dunked in an ice bath, then held under while your lungs filled with water. It had to be some cruel joke, some wicked nightmare you would surely wake from any minute.

Know you? Did Jason Grace know you?

The question was almost unnecessary. Laughable, even. Seven months earlier, if someone had asked that question, you would have cracked a grin. Jason would have been by your side, naturally, and been offended by the insinuation that he didn't.

And then he would have proceeded to list off all of your favorite things, in alphabetical order, organized by category.

The idea was laughable. He knew you. He had to know you.

“Jase?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all you could muster. A breathy, pained whisper of the nickname you’d given him when he was being stubborn about taking care of himself and you poked out your bottom lip to try and convince him to rest.

Most times, it worked.

Now it just hurt.

“Sorry,” He shook his head, darting a glance to the curly haired Latino boy wincing at his side, your stomach dropping to somewhere around Pluto’s palace. “I don’t remember, well, anything, really.”

How foolish had you been? Percy had remembered Annabeth, sure, but Annabeth was his girlfriend. What were you to Jason?

Just another soldier, like he had claimed the day he went missing.

Just another soldier. Only ever soldiers.

And the worst part was he looked genuinely apologetic. You wished he could have scoffed and waved you off, like some prissy, no-good asshole that turned up his nose simply because he was the savior of the world and had earned so much battlefield glory he practically reeked of it.

But that wasn't like Jason. No, not only did the jerk have to be the strongest, most strategic soldier you had ever had the pleasure of fighting alongside, he was also one of the nicest.

Holding open doors, comforting the new, young, arrivals, braiding your hair for you to keep it out of your face that one time the stomach bug had torn its way through the Fifth Cohort. You had spent thirty-six straight hours bent over a toilet, and Jason had been there through all of it.

I don't remember, well, anything, really.

But you had never just been anything to Jason. Sometimes, he looked at you and you could almost convince yourself that you were his everything.

Dakota, of all people, a little hopped up on kool-aid, came to your rescue. Knotting his red-stained fist in the back of your toga, he tugged you back into the line of centurions, using his body to block Jason from your line of sight.

And you would have expressed your thanks, if you had been able to express anything beyond total heartache.

“No one would blame you if you snuck out,” Dakota lowered his voice, ducked his head close to your ear, and that snapped you out of your stupor.

“And leave my legion?” You glared sharply at him, glad for an excuse to funnel out some of your anger, though you felt a little bad that Dakota had been your punching bag the last six months. Really, you owed him. “I don’t think so. I’m fine. Just… shocked. I’m good.”

Dakota winced. Usually, you were ace at lying.

Who tied Octavian’s shoelaces together?

Not me, you’d dutifully shake your head.

Who broke curfew and snuck into the city to retrieve little Julia’s stuffed teddy from Octavian’s sacrifice pile?

I’d never, you’d claim, aghast.

Who’s head over fucking heels, dizzyingly in love with Jason Grace?

Not my type, you’d hold a hand over your heart, scouts honor.

But a simple I’m fine?

Even Frank Zhang couldn’t pretend to not know you were lying through your clenched teeth, and he pretended like he had never found you sobbing outside bunkhouse after curfew one night, a few days following his arrival at camp.

How had Jason forgotten you? It didn’t feel real, but everything felt like too much.

Maybe Dakota had a point. Maybe you needed to get out.

"Come," Reyna ordered, breaking the silent tension that had been building as Greeks and Romans alike stopped to gawk at your conversation with Dakota. "Let's eat."

You picked your helmet up out of the dirt, a dutiful little soldier with lungs full of glass shards.

You were supposed to be strong.

You were supposed to be strong, but you were just a kid.

Ten years old to be exact. Tears stung at your eyes, burned their way up your throat. You could have vomited. You might have already.

You're a thief and a monster, the other kids at school had claimed, words like bullets as they lobbed pencils and crumbled paper and anything they could get away with at you.

A thief, you would admit to being. You couldn't help it, fingers moving almost of their own accord, always finding the easiest target, the shiniest reward. It didn't matter that you always returned everything you took. No one wanted to be friends with the freak that managed to lift the teacher's wedding band off her finger in kindergarten.

A thief, you were.

But a monster? Monsters were the creatures that clawed at your window at night. Monsters were the odd shapes in the grass your mother never managed to see. You weren't a monster. You were ten.

"Hey, we're not supposed to be back here."

The voice of another child cut through your misery, and you sharpened your glare to pin the intruder to his spot. You recognized him, because he was the type of guy that had called you names in school. Tall—for a kid—and built like an athlete. Tan skin, blond hair, blue eyes.

You were pretty sure his name was Jake Greene, or something.

"You're back here," You reasoned, waving a hand littered with scabbed knuckles around for emphasis. Here being the stretch of unwatched grass behind the Mess Hall, a little place you had discovered on your second day and realized it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry.

Now, a week in, you discovered that it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry, but Jake Greene.

He looked around uncomfortably, like he was just then realizing that he, too, was breaking the rules. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for witnesses, before trodding through the plush grass to sit beside you, legs stretched out in front of him while yours were pulled tight to your chest.

You checked the ground quickly, relieved to find you hadn't actually vomited.

"I'm Jason. Jason Grace." He introduced himself, as if your eyes weren't bloodshot and face blotchy and cheeks wet with tears.

Not Jake. Noted. Now that you thought about it, you didn't think there was a Jake at Camp Jupiter. Not one that you had met, yet, at least.

You nodded, hoping Jason, Jason Grace would get the hint that you wanted absolutely no fucking part of whatever nice guy routine he was putting on. Even if he was one of the few to approach you since you had arrived, bloody and starved, at the camp's borders, Lupa and her pack deciding you worthy.

This one is feisty, you could have sworn the alpha wolf had snarled a grin at the older centurion who found you. Young, but strong willed.

You didn't feel strong willed. You felt like you missed your own home.

You had to remind yourself that your own home hadn't wanted you and your new home was a Roman military camp.

"Your father is Mercury, right?" Jason tried again, this time earning a sharp glare.

It was easier to be angry than it was to be vulnerable, wasn't it? Wasn't that why you always bit the hand that fed you, got sent to the literal fucking wolves at ten years old?

Jason Grace didn't flinch at your hatred. Hatred? That wasn't the right word. You didn't hate anything or anyone but the schools and teachers that had convinced your mother that you were too difficult to deal with, that you needed to be sent away.

Can I come back for Christmas, Mom?, you had naively asked, not understanding why your mother was crying as you rolled to a stop outside a crumbling, wooden house in Sonoma.

A week later, you wondered if your mother was still crying. Or maybe she was enjoying the peace of no longer getting calls from schools or policemen about you.

You wished you could wipe your hands clean of yourself, like Mom had. Maybe you would understand why everyone in your life always seemed happier after they had gotten rid of you.

"It's not so bad here, I promise," He tried, again, and part of you had to congratulate him for not giving up. You would have. "I cried, a lot, when I first got here."

"You?" The exclamation fell past your lips before you could help it, and Jason's own twisted into a victorious grin. He had a scar, on the side of his lips, shining pearly white in the sun, set against his skin.

"Me," He confirmed. Sure, you had just met the guy, had been calling him the wrong name for a week, but he didn't seem like the type to cry. "I did come here when I was two, though."

You didn't know whether to gasp or swat his arm in retaliation, so you did both, finally uncurling from the ball of fear and hatred you had woven yourself into.

"You're really good in training," Jason complimented, taking your childlike assault in stride. You nodded, picking a few blades of grass out of the ground, right at the roots.

"I used to fight in school," You offered, if it was that simple. But punching your bullies was a whole lot different than locking sword and shield.

In the bunkhouse, the boy in the bed across from you was a son of Ceres, the goddess of the harvest. Your first night, in an effort to make you stop crying, rambled on and on about plants. How to properly care for different crops, what too little sunlight did to a flower, and how a tree could be dug up from the ground, roots and all, and planted somewhere else to live a perfectly normal, perfectly long life.

You stared at the blade of grass in your hand, feeling very much like the plant, your roots floating in the middle of nowhere by the hand of some unseen, unforgiving god.

But maybe you could plant your roots, too.

"If I don't make it here," You whispered, little kid voice hoarse. "Then that's it for me. I don't have anywhere else. I'll have to live on the streets. I've done it, once. Made it a whole week before Mom found me."

Part of you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. What had Lupa shown you about weakness? It got you killed. It got you punished.

But Jason didn't sneer. He pursed his lips in a thin line, scar shining even brighter with the movement.

"I don't know my mom," He confessed, suddenly just as weak as you. Frowning, you tried to figure out why he was saying it. Big, strong—at least to ten year old you—Jason Grace should not have been any kind of weak.

Nodding, you didn’t have anything to say. But you felt the connection build, just two weak children, forgotten by their mothers.

“But I know you,” Jason offered, the admission warming something in your chest involuntarily. And you knew in that moment that maybe you were scared, but you weren’t alone.

At least Jason Grace knew you.

You grinned, then. A far cry from the glares and snarls everyone else you had come across had received. The ones that even he had been victim to, at the start of the conversation.

"Well, Jason Grace," You stuck out your hand, and he clasped your forearm like a good little Roman. "You're never getting rid of me, now."

The smile he gave you in return was a little lopsided, and when he dropped your arm and glanced over his shoulder, you remembered that your not-so secret hiding spot was off limits.

"Just don’t tell anyone we were back here, please.”

If you had thought your mood was bitter before the trireme arrived, it was nothing compared to the sulking, sorrowful mess you currently were.

For starters, you had somehow been shoved and duped into the seat beside Octavian and across from Jason. You didn't really want to see either of them, at all, at the moment.

Secondly, and you may have been reading far too much into things, but the second girl the Greeks arrived with, Piper, was sitting entirely too close to Jason. You wished that you had a good enough reason to not like her, but with your rotten luck, Piper McLean had been an absolute sweetheart despite your best efforts to act like a dickhead.

And it wasn't like Jason had ever actually been yours, ever.

Third. The plate the sprites dropped in front of you was filled with all of Jason's favorite foods. You weren't sure if it was your will or the sprites that made it happen, but you felt like tossing it all away.

Maybe you would dump it in Octavian's lap. It might make you feel better. It certainly was worth a try.

Finally, there was one aching thought echoing inside your mind relentlessly. The last conversation you ever had with your Jason had been an argument. You had walked away from him, a little petulant, entirely unnecessarily. And you had lost your soldier boy.

Because the Jason seated across from you at the Dining Hall in New Rome was not the same one that wrote out your to-do lists for you on neatly lined paper, offering to tag along with you while you checked them off.

He was just Jason, not yours.

And that hurt far more than you cared to admit.

“Centurion, you must be ecstatic,” Octavian crooned, his sickly smirk pinned on you. You felt a whole lot of things, but ecstatic wasn’t one of them.

“How so, Augur?” You huffed, even though you knew it only invited trouble. Across from you, Jason and Piper clearly had one ear on the conversation.

"Well, you have been inconsolable with our dear Jason Grace missing," Octavian said, as if he really cared about you. More heads started turning in your direction, and you found your fingertips inching to do something that would really get you in trouble. "You were a mess, honestly. Looking like—"

"That's enough," Jason interrupted, even though he didn't have any memories of you.

At least he was still the same horribly perfect sweetheart he had been before he left. His months with the Greeks—all of them watching you with mixed emotions—hadn't turned him sour.

"Oh, you should have seen her, Jason!" Octavian was going now, flourishing in the attention and you hated him, hated him so much your cheeks burned as bright a red as the kool-aid trapped perpetually in Dakota's hip flask. "Crying, every night. She even has—"

"I said, enough, Octavian,"

"—has a key to your bunkroom!" The augur finished, and if you had been able to think of anything beyond your embarrassment or frustration or fear that you were totally, irrevocably erased from Jason's mind, you would have remembered Octavian's threat, earlier, before the trireme arrived. He was just exacting his twisted form of justice.

Embarrass me in front of the Senate, and I will destroy you in front of Jason Grace, you could practically hear him sneer.

"Wait," The Greek named Leo narrowed his eyes at Jason before darting them to you, a grin on his lips that screamed trouble. "Did you two use to date?"

"I don't know," Was Jason's clipped, short reply, his cheeks dusting pink as he fixed his attention on your face. He studied you like he didn't understand you, which was ridiculous, because sometimes it felt like you and Jason shared a heart.

"No," You grunted, shoving your plate forwards, glare fixed on the stupid cherry tomatoes rolling atop the porcelain that you despised and Jason adored.

"We never could figure out if that was the truth," Octavian slanted a look to you, smirking. "But I guess we don't have to worry about that now, do we Centurion? Since he has no memory of you, of—"

Faster than what would have been possible, if your father had been anyone different, you lifted the knife set beside your plate and slammed the tip into the wooden table, between two of his fingers. He screamed, and the plates on the table rattled.

Weapons were forbidden inside the Pomerian Line, but dinner knives were only utensils.

The whole table fell silent. And maybe the whole Dining Hall, had, beyond Octavian's spluttering and cursing and calling for your trial before the Senate for attacking an Augur.

And maybe if Percy wasn't glaring at Octavian, and Reyna hadn't been the one to slip you Jason's key, he might have had a case against you.

"Praetors," Standing, you bowed your head to Reyna and Percy, and though every muscle in your body screamed to pay the same respects to Jason, you couldn’t get yourself together enough to meet his eye. How could he not know you? "I request to be dismissed."

"I will come find you later." Reyna nodded, intelligent eyes shimmering with understanding, and you never realized just how much it hurt to be pitied by her. "We’ve got much to discuss."

"Yeah. Uh, lots." Percy nodded, looking between you and Reyna like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was missing. But then his attention snagged on Jason, seated across the table, and you saw it all—the understanding, the pity, the sorrow—pass over his face. "Wait—"

Annabeth jammed her elbow into his side, and you met her eye briefly. She might have been the only one who understood even a fraction of what you were going through.

But at least Percy remembered her, and he had loved her freely, before.

“Later.” You confirmed through clenched teeth, turning swiftly to try and find a spot far enough from Jason Grace so that his lack of memories didn’t hurt.

You weren’t sure such a spot existed.

Your feet carried you deeper into the city, walking past store after store. You couldn't stomach going into much of them, every bakery and café and bookstore holding some memory of Jason. Far more memories than he held, of you.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you heard the first explosion.

And Roman training kicked in, instantly, as you raced towards the forum, where the Greek trireme was firing on your city, the one you had only just saved from and army led by a giant.

Fall in! You shouted, organizing legionnaires, your mind and your instincts at war. And you knew Greeks and Romans were at war, too. Protect the city!

You barely were able to glimpse the dark haired boy, Leo, manning the ballistae attached to the side of the ship before it took off, rocketing through the skies, even with Roman firepower slamming into the hull.

And as the trireme disappeared into the distance, fear tore through you.

Because you knew Jason. You knew he was on that ship, with his new friends. You knew he was sailing off with them, bound to a quest that meant saving the world, if what they said was to be trusted.

And you knew what came next.

Jason Grace, loyal to the end.

You were going to have to kill him.

a/n: did not mean to give reader such a tragic backstory but I kinda love it... im so curious to know what ur fav part is, bc I cannot decide. ty for reading this much and plz let me know what you think!

tag, you're it: @aezuria @tayswiftlovebot @bonnie-tz @folklorefantasies14 @sunshine-of-ur-life @irwinchester@bellamysnatblida @saph-nic @auroraofthesun1 @helloimamistake

#jason grace #jason grace fanfic #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus #pjo #rays of sun #Jason Grace fanfiction #Jason Grace reader insert

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balletfilmss · 1 month

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DISTANCE MAKES THE HEART GROW ANGRIER

✸ pairing: jason grace x daughter of minerva! reader

✸ summary: you don’t know anything about jason anymore, except for the fact that you hate him for leaving

✸ warnings: kinda angsty…BUT I SWEAR THERE’S FLUFF AT THE END!! hurt / comfort type, & i think i swore like twice whoopsie

✸ notes: this might be my longest fic yet, hello? i mean, that’s not saying much but STILL

you didn’t know much about jason grace as of lately. it was true that there once was a time that even the smallest of scratches on his skin weren’t a mastery to you, a time when you knew him better than you knew yourself.

until six months ago, when he disappeared without a trace and left you all alone.

as a daughter of minerva, you’d never had many friend to begin with aside from the two praetors of new rome, for your skills and intellect set you apart from your fellow members of the legion and as leader of the first cohort, you were high up in the ranks anyways.

but now, six months later, you found yourself filling the post of second praetor not because you wanted to, but because you had to. the weight of the world had fallen upon your shoulders in only a fortnight

then, percy jackson had appeared.

you’d given him the position you held graciously, but it did nothing to repair the damage done that caused you to be emotional and physically strung out beyond relief.

you didn’t know much about jason grace anymore, except for the fact that you hated him, and unlike reyna, would not be welcoming him back with open arms when he arrived at camp jupiter as percy said he would.

and arrive he did, aboard a flying warship with three other demigods you’d never seen in your life.

while percy, reyna, and the rest of the legion welcomed them in with open arms, you were nowhere to be found.

jason’s eyes scanned the crowd over and over again and each time failed to find just the face he was looking for.

ever since his memories had been returned, the son of jupiter had been driving himself crazy with anticipation to see you again.

the curve of your soft lips and spark in your eyes; the flex of you muscles as you fought and the amused quirk of your brow when you inevitably won. he remembered it all and he missed it all so much that he thought it just might suffocate him. to him, every minute without you was another minute closer to asphyxiation.

fortunately, even after six months, you were still the same girl he had always known. the same one who would tie her shoe laces with two loops instead of one and always had to step out the door with her left foot first.

the same girl who knew him better than himself, and who he knew just as well.

so when he walked into your typical getaway spot, you couldn’t really say you were surprised.

hidden and tucked away in the corner of the new rome library you sat, a book you could’ve even say the name of propped open in front of you just in case someone came in and you needed to look occupied.

you hadn’t read a word since you’d gotten in there, for your brain was too busy reeling with thoughts about the boy who was now sliding his way through the front door to the library in search of you.

you heard footsteps enter the otherwise pen-drop silent room and darted your eyes to the page of your book, resting your face in your hand and letting hair fall over your face in hopes it might cover you up and by some miracle, conceal your identity.

but unfortunately for you, jason would know you anywhere.

he stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on you, his darling girl hiding away in a corner, trying to disguise herself from the world. you weren’t in your official centurion getup like everyone else, but instead jeans and a purple camp jupiter t-shirt that exposed the four lines scored across your arm.

four years. four years that you had known jason, and four years that had been stolen from him just like that.

“yn?” he uttered, asking even though he knew for certain that it was you.

you didn’t answer, just flipped the page of the book you weren’t reading. it bruised his heart a little bit, but he expected nothing less ever since your absence at the welcome party.

he walked closer, testing the water in hopes that you’d at least spare him a glance up. when you didn’t even give him that much, he crossed the room fully until he was standing in front of the table you sat at.

“i braced myself when reyna told me you were mad, but i didn’t expect for you to ignore my existence entirely,” he told you after the silence became too much to bear.

with a huff, you snapped your book dramatically shut and looked up at him, avoiding eye contact and making yourself seem as uninterested as you could possibly scrounge up.

for the first time in months, you took in the beautiful sight that was jason grace. he looked almost the same, with his starry eyes and pretty smile. except he was dressed in a eye-stabbingly bright orange shirt that read camp half-blood on it and was seemingly a size too small, considering how it distractingly hugged his biceps a little too snugly.

he still looked like him, but if he was masquerading around as someone he wasn’t. a son of zeus and not jupiter. a quest leader and not a praetor. a teenage boy, not a soldier.

“library’s closed, and you don’t have authorization to override that rule anymore,” you told him bluntly. “or did you forget how to read, too?”

“okay, ouch,” he nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop himself from fidgeting. but that was the girl he knew: assertive and naturally bossy, for lack of a better word. a true leader, just like himself.

“i’m trying to read, leave,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes off of his.

“i know you’re not reading that,” he rolled his eyes, knowing that you didn’t see it became if you had, he would’ve been chided.

“yes, i am.” you insisted, reopening the book.

“sweetheart,” he sighed, pushing the cover shut again and pointing to the bleary title. “it’s in italian. which if i remember correctly, you don’t speak.”

your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you were mad at him, gods damn it, and you were gonna act like it.

slamming the book down, you pushed yourself to your feet and began towards the door, not giving him the decency of another word.

poor jason didn’t know what was going on. he didn’t know why you were acting this way or why he didn’t get the overwhelming joy of you running to his arms like annabeth had percy’s. no, instead you ran off at the mention of him and refused to meet his eyes.

he’d lost six months with you, and briefly lost the memories of all four years of you, there was no way he was going to lose you now too.

the fear of losing you— all of you— for good had a grip on him so tight that it made him catch your wrist with his hand before you could leave, and the touch of your skin against his sent a refreshing shock through his senses. one chance was all he needed to make sure you didn’t slip through his fingers again.

“don’t go,” he said. “please. i— i don’t really know what’s wrong, but i know that i want to and that i want to fix it.”

for the first time again, your eyes met his. but where his were soft and concerned, yours were glassy and inflamed.

“you don’t know?” you glowered loudly, voice echoing in the silent and empty library, eyes holding angry tears. “jason, you left me! and for months, i tried to figure out what was wrong with me that made you do it, until everyone reminded me that it doesn’t matter what i think or how i feel, because there’s people to take care of and responsibilities to handle.”

jason stared at you, all the things he’d planned to say suddenly lost as he processed your broken words.

“and yeah, i know now that it was all juno, but by the time i was told, everything had already changed too much.”

“too much?” he questioned, looking down at you like a wounded puppy and yanking on your heartstrings.

it wasn’t his fault, none of it was. the involuntary leaving, the memories being wiped, the identity shattering feeling of being an amnesiac. it was all juno and her twisted plans and jason was just a victim of it, and you knew that.

but he had forgotten you once, so what would stop him from doing so again? or worse, what if he had gotten all these memories of you back and the fresher version of his mind had decided that you just weren’t worth it anymore? maybe you never were.

you were just protecting yourself, your heart.

at first when he left, you’d prayed every night he’d come back, wished on every shooting star and dandelion. but then you were forced to accept that no, he wasn’t coming back and somebody had to step up. you had to step up.

it hurt so hard to have your life flipped upside down and take on more than you could even imagine, you just couldn’t do it again.

who’s to say that the minute you let him back in, he wasn’t going to be ripped right away again?

“too much.” you restated. “before percy showed up, i was filling your position and holding my own. all while people either asked me what happened to you or looked at me like i was some poor, little wounded deer, and helping reyna keep everything from falling apart, and with fucking octavian breathing down my neck! and the whole time i couldn’t think of anything but you, and your stupid…you!”

you groaned and shoved your face in your hands to hide the tears that had already started falling, the frustration becoming too much.

slowly, jason put a hand on your shoulder and pulled you into his chest, to which you let yourself slowly collapse into his embrace, your hands the only barrier between your face and his chest.

he wrapped his arms around you carefully like he’d done many times before, rocking back and forth as a silent attempt to calm you. he felt a little guilty for enjoying the feeling of you in his arms again, given the circumstances.

“i’m sorry,” you whimpered into the cotton fabric of his ugly orange shirt. “it’s not your fault. and you don’t deserve to be yelled at or ignored. i’m so sorry.”

“it’s okay,” he murmured into your hair. “i’m sorry for letting you think there was ever anything that could make me want to leave you. and, i’m sorry for not remembering everything sooner.”

you must’ve looked pretty damn rough for him to be apologizing that his memories were stolen by a goddess.

“you really remember?” you whispered into his chest, scared that if you said it too loudly the answer might change.

“yeah,” he answered, picking his head up off yours and tapping the back of your head to draw you out of his chest.

you didn’t go far, looking up at him while still in his arms, tear-streaked face and all.

“there she is,” he mused. “there’s my pretty girl.”

the frown on your face deepened at that, purely because your face was surely red and covered in tears, and he decided to compliment it anyways.

“everything? you remember it all?” you sniffed.

“everything.” he confirmed. “like how this is where you go when you’re stressed,” he dipped his head down and kissed your cheek.

“and your favorite color’s light blue,” he kissed your other cheek. “and you prefer mystery books to romance,” your forehead. “and i even remember the time i tied your shoe for you and got kicked in the face in exchange.” your nose.

you were eye-to-eye now, drowning in oceanic blue surrounding his blown-up pupils.

a small giggle passed your lips at the last anecdote, pressing a nostalgic smile onto your lips. “i missed you,” you admitted.

“i missed you too,” he said. “can i have a kiss now?”

you smiled and pulled his face to yours, capturing his familiar and dearly missed lips with your own. after all the fussing and fighting you’d done, he could have as many kisses as he wanted.

#୨୧ love letters #jason grace x reader #jason grace x fem!reader #jason grace x y/n #jason grace oneshot #jason grace x you #jason grace imagine #jason grace #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus #hoo #hoo x you #hoo x reader #pjo hoo toa #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fandom #x reader

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apollosfavkiddo · 2 months

Note

Helloo!!! im in such a Jason Grace era these days and fics for him are SO limited in the fandom?? its actually super sad. i loved your previous jason fic smm, Would you consider making a Jason x fem!reader where Jason just has a veryy bad day, he gets overwhelmed by everything and everyone, and he just cries into reader's arms and she comforts him?

i feel like he deserved to just cry it all out atleast once, considering the amount of pressure the poor boy has had from everything :( so i would lovee to read about that!

⛧° as long as we're together °⛧

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: jason grace x fem!reader

warnings: angst but then it’s fluff, kinda short, cursing, 5’3 (1,60m) reader, life in New Rome!

a/n: HA LOOK WHO’S POSTING TWICE IN JUST ONE DAY???? hehehe i love this request so much my boo deserves more in his life i don’t fucking care.

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

Sometimes it’s just too hard to be Jason Grace.

The mighty son of Jupiter. Pontifex Maximus. Counselor of the Zeus cabin. Juno’s Champion. Hero of Omlympus. Centurion of the Fifth Cohoort.

The titles were endless. And so was the work.

And everyone, and i mean everyone, counted on him for various things and reasons.

“Hey Jason, are you coming to capture the flag?” Annabeth asked, every week.

“Hey superman, come to bunker 9!” As always, Leo wanting to show him some new cool tricks or projects.

“Oi, sparky! Can you help me pick an outfit for my date?” Piper would ask him.

He was just so tired. He just wanted to tell them all to fuck themselves.

But he would never. He was too noble to do that. He just wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew his friends were needing him and he was… well, being a human and an young adult, taking care of his own stuff.

So when he got home from another endless day, back to his shared apartment in New Rome and to his beautiful girlfriend, who made him his favorite dessert - brownies with caramel and peanuts -, he broke down almost instantly.

Obviously, you ran towards him, scooping him in your arms - which was a difficult task, since he was almost a whole foot taller than you - but you did it anyways, pulling him close to your body, letting him sob in your shoulder as you tried to soothe him.

You had never seen him cry like that, clinging on you for dears life. Once again, he was never one to show his real feelings to anyone, not even your or Thalia.

You scooted him in your arms, rubbing soft circles at his back while you whispered small ‘shh’s and ‘it’s gonna be okay’s in his ear, the both of you say in the floor of your cozy apartment.

After a few minutes of compulsive crying, your shoulder and the upper part of your white tank top completely soaked in hot, wet tears, he finally calmed down - at least a little.

“Hey, honey.” You finally whisper into his ear as he pulls away from your embrace, eyes all puffy and red as he sniffles and wipes his tears with the back of his hand.

“Hey..” He mumbles, his tone low and cracked as you kept caressing his hair smoothly. You caressed his hair and gave a soft and gentle kiss so his cheek.

“Are you okay?” You were answered with a soft nod of his head as he scooted closer to you, snuggling against you warm body and keeping his head on your chest. He looked like a five year old child, and that made you smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.. not now. Is that okay?” He asked, his voice all mushy and muffled by his cheek tightly pressed against you body.

“Of course it is, my love. Do you want to eat? We have pasta with that sauce you like.” She said between little kisses in his eyes, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose and his lips. “And i made you your favorite brownies.”

“Mmhmm…” He let out a content mumble, finally pulling away from him and giving you a kiss on the lips. “After that i… after that i’ll talk to you, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay. But you have to eat before. Come on, i’ll help you get up.” She said as she got up and held out her hand for him to grab.

You finally got on your feet, and you turned around to reheat the food. When you were at the oven, he wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing heavily as he kept the closest he could to you.

Soon, the food was on the table, and the doorbell rang. It was the girl that walked with your dog. You thanked her and pulled Thor, your golden retriever, inside the house.

He immediately went to Jason, wiggling his tail and giving him the biggest licks in the world while the blond laughed.

You smiled at the sight. You knew that he was obviously hurting with something, and you were going to discover with what, but, right now, he just needed some love.

You gave him just that, as you ate together chilling and chatting about your days, you talking more than him.

He helped you with the laundry while you washed the dishes, and the chores were finished very quickly. You went back and cuddled up on the couch, a massive ball of fur, aka your dog, resting comfortably between you two.

You heard when Jason sighed and felt his shoulders shaking, showing his impending collapse, once again. You cyy it deles him closer to you as he cried and cried. His sobs were the only thing heard in the house.

Ten minutes later, when he was calmer, you were stroking his hair in the softest way you could, making sure he would be ready to talk.

“I-i’m just so… tired. Of everything and everyone. It’s- i know it’s selfish, but i can’t help but want to just… ran away. To just stay with you and Thor and give up on the rest of the world.” He said, his words are muffled and smudgy as he holds onto you.

“I know, baby… You shouldn’t work yourself out. You’re doing too much. More than you should, and you know that. You have too much work.” She said, kissing the top of his head.

“I just- i can’t let them just, you know, alone. It’s.. i can’t.” The son of Jupiter said, crying more.

“Honey, they won’t be alone. We have Reyna and Frank and Percy and lots of other people that you can use some help from. You’re not alone. Ever.” She said, reassuringly.

“But-“

“No buts. You’re gonna take a week off, and we’re just gonna hang out here, together, with Thor. No works, no college, no Pontifex Maximus stuff. Just y/n and Jason. And that’s not a request.”

He mumbles something but snuggles closer to you. “Fine. As long as we’re together.”

a/n: i’m literally so proud of myself bro, i got to do two, TWO works today. i’m evolving boos

#postcards from leah #jason grace x reader #jason grace x y/n #jason grace #jason grace x you #percy jackson #pjo #pjo hoo toa

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somewhereincairparavel · 2 months

Text

🐚 Daughter of Neptune headcanons list 🌊 Part Two..

note: dam this was superrr long aswell, I hope I didn't bore y'all lol, I really enjoyed writing this actually! Again, this is the continuation of my first fic, this mostly includes big brother percy! x reader, and yes there will be a part 3 aswell, that focuses more on reader x bf! Jason, gosh I was not expecting this to become an actual series LOL! This part is mostly Percy centric! Also, i wasn't expecting my first hc list to get that many notes?? Like 72 notes is a LOT for me especially if it's for something that I've never done before! So thank you!

•Jason's disappearance would drive you INSANE. I'm not even kidding, those 6 months would be the worst you've ever had. Almost as bad as Annabeth, and it's not just because your maybe-boyfriend disappeared. It's because your sleep was PLAGUED with nightmares about this mysterious lady who called herself the earth mother. She kept trying to recruit you to her side. Gaia was trying to make you join her. But you didn't even know that it was Gaia, at that point.

• Since you were linked to the earthen side of Neptune, and Gaia wanted ALL forces of earth to join her against demigods, you were her main target, along with Percy and Jason. You'd be the easiest to manipulate amongst all big three children , since your powers reeked of earth.

•You anxiously told Reyna about these nightmares, but she waved off the suspicion as stress, with you being unnerved about Jason’s whereabouts or something.

•You also got dreams about a teenage boy with black hair, wandering around the streets of San Francisco helplessly, something about this boy felt super tranquil (yes it's Percy lol)

•And don't get me started about the senators' uproar about their praetor’s disappearance. Conspiracies swirled around the whole camp.

•Octavian was NOT helping the matters, the guy was such a drama king. He cooked up this wild story that YOU were the reason Jason disappeared, taking advantage of the point that Jupiter and Neptune were rivals to give himself an upper hand in his argument.

•He also latched on to the point that all of these atrocities were happening because YOU were a bad omen to camp, which unfortunately, convinced the whole senate. The whole camp now hates you more than ever.

•And guess what happened? You weren't even a full centurion anymore. Ppl thought you would lead your cohort to conspire against everyone, so they forced poor Reyna to transfer the centurion-ship to Gwendolyn.

•Octavian also deliberately refused to look for Jason because he was happy to get rid of the son of Jupiter.

•Nico and Reyna were your only support systems at this point. Reyna elected you as the unofficial praetor (not that she told anyone else, of course, this was a secret between you both, she needed another praetor in place of jason, and she badly wanted it to be you, but the senators begged to differ) so you were secretly helping Reyna to help reinforcements to look for Jason.

• Nico would actually be such a big comfort to you. Bringing you coca cola from McDonald’s while you both just sat in silence in pluto's shrine wallowing in sadness lol

•Okay okay I'm yapping so much, so here comes the best part. The most anticipated one. Your brother Percy Jackson's arrival.

•You actually weren't in camp when he dramatically came by, you were in Temple hill, trying to convince a thick headed octavian to burn his god damn bears and issue a prayer to Jupiter about Jason. That jerk was so stubborn. So you were practically yelling at each other.

•That's also EXACTLY when Percy and Hazel get sent to Octavian by Reyna. So while they were approaching you, you were just in shock and stopped mid way from the argument you and Octavian were currently having and stared at Percy. He was the same boy in your dreams.

• This strange boy had worn the same expression as he stared at you. Shock. Unbeknownst to you, Percy had been having dreams about your wispy face as well.

• Hazel told Percy about you after he dramatically charged into camp as a child of Neptune. Percy would actually be SO excited when he finds out that he has a sister in this mysterious camp.

• But TWO children of Neptune? At the same place? Same time? This all brought on such an uproar amongst campers

• Octavian had practically hardwired the whole “Neptune children are unlucky” thing into ppls mind so much that everyone was worried that Percy's arrival meant something bad was happening.

• When Percy met you though, he'd actually find you very closed off and rigid. But he cannot help being soft around you, since you were practically his younger sister.

• You'd deliberately avoided him a little. Because you were SO overwhelmed with everything. How did you dream about your nonexistent brother before you actually knew he existed? You actually had a hard time trusting him with everything going on, so you'd act a little cold around him for the first day. Even Reyna would notice your lack of enthusiasm when you welcomed Percy to your legion.

• But you failed to intimidate Percy. like miserably. You'd shoot him grumpy looks, only to find him smiling back at you. You felt kind of bad now. Since Percy looked like he badly wanted to talk to you.

• so. You planned a secret excursion. You were both in the same cohort, so you had no problem tapping Percy on the shoulder at lunch, and told him to meet you at your dad's shrine at around 12 AM.

• Percy was super confused at your sudden offer but he obliged anyway out of curiosity.

• so he'd be walking around the shrine like a lost puppy, admiring how new his dad's statue looked. Hazel had told him about your efforts to bring glory to Neptune, and how you'd never miss a day to clean his shrine, and percy'd admire that. Like a lot. He knew there's more to you than what people said about you in camp.

• "Good old dad huh?" You'd say as you came inside the shrine, startling Percy so bad that he'd trip on his own shoelace.

• That shit was hilarious as hell lol making you holler with laughter.

• He'd be super embarassed but would totally laugh along with you.

• Okay so the first few minutes would be painfully awkward. I mean, what do you say to your long lost sibling you never knew you had?

• But Percy would interrupt by telling you that he'd had dreams of you. Which shocked you to the core. Because you had them aswell, that piece of information would leave him shocked aswell.

• So after this info dump, the conversation after would flow so naturally?? Like where did all the awkwardness go? You'd both talk about everything, you'd tell Percy about Jason (though you kinda left out the boyfriend bit lolz) and he'd tell you about Annabeth.

• You'd walk Percy around the streets of New Rome, breaking curfew, like you always did, as you told him "well you deserved a proper sisterly tour of the city yesterday, I'm sorry I didn't give you that, I just had a lot on my mind, I DO want to get to know you more, you are my brother, after all".

• All of these words would leave Percy overwhelmed tbh. He'd been so scared that you wouldn't talk to him, and that you may not want have a sibling dynamic with him. But he was wrong. You were still a little awkward, but you were trying. And that made him feel a rush of brotherly affection for you. You were nothing like the scary/grumpy heartless girl you were perceived to be by the other campers.

• the whole excursion-with-your-brother-to-bond with-him thing actually worked. You had no idea what you were doing, but it worked. You got to know stuff about him, even though he barely remembered a thing, and as much as you hated to admit it, you sort of overshared with him. The bullying you faced at camp, how everyone called you names, scoffed at you, how Octavian was being. well. Octavian. Your dad not noticing you, So all in all, you shared basically everything with guy. And no, you still left out the boyfriend detail, he ain't gonna know about that lol

• It actually helped you get those things off of your chest. But at the same time, you had too much fun maintaing the grumpy mean girl persona, and now that you've given him your tragic villian backstory, you no longer had the "mystery" aura around you anymore, and you were sure Percy thought of you as a small marshmallow he needed to protect. You didn't need protecting.

• And you were SO right, Percy got super protective the next day, the change was SO visible, that even Reyna noticed and asked you about it.

• you kept the sibling excursion trip a secret though lol no way were you scrubbing the streets with toothbrushes again. You'd broken enough rules.

• So now, the curfew thing just became an inside joke between you guys lol

• Percy would SO introduce you to blue food. Tell me he wouldn't.

• Okay so after loads of protesting and senate Mayhem, you'd go on the quest to free thanatos, along with Percy, Hazel and Frank, where you also found out that you were a part of the prophecy. You'd discover that you and Percy's powers would work SO well together.

• You both would look like a power duo in all honesty, you'd cause the earth around you to tremble, while Percy made the waves accelerate. Frank and Hazel almost fainted omg

• Octavian was SO sure you were going to fail the quest.

• Jokes on him, his expression when you and Percy rode on Mrs O Leary, carrying the golden eagle together, screaming "Twelfth Legion! Fulminata!" was hilarious. He looked angry, shocked and murderous all at the same time.

• I kid you not, The amount of celebration you and Percy got after you came back was insane. You were both elected as praetor the same day. Yes, I know there can only be 2, but at that point, not even Octavian could deny the fact that you both deserved praetorship. (Sucks that it only lasted a few days before you guys ran off to the argo ii)

• Percy's arrival had helped you as a person, and helped restore glory to your father Neptune and the twelfth legion. All of a sudden, Neptune children, were regarded as lucky charms. You both would definitely go down in the Camp Jupiter history reports as the sibling duo who restored the golden eagle to Rome again, after many many years.

• okay now that the plot centric stuff with Percy is over, lemme just add a few extra stuff.

• you and Percy would have SUCH different auras, it was actually hilarious. You'd be dark and broody, Percy would be calm and serene (well, most of the time) which was GOOD. Bc if you both were mad, then I'll send the world some thoughts and prayers, mostly prayers. Since it would end in an avalanche mess.

• also, i forgot to mention, you broke your imperial gold sword in the quest, that left you shattered. Bc that sword held memories. But in return? You got something SO much better.

• Your good old father, Neptune, had appeared in the praetorship ceremony, (leaving Octavian terrified) and congratulated you and Percy for being "such a pride symbol" for him (Percy got SO mad, like oh. NOW you notice us pops?) but yeah, Neptune, told you that your efforts to restore glory to him was very much noticed ad appreciated, by him.

• Neptune had given you something else as a replacement for your sword. It was a pearl bracelet but when you tapped it twice, It turn into this unique aqua coloured metal, that would transform into any sort of weapon you wanted. But the catch, is that it could only be one weapon at a time. This was eerily similar to Jason's coin-sword and Percy's Riptide.

• Percy had sassed the hell out of Neptune on your behalf though lol I mean, the guy has every right to be angry, His sister was neglected for SO long?

• in a way, percy also felt super guilty bc now tha he got his memories back, he knew Poseidon would visit him a lot, but his Roman side never visited his other child up until this point? He felt like he had a privilege you didn't.

• Sally would totally love you. She'd coddle you as much as she does percy tbh.

Update: part three is just out!

https://www.tumblr.com/somewhereinhogsmeade/746677981633724416/daughter-of-neptune-headcanons-list-part?source=share

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psychosith · 7 months

Text

Talk to Me

Din Djarin x Jedi!Reader

summary: You, Din, and Bo have been asked to “take care” of the malfunctioning droids on Plazir-15, and the Mandalorians don’t know much about the Jedi’s involvement in the Clone Wars.

warnings: mentions of trauma/ptsd, panic attacks, child endangerment(?), mentions of war, mild injuries/blood, i can’t think of anything else but lmk if i missed something

a/n: this is based on a request from @otter-nonsense620! it’s been a hot minute since i’ve watched the Mando so this might not be totally accurate but… wtv. when i was writing this i was imagining the characters had feelings for each other but hadn’t confessed yet, but you can read this as platonic or romantic. Anyways, enjoy!

“Our constables are unequipped to confront battle droids,” the duchess said.

“Ah- former battle droids,” the duke corrected, looking pleased with himself. “They’ve been rehabilitated.”

You glanced nervously between Bo and Din. You wanted to be helpful to them and their cause, but hearing the words battle droid again for the first time since the war caused an unexpected spike of panic in you. The rest of the conversation with the duchess was muted in your ears, your mind running a mile a minute. Din’s husky voice in your ear brought you back to the present, “We’re leaving.”

You figured that Bo and Din had accepted the duke’s deal and your anxiety could only grow as you speak to the security officer and then the Ugnaughts. In the hyper loop on the way to the loading docks, you’re bouncing your knee and worrying the inside of your cheek when Bo takes notice.

“Hey,” she says, resting a hand on your knee, “what’s up, y/n?”

You look up from the ground to meet her eyes and find genuine worry, but dismiss her concerns nonetheless. “I’m fine, Bo. Don’t worry about me.”

She pulls her hand back and nods her head, yet you can still see a hint of concern as she resumes conversation with Din, who has paid no mind to your conversation.

You try to control your breathing as you walk through the loading docks, recalling your time in the Order. Battle droids of all kind are working various jobs on the docks, and you can recognize almost every model, having taken many down in the war. You’re following a line of centurion droids when you come to an access point headed by a B-1 model. It’s almost identical to the models that fought in the war, and you find yourself spiraling into a memory from years ago…

You knew a war was coming, but you didn’t know this was how. You, your master, and many of the other members of the Order had gone to Geonosis to rescue Obi-Wan Kenobi from Count Dooku. You remember being excited, as you were barely a teenager and this was your first official “battle”. The arena was packed, and you knew Jedi were scattered secretly throughout the stands.

When you finally ended up on the field, surrounded by droids, you began to grasp what was going on. This was war. You stood frozen as your friends and colleagues dropped dead in the sand. Dust was filling your lungs and blood covered every surface in sight.

A hand grasped at the bottom of your robes, and you looked down at the body. It was your master, collapsed at your feet with a nasty blaster wound in her side. You dropped to your knees and tried to stop the blood flowing from her wounds, the substance thick and warm on your shaky hands. A sharp ringing in your ears blocked out your master’s final words before her eyes glazed over. A large shadow loomed over you and you followed it to where a B-2 unit stood with a blaster aimed at your head. A scream was caught in your throat, unable to escape from the pure shock coursing through your veins. A green saber slashed through the droid just in time, and the jedi wielding it offered a hand to help you up. Your master’s blood coating your hands and robes, you ignited your lightsaber and moved to a proper fighting stance.

You were ripped from your memory when Din was thrown across the docks, likely by the centurion with an extended fist. The droid breaks out into a run as Bo starts firing at it. Your heartbeat rises in a crescendo as scenes from the war replay in your head and you are left useless to stop them. You’re struggling to breathe and sobs are shaking your entire body. Though you can hardly move, you begin to stumble back to the hyper loop and to the rooms provided to you by the duke and duchess.

Your hands are warm and you keep seeing your masters eyes in your head, staring dully into yours. Violent tremors rack your body and your skin is burning hot. You can almost feel phantom blood soaking into your robes, and you tear and paw at your sleeves.

You’re hysterical when Din finds you curled up against the wall. Tears stain your cheeks and you’re muttering hopelessly to yourself about “i wanna go home,” and, “i’m sorry i’m so sorry.”

For a long moment, Din doesn’t know what to do. He stands there feeling helpless as he watches you suffer. His body moves of its own accord when he crouches next to you and places a warm hand on your arm. Your gaze finds him with a sense of numbness in your eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, “I’m here.”

You say nothing in response but tears come back into your eyes and he buries you in his arms, letting you cry into his shoulder as much as you need. Din is the one to break the silence.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” he asks.

“It’s stupid,” you say.

“It’s not stupid, he says, “talk to me.”

So you do. You tell him everything. Your master, your many battles in the war, every time you brushed with death. A weight was lifted off your shoulders, and he was the one to hoist the burden. Din held you the whole time, rubbing soothing circles into your back. Then you told him why you were crying now.

“It’s just, seeing all those droids again…” you start.

“Y/n,” he says sorrowfully, “if I had known.”

“It’s not your fault, Din. You couldn’t have known.” you reassure him.

“I should have. You shouldn’t have to bear that all by yourself.” He thought for a moment. “I’m always here, you know. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to go through it alone. You can always talk to me.”

You touch his arm softly, “I know that now, Din.”

Slowly, he starts to stand up and offers you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you in bed.”

He leads to to your bed and as you’re getting settled under the thick blanket, you feel the bed dip beneath you as he sits next to you.

“Scoot over,” he says, and you oblige. His arms go to wrap around your waist, and he pulls your body towards his in a comforting manner. He holds you this way for the rest of the night, and as you feel yourself drift into sleep, you know you are loved.

a/n 2: lowkey i hate this but i had no motivation also sorry to the person who requested this i reread your prompt and it said “trauma but hidden really well.” … oops. it’s already written so so sorry js message me if you hate it i’ll rewrite😭

#star wars #star wars x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #grogu #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #comfort #clone wars #attack of the clones #hurt/comfort #idk what else to put

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lawrites · 3 months

Text

Not Worthy

Oswald Cobblepot x Plus Size! Gender Neutral! Reader

Short drabble about Ozzie telling Plus Size reader to buy something pretty at the "expensive" shops and them not being able to find anything. Hurt/comfort, very cute at the end <3. This was made for a swap with @acapelladitty :)

CW: slightly suggestive, reader has down thoughts about their body

“Get yourself something pretty, sweetheart. Something expensive, at the good stores in Gotham. Then come back and show it off for me. That's all you have to do, and I'll treat you real nice after.”

Oz had given you a winning smile this morning as he held out his Centurion Card, gesturing for you to come closer. His arms had snaked around you, bringing you onto his lap and making the both of you laugh at your uncoordinated landing. He had given you a gentle kiss, cupping your cheek after you separated for just a moment before telling you to “get going” with a wink.

You felt so warm and happy then. It sucks that your day and mood have both been ruined, now. You wonder if you can sneak into Ozzie’s Manor and somehow avoid him seeing you with no bags full of new clothes. Oswald loves you, truly, and he's attracted to your body with its curves and rolls, your stretch marks, your tummy. But…that doesn't change how society, especially high society, views you.

Every high end boutique you had entered, every one, had glared at you like you were beneath them. While you are used to it at your size, it's still grueling and makes every shopping trip harder, mentally. And the cherry on top was being able to find maybe two garments in the entire 5 hour shopping trip that would have fit you across all the stores you visited…and they were boxy and frilly and looked like a grandmother would wear them.

You're, again, used to this. Being fat means you have to sometimes be more practical about shopping than you would like. But you guess you just are under more pressure with Ozzie being so sweet and giving you his card. You feel like you've disappointed him. Ever since you decided to give up, telling your driver to take you home, your brain has been racing with awful thoughts. A small part of you knows they are irrational, but the rest of you is just dejected, frustrated, and tired of having to go through this again.

Yeah, why would you have thought they would have anything in your size to begin with?

Did you see how those people at the store looked at you? Like you were something they could smell?

Ozzie is gonna notice you came back with nothing, ask why, and then break up with you, because he will finally have realized how he's completely out of your league.

The last thought makes you choke out a sob as you try to sneak through the front foyer of Ozzie's Manor. And you cringe as you hear his voice yell out in answer, “Sweetheart? Is that you? Why didn't you tell me you were home?” You hear his footsteps as he makes his way from the living room to your location, and you feel panicked trying to figure out what to do…so you freeze.

You see Ozzie’s face as he turns the corner, going from teasing excitement to worry instantly. “Dove?”

Your heart sinks to your stomach, and you blurt out, “I'm sorry, Ozzie. I wasn't able to find anything,” while placing his card on the side table next to you. Your arms wrap around yourself, turning your back to him so he can't see your belly. “I-I think I'm too big. I can't wear those p-pretty clothes that you want me to get. I'm a disappointment.”

You try to hold in your sobs, but your body physically shakes with your anxiety which keeps you from disguising them. It is silent…for a moment. Then, you hear his footsteps again. “Angel?”

Shaking your head, knowing he wants you to turn around, you refuse. But you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. “Angel, c’mere.”

The hand turns you, and you decide to let it, finding yourself enveloped in the warmth of Oz’s embrace, taking in his comforting smell. Another sob and shake forces its way out of you, and his hands gently stroke your back and run through your hair, trying to comfort you.

Oh great, now he can feel your back rolls.

Ok, that comment from the bitch that lives in your brain was so out of left field that it brings you back to reality. Ozzie is also helping, as he is actively hugging you and even humming out a soft tune in his low voice. You sniff, pulling back and looking at Oz.

“Oh, I'm sorry for getting snot on your shirt. I guess I can't do anything right.”

Oz just chuckles and puts one hand under your chin. “Dove, I don't care. I want to know what shops turned you away and treated you like this.” His face morphs from a gentle smile into a dangerous grimace. He looks murderous, “I'm going to burn them down.”

You shake your head, “No! No! You don't understand…I went to the nice shops downtown like you said and…they didn't necessarily turn me away, I just couldn't find anything that could fit. I-it’s my fault.”

A barking laugh makes its way out of Oz, and you feel your heart break, for just a moment, before he apologizes and pulls you to him again. “Sweetheart, please take this the right way…but those aren't the nice shops. Of course they wouldn't have anything for the likes of you, I wouldn't let them dress you if you wanted to change out the oil in your car.”

You are confused, now. Looking up at him, you sniff. “W-what? So…what shops do you mean?”

Oz puffs up his chest, “I suppose I'll have to take you to them myself. They are very exclusive, and only the elite in Gotham frequent them.” He winks, “God I can't believe you went to those awful shops downtown. They can't afford the fabrics I want to drape your perfect body in.”

His hand traces down your side, landing on your hip, “And yes, you're big, but I fucking love it, sweetheart. It may take more of that expensive fabric to make something worthy of you…” The hand grips into the flesh on your side, making your breath catch, “...but I get to show off how gorgeous you are and how wealthy I am in one fell swoop. What's not to love?”

With a teasing grin, he gently reaches out to cup your face again, making you give him a gentle smile in return. “There's my Dove.”

He brings your face to his chest, running his hand through your hair again while you practically melt against him, comforted and at ease.

#x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #the penguin x reader #plus size reader #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobblepot x plus size reader #the penguin x plus size reader #lawrites #batman rogues x reader #batman rogues x plus size reader

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bakerstreethound · 1 year

Text

The Scars Between Us

Relationship: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: angst, hurt, mentions of nightmares, slow to comfort, soft scared Din

Summary: Din is terrified when he almost loses you on a mission, one where you protected him, the scar you bear reminding him of his failure. He can hardly look at you, let alone touch you or think about doing so. What happens when you confront him on the matter?

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: Duh nuh, I have returned with a slice of Din angst. This man desperately needs to be held and loved despite his protests. I hope you all enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs are most appreciated! Graphic by @firefly-graphics

Every time he closes his eyes, the same image surfaces. The blood, the raining of blaster fire, the wails of the child, screaming villagers. There you were in the thick of it with him fighting off the troopers who’d decided to infiltrate the seedy bar you convinced him to retrieve information.

Then the part that doesn’t leave, hasn’t left his dreams, borderline rising to nightmare when you turn yourself, grasping onto his arm, spinning in front of him, taking the bullet to your shoulder, it grazes you, but the sneer on youe lips, eyes hiding the upcoming agony is what plays over and over, dragging Din further down, scared and afraid of the danger he put you through. It made it even harder for him to look at you each day he wakes since that fateful day.

What would he do without you? He did that to you, couldn’t keep you safe, Maker, he failed both you and the child.

He takes a deep breath, shifting in his bed, reaching out for something, but met with only the emptiness of his bunk. Empty. The cooing he’d grown so accustomed to was nowhere to be heard. Almost in a panic he grabbed his helmet, shirt and pant hanging loosely on him then he hears your voice, talking softly from down the corridor in your quarters.

“I told you I’m fine, silly.” He hears your voice and he fights with himself as he continues watching you beneath his helmeted gaze, a silent centurion, but he still can’t tear the images from his nightmares away from the fringes of his memory, threatening to destroy him, consume him night after night, day by day. Still, he stands there, listening, not wanting to interfere, he knew the risks of having you near him in the line of fire.

Oh, but he didn’t expect to fall this far.

******

You shunned attachments, everything it involved, but now, you saw why it got in trouble, for you knew now you found the family you could always dream of not some distant future far out of your reach but in the end it was worth fighting to protect to have something of yours that you could live with to see everyday of your life.

You tug off your shirt, barely wincing in pain. You wouldn’t change what had happened, knew it was right, heck you hoped it had been helpful in the long run and there. The child babbled next to you, seeming content in your presence despite the bloodied bandage wrapped around your lower stomach and shoulder. Your body bore many scars, these are worth more than anything, you find yourself thinking, letting the thoughts wash over you.

“Don’t worry, kid, it barely even grazed me, I got out just in time, remember?” You pull the Child in your arms, his hand wandering over your skin, gripping your bicep, clinging desperately, his eyes looking up at you in concern, his other hand reaching towards the blaster wound on your shoulder. “I told you, it’s going to be fine, silly.”

“You got lucky.” Din’s modulated voice fills the room as he leans against your doorframe, head tilted slightly, watching you, Underneath the helmet though, he tries to hold back his own wince of pain as he watches Grogu babbling, trying to climb up your arm to reach your injured shoulder. He notices the way you try not to wince, let your pain show, another reminder that it’s his fault he couldn’t protect you, could’ve saved you from harm or something far worse. He doesn’t want to think of the alternative, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

You feel his presence, but don’t acknowledge him, you wouldn;t trade what you did for the entire galaxy. Grogu’s persistent on your arm but you try not to wince again, trying your best to not fall deeper into your mind, this beautiful shattering trainwreck the insides of your body and mind have become. It hurts you to think of him, thinking of him dead in your arms, hands falling from your face tears and sobs threatening to wrench from your throat.

You knew that would be a chance again to have him every single change you got. If you were a machine it would be your only objective to see him from harm. You weren’t ready to see him die. You couldn’t do it couldn't live without him near his warmth everything of his you valued most dear. You couldn’t imagine a galaxy with him., down on your knees you prayed to whatever being who could help, heal your fractured soul, it mattered naught.

“I couldn’t let them hurt you, Din. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I could’ve handled it, you scared me, I was afraid I lost you.” His hands reach up, grazing your jaw, you try not to fall for this, for him, but it was all for naught, you can’t help but allow yourself to lean into him, but just as quick his hand is there, he pulls away as if he were burned.

“Din, please,” you hate how broken your voice sounds. You know this is something he can’t handle to admit, but the space between you is a growing void, searing hot, stinging you deep down more than you;d like to admit. It only grows when he sighs heavily, turning towards the door to his bunk, the door whooshing in his wake.

******

Days pass he can barely stand to be in the same room with you for five minutes. Why did he think you were afraid of him? Was this such a mistake to fall for him in this manner? Why did it all come down to this? Was it so hard for him to understand?

By now, your wounds had healed at a good rate and you hadn’t lost much more blood. Grogu clinging to your bicep didn’t hurt much anymore. You hate how the twinge your heart makes when you make eye contact with Din’s helmet visor, wanting to see his face, you can only imagine the expression on his face every time you pass by

Anger

Resentment

Fear

Shame

What you don’t know, however, is the ever present anguish and sorrow trailing after him like a haunted specter, pulling him back to where you’re running out in front of him, taking not one but three blaster shots from him, the way your body goes limp for a fraction, phasing you, but he shakes his head trying to tear himself from the nightmare. Of all the bounties and marks he collected, he’d seen enough of his fair share of bloodshed but that was different before you joined him on one mission which turned into another…and another.

Somehow, you were different. When he saw you take the hit, he felt deep down, his heart wince, you made him crave your companionship….you mattered to him. More than he could possibly fathom. More than he dares to admit to himself.

To make matters more complicated, Grogu had become attached to you by the by and he can’t exactly say no to the little guy. Din sighs, walking down the corridor past your door, noticing it open a fraction, he stands before it, debating. He knows it's futile to ask about Grogu, he can hear him babbling happily in there, no doubt entertained by one of the countless games you played to keep him entertained on long missions or while traveling through deep space.

Grogu’s gaze hovers long over the door, and you grimace, bracing yourself as you shift to maneuver off the bed. Should you do this? Why did it matter? You tried not to care too much but this? You couldn’t bear to fathom a life without either of your precious beloveds.

You knew his presence all too familiar, you don’t know why you can’t ignore the unbearable ache rising again, while you find yourself oh foolishly calling out, “Din? You can come in. Grogu wants to see you.” You’re right by the door, its still cracked open, a hint of beskar flashing through and it widens, and you’re brought back staring into his visor, your insides twisting in knots, the invisible sharp thread of longing poking out and taunting you no matter how hard you tried to deny it. It was inevitable at this point. You cared too much for him. You cared too much about the Child.

He cocks his head, and you step aside, smiling gently at Grogu playing with one of the many baubles and trinkets you had on your side table from previous adventures. He gurgles, happy as a clam, giggling when Din sits next to him on your bed.

“He’s happy.”

But are you? You bite back yout tongue, you’re not sure what to say, everything escaping you when his hands reach up, the familiar hiss of his helmet filling the empty void, the countless voids between you, and your met with a familiar, yet unfamiliar sight.

Piercing soft brown eyes, brows furrowed in a mixture of sorrow, shoulders slumping the more you study the planes and ridges of his face. The legend, Mando, the Mandalor. To you he was Din and always would remain, yet it aches the anguish in the lines along his lips, him wanting to reach out and reassure you he’s the one who is fine.

“Please tell me what’s wrong?” You take a step closer to the bed, ignoring Grogu’s gurgle of protest as Din leans down to murmur something to him quietly, a lopsided ghost of a grin whispering along his lips.

How you ache to trace his lips, rememorize him but your brain retaliates, screaming at you everything about this situation is wrong, that is until you sit next to him on the bed, your hand ghosting along the side of his face, as he watches, avoiding your gaze still, swallowing when you finally trace your finger along his skin.

“Please?” You try again, the anguish prevalent you don’t dare disguise it anymore, noticing his chest heaving. His heart races but when he meets your gaze, he tries so hard not to flinch when your hand skims along his lips, his heart skipping a beat.

“Can’t…cyar’ika…” his hands drop to your waist pulling you closer, one stroking your chin; tilting you up to meet his gaze.

Your own heart races, fearing you were the one to do something wrong. Hell your instincts kicked in at the most inopportune time and you just wanted, something inside you screamed, to protect him, you couldn’t lose him or the kid. It was you or them, you wouldn’t have changed anything about what you did.

“I wouldn’t change anything I did that day, Din. I need you to understand that, okay?”

He swallows once more, “But I was supposed to protect you…don’t want you hurt.”

You press your forehead into his more, fumbling with his hands, trying to get your point across, desperately hoping to the Maker you wouldn’t mess this up and make a fool of yourself, the feelings you tried to keep hidden long ago from resurfacing. “I knew the risks since the beginning, Din. But I care about you…”

The silence is deafening before he takes a shaky breath. “That’s why I can’t lose you…I wouldn’t know…” his breath catches, “Grogu and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out Din. I’ll be here with you both always, as long as you’ll have me.” You dare to reach up, stroke the fine lines of his face, his eyes closing shut at the touch, leaning into you a fraction. “ Don’t think I won’t do everything in my power to save your ass if it comes to harm, alright?” He nods, burying his face in your neck as you pull him closer, thanking the Maker you’ve come to an understanding.

The void within you quells, hope blossoming in your chest while you stroke his back, relishing the soft groans from him as he pay back his dues in full, intent on making up for lost time.

After all, it did take you getting shot for you both to admit the mutual affection….but you would make up for it with the times the universe bestowed upon you.

******

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian imagine #star wars imagine #pedro pascal

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friendsoup · 4 months

Note

WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS ON THE FLOOR READING THE SOBER THOUGHTS FIC⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇⁇ IT WAS SO GOOD ESP FOR MEDICINE POCKET.... WOULD IT BE ALRIGHT TO ASK FOR A PART 2 TO IT? like how reader finally sobers up but doesn't exactly remember what had happened after they got hit with diggers atk until pocket and dikke explain it to them ⎯ bla bla BLAH reader is flustered and embarrassed, frantically trying to hide away and make excuses for their actions even though they were completely pure truths of their affections towards them, and even going as far as to say "Pretend it never happened/you didn't hear it!" how wld pocket and dikke react ... or more like, return reader's feelings while also being embarrassed abt the situation

Sober Thoughts Pt 2

Recipe: Romantic fluff, Proper confessions, Hungover! Reader, Reader x Medicine Pocket, Reader x Dikke, GN! Reader, Devoted Dikke, Playfully teasing Medicine

WC: 1,979 (one day I'll get 1999)

Chef's Note: OUGH sorry this took so long!!! I'm working on like. 3 fics at once. I just happened to finish this one first lmao. I hope it's what you were looking for! I certainly had fun writing it!

The first thing that comes to you is the pounding in your head.

It feels like someone’s beating you with a hammer, a dull thud banging over and over again into your temples. Your brain feels like it’s being squeezed, making it hard to think, or comprehend anything but the pain. Has it always hurt so much to live?

Against all better reasoning, you attempt to open your eyes. Slowly, they peel open, instantly flooded by the lights and colors of your room. It feels like a stab to the eyeballs, your head throbbing in response. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. Since when does seeing hurt to do? “You’re awake.” You hear a familiar voice say. Cautiously, you turn your head again, peeking out of one eye. And there they are. Medicine Pocket, sitting right next to your bed. Their hair is undone, falling over their shoulders in a messy cascade. Their eyes look tired, but they’re still managing to pull a smile. “You’ve given everyone quiiiiite the heart attack.” They chuckle, poking your forehead. “Come on, sit up. I have some water for you.” That is music to your ears.

You scooch upwards, your sore muscles screaming at you to stop. It feels like you’ve just ran a marathon, your body inexplicably pained by… something. Something you can’t quite remember. Medicine shoves a cool glass of water in your hands, and instantly you feel better. Just the cold touch of the glass is enough to relax you, and when you put the glass to your lips? The relief is like no other. You gulp it down greedily, finishing the cup in a matter of seconds. You hand it back to Medi, feeling slightly better.

“Bunny Bunny has something she calls a ‘hangover cure’ that she’s cooking up for you.” Medi states, snorting. “Apparently it’s popular. Both Pavia and Centurion swear by it.” You can barely comprehend what they’re saying, your mind swimming in pain. But the sound of their voice is comforting. You’re glad they’re here, next to you, during this time of need. However, there’s something on your mind. “What… what happened last night?” Your confusion makes Medi burst out into laughter. You writhe in pain as the sound hits your ears, the shrill laughter doing nothing for your headache. You shrink down into your bed, hitting your head against the pillow as you prepare for something terrible to come out their mouth. “You got hit by one of Diggers’ bubbles.” Medi explains between laughter. “You were out of it.” You groan, bits and pieces returning to you. “When we got you to the suitcase, you nearly fell face first down the stairs. I had to catch you.” “Nooooo…” “You started petting Pickles, then broke into tears over how fluffy he was.” “Noooooooooo, don’t remind mee…” You hide your face under the covers. “You sang karaoke with Regulus. I have it on camera.” “Nooo you don’t! Pocket, come oooon…” “You also told me you loved me.” You freeze, suddenly tensing. Surely you didn’t… did you? “Oh.” Is all that can escape you. “That’s…” You bite your lip, not knowing what else to say. “You said I’m smart, and skilled in battle, and stupidly beautiful.” They trail on.

Your face feels as if it’s on fire. You want them to stop, yet you can’t make the words.

“You said you think about me at night, and that every time I look at you I set you on fire.” “Please, please stop!” You beg, tears beginning to well in your eyes. You can’t stand the teasing any longer, it’s too much. “Just forget about it, alright?! I wasn’t in my right mind. I was out of it! Just act like it never happened, okay?!”

Medi flinches back at your sudden resistance. You’ve never snapped back at their teasing before. This was new. Had they accidentally hit a nerve?

“Hey, I’m-” “No, just stop! I know you want to continue to make fun of me, but I can’t take it! Everything hurts, and I ruined our friendship, and I just want to be left alone so I can rot forever!” You sob, tears rushing from your eyes now. Your head pounds further, but nothing hurts as bad as the tear in your heart. “[Name]!” Medi exclaims. “I’m sorry!” “You’re…” You wipe your face with your blanket. “What?” “I’m sorry. For teasing you.” Medi rubs at their neck, staring at the ground. “I didn’t know you’d be a big baby about it. I’m sorry.” You blink. For as long as you’ve known Medicine Pocket, they’ve never apologized. You didn’t think it was possible for them to. That they’d explode if they ever tried. Though it wasn’t the most ideal apology, it was more than what you were used to from them. “But.” Medi continued, slowly. “I can’t just forget about it. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’ve said.” A blush falls upon their cheeks. “[Name], you make me happy. Like, really happy. There’s something about your idiotic face that makes it hard for me to think straight. I’ve never… I’ve never really felt that before. For anyone. It’s weird and confusing, and sometimes I think I hate it. But I want to be with you. Even if it’s just for a bit.” “Medicine…” You look up at them, eyes as round as saucers. “Yeah?” They ask, catching their breath. “You picked the worst time to confess!” You break into a smile, wincing at the sudden movement. “Really? While I’m hungover of all things?” You reach out a hand, playfully pushing them away. “At least I’m not doing it mid-battle! Like some of us.” They playfully whap you back, a smirk returning to their face.

The two of you laugh, before falling into a pleasant silence. “I’d like to give us a shot, [Name].” Medi says, bashfully looking towards you. “I’d like that too.”

Drunk Words pt 2

You have a nightmare that night. In your dream, a large eagle with red eyes stares daggers into you, while you attempt to escape from it’s twisted forest.

No matter where you turn, it’s always ahead of you, it's bird face full of hatred. You duck under branches, twist between trees, and hide under brush, but you can still feel it’s glare wherever you go. Always lurking.

Always ahead. You wake with a start.

The first thing you notice is that you’re covered in sweat. Your clothes stick to your body, making it nearly impossible to move and breathe. It’s a gross sensation, nearly unbearable, made worse by the fact that it’s paired with a killer headache.

Your head pounds, your stomach churns, and everything feels hot and close. You feel as though there’s been a great pressure placed on you, and it’s slowly crushing you into the bed. You force yourself to sit up, wiping your wet forehead with an equally wet arm. Your vision is hazy, blurred and swirling as the room rocks around you. It takes you a moment to realize that you’re in your room. And that there’s someone at the door. The eyes from your nightmare fall upon you, as blank and as cruel as you remember them to be. You flinch back, then flinch again at the pain, as your head spins in confusion. Wait. You know that red glare! “Dikke?” You ask. You didn’t realize it until now, but your mouth is horribly dry. It feels like someone shoved cotton into your jaw and left you to choke. “Yes, M’lord?” Dikke asks, standing up a bit straighter. “What are you doing in my room?” Dikke’s face goes red, her eyes falling to the floor. “Making sure you’re protected, M’lord. I couldn’t be too careful.” Now, you might be out of it, but you’re pretty sure there’s no threats nearby. What the hell was Dikke talking about? “From…what?”

Dikke’s face grows more embarrassed, as she lowers her head now, trying to shield her expression. “You see, you were… compromised last night. You were in a vulnerable state. I had to make sure you got the rest you needed to recover, and that no one took advantage of your stupor.” Well that was at least sweet. You think. Not that you suspect anyone in the suitcase would really do that. The worst would be Tennant, who’d probably try to swindle any remaining money out of you. But other than that? You trusted the people you worked with.

Slowly, memories return. “Oh,” You groan, the cause of all this hitting you like a freight train. “I got hit by one of Diggers’ bubbles, didn’t I?” You sigh, dragging your fingers through your hair. “I didn’t do anything too embarrassing, did I?”

Dikke shakes her head. “You wanted to go out and, uh, socialize, but I put an end to that. Once we got back, I made you dress and go straight to bed. To prevent any further harm from being done.” You sigh in relief. “That’s good. Thank you, Dikke.” “Except- there was one thing.”

Oh no.

“You…” She stumbles over the first word, you can see she’s struggling to get it all out. “You told me that… Well, the thing is, you said something. And I… I’m simply wondering… Ah, no, that’s not it.” You lean forward, intrigued by the hesitation. “You told me that you loved me.” She finishes, giving a pitiful look to you. “Gah! What? I did?” You exclaim. You don’t remember that at all! “How- What- Huh?” “It was not a full confession.” Dikke admits. “You told me that I was beautiful, and then exclaimed ‘I love you’. But you were quite out of it…” Her expression twists between sad and expectant. It’s clear that she wants you to say something, but you aren’t sure what. “I probably didn’t mean it in a romantic way!” Probably? God, could you be any less convincing?! “I probably just meant it as a friend thing! You know? How friends call each other beautiful and stuff?” You’re sweating bullets all over again, making the bed even more uncomfortable. “Ah.” Dikke looks quite defeated, her gaze returning to the ground. “So you mean to tell me, you do not have romantic feelings for me?” What are you even supposed to say?! The brave knight of justice has never looked so pitiful or small. She looks like a gentle wind could blow her down! You bite the inside of your cheek, closing your eyes as you try to find the correct words to say. “If I did have romantic feelings for you, hypothetically, what would you say?” You ask, opening one eye to study Dikke. “That my heart burns for you as well. And that I want to pledge my unyielding loyalty to you, and to our love.” She states, bowing. “Well, what if, again hypothetically, I said I wanted to take it slow at first? Ease into the whole, unyielding loyalty thing.” “Oh.” You see the gears turning in her head as she stands up straight. “Yes, I’m sure I can do that too.” She coughs into a closed fist, glancing away.

“Then, well…” You sigh. “I do like you. And I do want to take things slow.” You admit, crossing your arms. The light which appears in Dikke’s eyes are like no other. She’s like a kid seeing a christmas tree for the first time, all wonder filled and bright. She runs to your side, kneeling at your bed. Looking up to you with so much admiration, you could swear it was almost worship. “You’re being truthful, M’lord? Yes?” “Yeah, I am.” You sink under her gaze, not used to it being so soft. It’s cute. Too cute. “Then I will be your knight, yours and yours alone, to defend you and follow you to the ends of the earth.” She swears.

You wonder, briefly, what you’ve gotten yourself into.

#x reader #reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #Dikke #Dikke x reader #Dikke x you #Dikke reverse 1999 #Medicine Pocket #Medicine Pocket x reader #Medicine Pocket x you #Medicine Pocket reverse 1999 #fanfic #reader insert #Let's Make Friend Soup!#Order Up!

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90skiyoomi · 2 years

Text

priceless

rich!sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

sakusa kiyoomi, one of the wealthiest man, and his most prized possession.

fluff

a/n: no proofreading. i finishing writing this at 5:54am and i'm exhausted so i'm pretty sure it's quite messy but i hope you enjoy this!

sakusa kiyoomi isn't the kind of person to flaunt his wealth but from the way he dresses himself, and the way he does things, even the smallest thing like walking, you know that man is wealthy.

he isn't much of a spender when it comes to himself. he has, however, indulged in spending millions on a nice penthouse right in the middle of the bustling nyc. he owns one fancy matte black lamborghini but that's about how far he would go to spending on himself. maybe a few nice suits here and there for formal parties that his parents basically dragged him to, and galas to raise funds for charities, you won't see sakusa spending a lot.

unless it comes to you.

how you both met still astounds him (and you) till this day. you remember working at a small local cafe near your university to make some extra cash as allowance as you didn't want to burden your parents more financially, not after they paid for your degree fully with their hard earned money.

it's not like your family was poor. in fact, your parents make a decent amount of money to feed all the children in the house, having plenty of extra money laying around. but being the oldest, you've grown to be more independent than the rest of your siblings, lessening the burden on your parents whenever you can.

it was just a normal day at the cafe. as you wipe down the round wooden table and clearing all the cups that was left by the people that were just sitting here, you heard the bell ringing, signaling that a customer had just walked in.

"hi, welcome to cafe du monde," you greeted the tall man.

he must have been at least 6'2, you thought to yourself, as a shadow casted in front of you when he walked towards the counter.

you quickly took the basket with all the dirty cups behind the counter, washed your hands with soap and drying it with the paper towel nearby before making your way to the counter to take his order.

"one cafe au lait and a butter croissant please," his voice ringed in your ears.

you keyed in his order into the POS system.

"that would be $7. how would you like to pay?"

"by credit card," he chimed monotonously, handing you a centurion american express card.

you swiped his card and you handed him his card and a receipt.

"take a seat. i will bring your order over to you once it's ready!" you said, in your best "customer service" voice.

he nodded and walked to the furthest and quietest corner of the cafe.

you watched amusingly as this tall figure made his way to his seat, mentally slapping yourself for gawking at him like his your next meal before preparing his order.

you handed his coffee and pastry and he returned a quiet thank you, before going back to whatever he was doing on his phone.

little did you know, he was texting his cousin, komori, about this petite waitress (an exaggeration because has he seen how he towers over basically everything) that just served him and how he was internally freaking out, and how his heart skipped a beat when you accidentally brushed your finger against him when you pass him back his card.

and your smile.

what was this feeling? he thought.

sakusa was not only good-looking, he was so filthy rich that he had girls swarming him at every event he's been to. we're talking about girls that were so pretty that they could be runway models. so why did a regular waitress at a small local cafe managed to make him feel this way?

he was so lost in his thoughts that he lost track of time, not noticing how late it was. he finish the last sip of his coffee and made his way out, not forgetting to slip his number to you over the counter with a cheesy "hi, i think you're really pretty."

you ended your shift shortly after and decided to text him. i mean, a handsome man that seemed like he was molded by god himself gave you his number. it's as if you have just sturck the lottery, you thought.

"hey stranger"

sent.

you facepalmed yourself and cringed at the message that you just sent to him.

"hey you" your phone chimed a few seconds after.

that was the start of many conversations you both shared.

life works in a very funny way because 5 years later, the both of you were celebrating your 4th year anniversary.

remember how sakusa doesn't flaunt his wealth or even spend too much on himself?

throughout your entire relationship with him, you can count the amount of times you actually paid for things with just both your hands.

the number of times where he sneaks your wallet out of your already packed bag and place it somewhere high at the shared apartment (more like his apartment) so that he could pay for you because "you can't seemed to find your wallet anywhere"

the number of times where he basically dragged you into balenciaga and prada because "he wanted to check out some new collections" only for him to pick things out specifically and specifically for you.

the number of times where you tried to sneakily pay for the meal while he's in the washroom freshening himself up, only to find out that the bill has already been paid for.

his deceiving stoic look as you know how much of a softie he is when it comes to you.

he treats you with so much care, throwing some banters here and there as he teases you about how you should just be his personal housewife and go shopping with the sub-card that he gave you 1 year into your relationship and let him be the one working. you always laugh at his comment, saying how you can't just throw away your degree just so he can have an excuse to spend more money on you.

you can't say that you hate that he's pampering you this way, because you knew his love language was gift giving. it's just that you want to be able to pamper him too with your hard earned money (which you do, whenever you can).

"happy 4th year anniversary, baby" he coos, as he cut another piece of A5 miyazaki wagyu steak in a restaurant that he fully booked so that the both of you can enjoy your evening together.

"happy 4th anniversary, omi" you smiled.

sakusa kiyoomi doesn't flaunt his wealth but you were his prized possession.

and he would trade anything to be with you over and over again.

and he would do anything to be able to flaunt you to the whole world

#haikyuu au #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa comfort #sakusa fluff #sakusa scenarios #sakusa fic #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa drabble #sakusa headcanons #sakusa imagines #sakusa kyoomi headcanons #sakusa kyoomi x reader #sakusa oneshot #sakusa x y/n

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unlucky-corvid · 3 months

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Losing his spark: Cayde-6 x Solar Guardian reader

so, my first actual full fic. Don't get your hopes up, I've no idea if this is any good or makes any sense, tried to keep it as in character as possible. It's barely proofread and I'm only like 4 hours sleep so excuse any typos but fingers crossed it all makes some sense.

as always, have a good day lovlies and I hope you enjoy xoxox

WARNINGS: Death, injury detail, angst and violence under the cut, if you can't handle these please scroll away, I promise I'll write something fluffy and sweet.

Well, this wasn't going as expected.

Cayde and yourself had been trusted with what was supposed to be a simple in and out mission. Into the cabal stronghold, grab the intel (maybe shoot a few bad guys and look good doing it) then back to the tower in time for some piping hot ramen. His plan was flawless. or as you had called it "winging it".

Praise was reserved for quiet moments, whispers about how you were his favourite, how he had never seen such a bright solar spark in all his years at the tower, just so he could watch the blush bloom onto your cheeks and your smile. Oh, your smile, he would set aside what little pride and dignity he had to see it just once. You could point at any star in the night sky and if you asked, he would retrieve it for you. If only he had the guts to tell you this. He would eventually. He had plans, a clear summer night, hot ramen, something strong to drink with a nice kick. Just the two of you.

Well, you had always been overly cautious, but it worked surprisingly well for the pair of you. Cayde, the man with the plan and a slightly headstrong attitude and you, cautious and always with 6 back up plans. That's what he loved about you, of course, he wouldn't say that out loud, no, he had a reputation to maintain.

The mission was going well. the pair of you had crept into the cabal's stronghold unseen. Suspiciously easy. That's when all hell broke loose. The plan was lock tight. They shouldn't have known you were there but now both of you were up shit creek without a paddle...or a boat...or a life jacket. Someone must have tipped them off. Legionaries, phalanxes, gladiators, centurions, and war beasts surged out of every doorway and corridor. It was nothing either of you couldn't handle.

He thought.

As bullets flew the pair of you slowly drifted apart, swamped by cabal, the well-oiled machine the pair of you were when fighting started to rust. Soon you were just a distant blur of solar energy. His little firefly, his solar flare. He couldn't stand and watch though, as shot after shot was fired from his trusty hand cannon into the swam of red.

The ambush was thinning, he knew the pair of you would pull through you always did.

Then he felt it.

As if a part of his own light was ripped from his very being. A tidal wave that rocked the whole room, he had to catch himself from being thrown against the wall as the pure light that surged through the area bowled him over, knocking the wind out of him. No. Not you.

The red tide didn't stop, but the surprise of the explosion gave him the perfect window to see the despair as your ghosts shattered shell, lightless, scattered across the floor. The scream trapped in your throat as the gladiator speared you onto its cabal serverus blade, the stench of searing flesh permeating the air, the way your legs buckled, and body thudded against the floor as the gladiator kicked you off its blade.

The war beast that clamped down onto his left arm causing him to drop his hand cannon was first to feel his retribution. Snapping out of his trance he grits his teeth, throwing the war beast with such force it dented the steel wall behind him and grabbing ace he reloads and unleashes hell. Shot after shot echoed over the roaring screams of the cabal. Bones crunched, tendons snapped and popped until all that was left was the gladiator, your body at its feet in a gasping crumpled mess.

Cayde saw red. He doesn't know how many rounds he pumped into the gladiator. He doesn't remember ripping its jaw apart as he screams in pure unbridled anger. He doesn’t remember being beating it into a bloody unrecognisable mess.

The red tide was now a red sea. Cayde had spilt enough blood in his lifetime, and he would spill more in future. But now wasn't the time to dwell on his crimson-stained past.

It was Sundance who snapped him out of his anger, his body tense, chest heaving. "Cayde....they need you" Sundance says quietly.

Cayde is at your side in an instant, hand barely able to cover the ragged wound in your abdomen as he pulls you onto his lap. "No no no no no" he mumbles his hand instantly soaked in your blood. You had always been a paragon of strength, the pair of you often rough and tumbling in the tower, sparring in the training room, but now in his arms you felt fragile, body trembling as you gulped for air.

"h-hey" you rasped weakly a pained smile on your face. "We...we sure showed them."

He choked on his words "Yeah, we sure did”.

"I’m sorry"

Why were you apologising? You shouldn't be apologising. He should have been beside you; he should have been better; he should have done more. It should have been him. His thoughts fly a million miles an hour.

"Don't you dare apologise" he rasps, his voice synthesiser becoming more staticky.

"I'm sorry we couldn't have been more" you whisper, his hands stroke your hair as he rocks you gently.

"Wasn’t supposed to be like this. Was supposed to take you back home, treat you real nice" he growls in frustration. He couldnt loose you, not now. Not after there was so much he wanted to do, so many words left unsaid. He had saved so many cheesy pick up plines, so many date ideas, crimson day, festival of the lost, the dawning festival.

He had plans for every single one with you beside him. He removes your helmet, if he was going to say this if he was going to hold you in your final moments, he wanted to see those eyes he loved so much. the ones he would think about late at night, the ones he longed to see when he would turn in bed to the emptiness of cold sheets. Sheets that would remain cold. That would never see your warmth.

"Oh yeah? tell…Tell me about it" You begin to cough, and his arms tighten around you, he can feel the visceral rattling gurgle that accompanies each breath and he knows it will haunt him.

"Was gonna take you to that ramen spot in the city, you know, the really nice one in the city, has the pretty lanterns outside? yeah, I’d get you whatever you wanted, on me, really spoil you. Then I’d take you to our spot-"

"That little overlook on the city wall?" your voice, quiet and scratchy barely reaches his audio receptors.

He nods smiling through the pain to keep you relaxed, he had time to scream and shout and cry later, right now you were the only important thing "that's the one. Bring with us a little something to drink and watch the sunset. Maybe we would have a little slow dance under the stars. Always said I’d take you dancing one day didn't I?" the static in his voice was becoming more prominent as he had to force the words out, willing his body to stop trembling, trying to comfort you.

“Sounds nice”

“Then I'd tell you everything, everything I should have told you months ago” he mumbles burring his face in your hair, if he could cry he's sure he would be in floods, just another reason he despised his exo body.

“It's okay, I knew”.

“You knew?”

You weakly nod and struggle to put on a smile, bloody lips barely managing to up turn, your face was pale. You were fading fast, trickling through his fingers like sand and no matter how hard he tried it was like trying to catch water with a siv. “Always knew. I love you to”.

He can feel your faint heartbeat getting harder and harder to pick up under his blood-soaked fingers.

“I love you”.

Sundance didn’t have the heart to tell him they were already gone before he said those three words. She wasn’t ever going to tell him.

You knew.

You had always known.

Traveler help the poor bastard who tipped off the cabal about their arrival. Because no force within the known galaxy could protect them from Cayde-6

#destiny 2 #cayde 6 #x reader #cayde-6 x reader #angst #cayde 6 x reader #fanfic #reader dies #reader insert

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crownofgildedlilies · 1 month

Text

feelin' like an absolute fool about it -> cool about it [1]

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: angst, angst, and angst. oh and cursing.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this is a four part fic and im so obsessed with this idea. Jason Grace the man that you are. oh and this follows a nonlinear plot so be warned. lmk if you want to be added to a taglist or wtv!

[one] two three four

"If I have to sit through one more meeting with you making kiss me eyes at the praetor, I'm going to run myself through with my own lance."

"Good morning to you, too, Dakota." You grunted, half amused, half still pissy from the horror show that had been your previous night. "I slept like shit, thanks for asking."

"You're welcome," He didn't miss a beat, pouring more kool-aid than was probably healthy into his cup to drink with breakfast. "Now, man up."

"Real inspiring."

Dakota leveled you with a flat look, and you fought the urge to roll your own eyes. But you knew he would twist the action into your admitting defeat in your impromptu staring contest.

And you were nothing if not a sore loser.

"Admit you want to date the praetor." Dakota demanded, trying to push the conversation along.

On instinct, your gaze darted throughout the dining pavilion, looking for a certain head of blond hair that had yet to make an appearance that morning. And it was then that you knew Dakota meant business, because he didn’t call you out for looking away first.

"Reyna's pretty. Not my type, though." You deflected, stabbing a fork into your breakfast with what was probably more force than necessary. Dakota's eyes widened at the action, briefly, before narrowing at you in suspicion.

"Moving past that comment," He waved his hand in front of him, as if to physically move the conversation along. "Does your current attitude have anything to do with last night's freak thunderstorm?"

Maybe, you would have said, if your mouth didn't suddenly taste so bitter. Still, you winced, and you knew that was enough of an answer for him.

"Oh, come on!" Dakota groaned, pausing only to sip greedily on his kool-aid. You looked on in near amusement, cheek propped up on your fist, waiting for his dramatics to pass. "I finally get my speech all prepared to get you to confess your unending love to Praetor Grace, and you two get in an argument the night before?"

"Pity," You replied dryly, hoping the way you exaggeratedly poked out your bottom lip and knitted your brows together masked the ache in your chest.

"Centurion," Dakota whined, and you wondered how you had gotten so lucky to be promoted to lead the Fifth Cohort alongside him. "What happened?"

Your eyes flashed, shooting him a glare that made him snap his mouth shut.

"Oh-kay." He whistled, sipping his kool-aid some more. Seriously, you needed to figure out how to trick the poor guy into drinking water. "My point still stands. One argument does not change the fact that you guys are in love with each other."

You scoffed, shoveling pancakes in your mouth to avoid answering, head ducked.

Dakota slammed his open palms down on the top of the table so forcefully, almost every head in the pavilion snapped towards him.

"So you admit it!" He accused, grinning wickedly and showing off the red-stained mustache his drink of choice left. You grimaced, swallowing your breakfast to avoid choking. "You do love him!"

"Keep your voice down or I will shove Octavian's entire teddy bear collection down your—"

"Okay!" Dakota interrupted, grinning proudly, as if he hadn't just been threatened. "No need for violence. I was right."

"So is a broken clock twice a day. You're not special." You rolled your eyes, settling stiffly back into your seat. Risking another glance around the mess hall, you still found no sight of the world's most irritating, kind-hearted, moron of a praetor.

Also known as Jason Grace, your best friend.

And as Dakota had just so eloquently uncovered, the guy you've been in love with for years without ever uttering a word about it to him.

"Put me out of my misery, please, and just go talk to the guy, will you?" He begged, like he truly was the one suffering. You glared at him again, but you knew it wasn't fair.

Dakota hadn't been there last night, when you had tried telling Jason how you felt. But the boy was as emotionally oblivious as he was pretty, which was saying a lot.

"Wait," Dakota wiped at his mouth, but the kool-aid stains remained behind. "Did you already—?"

"Centurions," Harper from the Second Cohort appeared at your side, slightly out of breath and eyes wide. You had only ever really spoken to her during Senate meetings, but you were friendly enough.

So you were more than a little confused when she looked at you and took a step back, like she was afraid.

"Everything alright, Harper?" You asked, turning slightly in your seat, mind already running through a million different scenarios of horrible things that could have happened and dragged such a reaction out of Harper.

You had seen the girl take on four sons of Mars before. She wasn't exactly afraid of much.

"He's gone," The words tumbled past her lips before she winced, taking a second step away from you. Face twisted in confusion, you tried to make sense of the vague explanation. "Jason, I mean. He's just—"

Gone.

You were out of your seat before she could finish talking, breakfast long forgotten. The few bites you had managed to swallow felt like lead in the pit of your stomach, weighing you down and making you feel like you were barely moving, even as you raced so fast through camp that even the Lares barely had time to get out of your way.

There was no way Harper was right. Jason couldn't just be—be gone. He was everything a Roman aspired to be; strong, resilient, dedicated.

And maybe you had gotten into an argument, but Broken Clock Dakota was right for the second time that day. One argument didn't mean you stopped loving him.

You have never been so thankful that your father was the god of travelers as your feet pounded on the dirt roads. Sprinting towards the bunk houses, you utilized every ounce of Mercury-blessed speed. Jason had to be there. Or maybe he had snuck off to New Rome to buy you apology flowers, like he had the one time he missed your birthday—you had forgive him easily, as he had been off on a quest he nearly died during.

Heart in your throat, you skidded to a halt outside the small, private bedrooms given to the praetors. You had always teased Jason that his looked like a prison cell, considering his only decorations were books on war strategies used throughout centuries.

But then he had taped up that one gods-awful photo of you and him, both squinting against the sun shining in your faces, and it hadn't seemed so desolate.

"Jason!" You shouted with relief, voice choked up, because the door to his room was open. He never kept his door open, unless you were inside, because he claimed it stopped the other campers from making assumptions about what the two of you were getting up to in his bedroom, alone.

And then you would ask him to explain what he meant by that, trying to hide your grin for as long as you could while he stammered over his words with a blush.

"Jase, they're saying—" You pushed open the door to his room further, voice almost shuddering, and stopped cold when you saw the room's only occupant.

Because it wasn't your blond haired love leaning over the small desk in the corner of the room.

"He didn't show up to our praetor meeting this morning." Reyna's voice was flat, giving you only the facts. You were glad, because if she had spoken with pity, you were certain you would have thrown up.

Jason would be nice about it, but you didn't want to vomit on his carpet.

"That's not like him," You stated dumbly, fingertips vibrating with anxious nerves. Reyna shook her head, and it was then that you realized she had been sifting through the stacks of papers on his desk.

It felt like an intrusion of his privacy, even if it was a necessary precaution. There might have been clues to his whereabouts in those papers. Instead, you were certain they were only his to-do lists, scribbled in his neat handwriting you so adored.

And when she spoke next, you wish you could have plugged your ears and ignored her.

"Centurion, Jason Grace is missing."

Six months, one week, four days, nine hours.

And thirty-six minutes.

Jason had been gone for six months, one week, four days, nine hours, and thirty-six minutes.

In total, you had slept probably a total of nineteen consecutive hours. Octavian had tried calling for your removal from role of Centurion five times. Reyna had offered you the open position of Praetor twice, behind closed doors.

"It's not available," You had snapped. Fear and exhaustion had turned you bitter. "Jason's coming back."

Six months, one week, four days, nine hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

"You know," Dakota's voice was slightly slurred, already gone on the kool-aid on such a bright summer afternoon. He had found you on the steps of the forum, searching through dozens of letters from retired legionnaires all claiming to not have heard any word about Jason but would keep scouting, and suggested you join him for a walk. "I bet he's out there, fighting for his life to get back here to you."

You shot a glare at Dakota, but kept your mouth shut. Lately, he was the only one of your old friends that could stomach being around you. No one else wanted to subject themselves to your attitude. You were glad to have a friend, even if you didn't act like it.

But you wished Dakota wouldn't talk about Jason fighting for his life.

"Brenda said I could take another eagle out searching today," Your voice had a rasp to it. Rarely used, but never rested. For the first three weeks following Jason's disappearance, you spent each night crying in your bunk, murmuring desperate pleas that your golden boy be returned to you.

And maybe he had never truly been your Jason, but it had felt pretty close.

Finally, Reyna had slipped a key into your palm, disguised as a handshake. The silver key, the one that unlocked Jason's empty praetor room, currently sat on a chain around your neck.

You slept there, now.

No one mentioned your nightly disappearance. You figured everyone was just thankful they didn't have to hear your crying anymore.

"Are you sure you should be flying?" Dakota looked you over with unease, the Little Tiber coming into view on the horizon. You were certain you looked a mess, but what did it matter? You only cared about what Jason thought of you, and Jason never cared about what you wore.

Still, the dark bags of exhaustion under your eyes probably were cause for concern.

"Says you," You countered dismissively, waving a hand towards the flask of kool-aid attached to his belt.

"That's not what I mean," He huffed, defensive. "When's the last time you slept—"

The shouting from the Little Tiber interrupted your conversation. You squinted in the direction of the sound, both surprised and startled to find two massive fists of water raised in the air, a gorgon in each.

At the bank was Hazel Levesque, submerged up to his knees was Frank Zhang, and... controlling the water-fists was a boy you had never seen before.

Without warning Dakota, you took off in a sprint towards the edge of the Little Tiber. You reached the bank just as Frank shot two incredibly well placed arrows at each of the gorgons, turning them to dust and swallowing them downstream.

"Centurion!" Hazel gasped, spotting you approach. Dakota was slowly closing in, muttering curses about children of Mercury and their swiftness. "We found him by the front gates. He was carrying, well, a goddess, so we figured we should let him in."

By the time Hazel finished rambling, both the new boy and Frank had made it ashore. Frank, with his probatio tablet swinging around his neck avoided meeting your eye.

Most people did, lately.

But the newcomer met your stare head on, confidently, if not a little confused. Pursing your lips, something about him set off alarms in your mind.

"What's your name?" You asked, still frowning. You hated being so angry all the time. You missed smiling. You missed your reason for smiling, too, but you had other things to worry about, somehow.

Like the son of Neptune who showed up on your front door.

The boy shifted on his feet, a bronze sword clenched in his tired hands. He looked far worse than you had realized at first, and his voice was exhausted when he answered you.

"Percy Jackson."

"Jason Grace!"

"Careful," He grinned, pointing his sword lazily at you. Your laughter echoed throughout the room, setting the world around the two you singing. "People might think your form is getting sloppy."

"Then they'll think you're a shitty coach," You teased, twirling your own sword as you danced throughout the room, always light on your feet. Jason chuckled, and if you could have bottled up the sound to keep forever, you would have in a heartbeat.

Your favorite moments were when it was just you and Jason, in the training center alone. With curfew fast approaching, everyone else was taking advantage of the two short, sweet free hours before lights out.

"Water break," Jason ordered, flipping his sword gracefully back into the golden coin he always kept in his pocket. You obliged him, slipping wordlessly over to your water bottle on the edge of the mat. "I was serious, earlier. You're dropping your elbows."

"And you're more stiff than a flagpole," You countered, raising a pointed brow at him. Jason gave you a look that screamed 'I don't think so', which was practically an invitation for you to mess with him. "Seriously, Jase, you gotta loosen up."

"I'm loose." He argued, and you let out another loud laugh, the kind that had your head tipping back with the force of your joy. Crossing the room to stand before him, you lifted your chin so that you had a chance at meeting his eye.

I'm loose, he claimed. The thought made you snort, again, as you took in his rigid posture, how even just standing, his arms were crossed over his broad chest.

"Jase," You crooned innocently, settling your left hand on his shoulder, fingers smoothing over the muscle. His reaction was instant, to your excitement. Flush coating his cheeks, his eyes tracking the movement of your hand against him.

Just as you had hoped.

"Baby," You taunted, and he actually choked, burning a bright red as you stepped closer to him, smirk on your lips. "If you're going to talk shit about my elbows, you better get ready to fight back."

Grinning wickedly, you held up the magical golden coin you had lifted from Jason's pocket while he was distracted.

"Give me that," He huffed, eyes rolling and catching your wrist before you could get away. Your laughter fell from you in echoing shrieks, trying to escape Jason as he tried to snatch the coin back.

You stuck out your arm in the opposite direction, trying to hold out as long as you could against him. How rare it was you ever were able to outsmart the great Jason Grace.

He simply pulled you closer, his longer arms stretching out over your body to try and get his coin back. Knees knocking together, your laughters mixed in the air.

By the time his fingers finally wrapped around the golden coin, you could barely breathe. Smiles spread wide over both your faces, you grinned up at him, cheeks albeit a bit flushed.

His arm was wrapped around your middle, holding you flush against his front. And even as he stuffed his coin back into his pocket, he kept his arm wrapped around you tightly.

You weren't going to complain, either, your own hands settling on the tops of his shoulders, toying with the collar of his purple camp shirt.

Gods, you were so in love with him, you felt it in your bones. How was it fair that the powers that be put him in your life, just out of arms reach? And how could Venus despise you so much that she would give you Jason Grace, let him hold you and smile at you, and not have him fall in love with you, too?

He was blinding, golden sunlight, and you just needed to be caught in his rays, however briefly.

"Why do you train so much?" You weren't exactly sure where the question came from, but you were certain it was an important one as you studied the emotions swirling in his sky blue eyes. Confusion, mostly, but also a hint of something so similar to admiration it made your skin feel flushed.

"We're soldiers." He reasoned, ever the level-headed Roman. And you loved him for it, really, but you loved him more than the Roman traits.

"Do we have to be, all the time?" You hated how desperate your voice sounded, and you hated Jason for making you ask.

"What else is there for us?" His counter argument was like he hit the panic button in your mind. And maybe if you had more time to think about how to best react, you would have slowed down and talked him through a life beyond the military prowess he had been practically conditioned to think was the only life for him.

But you didn't have time, and you could barely think, so all you did was pull away from his hold.

"Forget it." You mumbled, not entirely sure if you intended for him to hear. It wasn't his fault, you distantly reasoned, he didn't know any better. Raised by wolves then sent to Camp Jupiter? He had no chance at seeing any sort of life beyond battlefield glory.

But you weren't the daughter of reason. Your father was the god of thieves, and your emotions stole the moment from your fingertips.

"Hold on," Jason urged, taking a step towards you as you backed away, mumbling some excuse about needing more water. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Never, Jase." You nodded solemnly, your frown never once leaving your lips as you twisted back around to face him. "And maybe that's the problem."

I want you to break regulation and kiss the daylights out of me, you wanted to scream.

"I don't understand." He shook his head, open palms splayed up towards the sky, like he was pleading with you or the gods to explain to him.

You laughed once more, but this time, it echoed coldly in the empty training room. Gone was the sunshine smiled you wore, as if it had fallen behind the horizon as the real sun set over your head.

Bitterness twisted your heart, firing unfamiliar cruelty through your gaze, pinned on Jason. He almost flinched at the look on your face.

I don't understand, he had claimed. He didn't understand just how much you ached for him, praetor or not. Roman or mortal, you wanted him.

But he was a soldier, first. And maybe he was a soldier, only.

"Maybe that's the problem."

He called your name, but you were already out the door, letting the metal slam shut behind you.

You weren't enough of a fool to pretend to not see the lightning strike the roof of the training center, ruining the perfectly clear skies from only moments before. The only proof of Jason's frustration he would let the world see, you knew.

The only proof that maybe he ached the same way as you.

That night, you didn't sleep. Your poor bunkmates, listening to you twist and turn and try and get comfortable when it felt like knives were piercing your insides. Acid burned your tongue, cursing the appendage for ever trying to broach the subject about being more than soldiers to the other with Jason.

The next morning, you walked into breakfast, determined to avoid talking to Jason for at least a few hours.

Oh, what a mistake that wish was.

#jason grace #jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace fanfic #pjo #rays of sun #sunnie writes

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