#borngoose

[borngoose]

𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆

⊹ jason grace

⊹ word count + pairing: 2.2k, jason grace x f!reader

⊹ notes: Jason picks you up from a party. You're drunk, clingy, and more than a little touchy. He's gentle and so clearly in love with you. Suggestive but not explicit. Consent-centered.

JASON'S JAW IS TIGHT when he spots you.

You’re swaying slightly on the sidewalk, arms crossed over your chest for warmth, eyes distant. There’s pink glitter on your cheekbones. A red Solo cup abandoned at your feet. You’re laughing at something Connor Stoll says as he helps keep you steady but the second Jason calls your name, your head whips around like it’s instinct.

He watches your whole face light up.

“Jason!” you yell, arms immediately outstretched like he’s a prize you’ve won.

His heart aches.

You’re clearly drunk. Your smile is dizzy and open, your mascara smudged at the corners of your eyes. He’s at your side in seconds, letting you drape yourself over him as he nods a silent thank you to Connor.

“Had a little too much ambrosia punch, huh?” he murmurs, brushing hair from your face.

You nuzzle your cheek into his chest. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He ducks to catch your eye. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

You hum, content. “You’re warm.”

Jason wraps an arm around your waist and starts guiding you away. “You’re freezing. Let’s move, okay?”

You let him walk you back to the cabins, occasionally stumbling, occasionally giggling. You don’t stop touching him once. Your hands tug at his jacket, your mouth babbles half-formed words. At one point, you call him your husband and that nearly kills him.

You reek of sugar and fake fruit. He presses a kiss to your temple anyway.

By the time he gets you inside his cabin, you’re more sleepy than tipsy.

“Water,” he says gently, helping you sit on the edge of his bed. “Then makeup off. Then sleep.”

You pout. “Why do you always take care of me?”

He gives you a look, handing you the water bottle. “Because I love you.”

You take the water, sip it obediently. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“You’ll mess up your mascara even more.”

“Don’t care.” You crawl into his lap instead. “Can I kiss you?”

Jason freezes.

Your arms are around his neck. You’re warm and soft and blinking up at him like he hung the godsdamn stars. You smell like champagne and vanilla and trouble.

His throat works. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“You are that drunk.”

You lean in anyway slow, careful, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You kiss him once, soft and syrupy, and he lets you. But when your hand drifts beneath the hem of his shirt, his breath hitches.

And then he’s pulling back.

Your eyes flutter open.

“Jason?” you whisper, blinking.

He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, thumb grazing your jaw.

“Not like this,” he murmurs. “Not when you’ve been drinking.”

“But—”

“You’re not in your right mind,” he says gently. “And I want it to be real. You—real. With me.”

You go quiet.

For a second, all you do is stare at him.

“You’re a good man, Jason Grace,” you mumble finally, dragging your finger across his chest like it’s a secret. “Even when I try to be a little hazard.”

He smiles, a little sheepishly. “You’re not a hazard. You’re just a very flirty drunk.”

“You don’t want me?” you ask, small, slurring now from exhaustion. “Like, in that way?”

Jason looks at you like it physically hurts him to even let you ask that.

“Of course I want you. Gods, I want you all the time. But I want you when you know you want me. Not when you’re drunk and flushed and full of party dust.”

You look down at his chest, cheeks heating. “Okay.”

“I’m still gonna kiss you,” he says quietly, tipping your chin. “I just want the rest of you to feel safe first.”

He kisses your forehead first. Then your nose. Then your mouth—soft and slow and completely unfair.

You sigh into it. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jason chuckles. “You’ve told me that twice tonight already.”

“Okay, well. Third time’s the charm.”

─── ⊹ Ayeee, more Jason fluff! He’s just so much fun to write for. ─── ⊹ I wrote this awhile ago, but honestly, I think I should start posting a bunch. I have so many drafts sitting in my docs it’s insane.

[borngoose]

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆

⊹ jason grace

⊹ wc + pairing: 1.1k, jason grace x f!reader

⊹ notes: this is jason post-nightmare. a little soft angst, mostly fluff. jason doesn’t want to sleep alone and neither do you. heavy on comfort, light on plot. all set at camp (because of course).

JASON DOESNT KNOCK. He never does when it’s this late.

The first thing you hear is your door creaking open and the familiar rhythm of his footsteps quiet, careful, like he’s trying not to wake you. Which is ironic, since you’re already sitting up, blinking blearily at the boy standing in your doorway, bathed in blue light and shadow.

You know the look on his face. You've seen it before.

“Bad dream?” you murmur, voice rough from sleep.

He nods, once. Doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to.

“Come here.”

You lift the blanket. He doesn’t hesitate.

The mattress shifts as he slides in beside you, his skin cool from the night air. He smells like pine, like electricity, like rain in the middle of a dry season. His arms find you fast—like they always do—one circling your waist, the other slotting under your neck, pulling you flush to his chest like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Neither do you.

His heartbeat is rapid beneath your palm, still recovering. You trace circles there gently, wordlessly. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left his cabin.

“It was stupid.” His voice is hoarse. “It wasn’t even real.”

“Still scared you.”

He swallows. You feel the movement under your cheek.

“I hate that it gets to me,” he admits, low. “I hate waking up like that. Alone.”

You lift your head enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess, sticking up on one side, his jaw tense even in the dark. There’s something about this version of Jason—the quiet 2am version—that hits you in the chest every time.

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not alone.”

“I know.” He glances at you, lips curling into something small. “That’s why I came here.”

He tugs you closer until there’s barely any space between you, one leg hooked over yours, his hand splayed across your back. His touch isn’t desperate, it’s steady. Reassuring. You realize he’s grounding himself now, like you’re the thing that’ll keep him tethered if the nightmares come back.

You’re okay with that. More than okay.

“Want to tell me about it?” you ask softly, fingers brushing over the back of his neck.

He hesitates. “You weren’t there.”

“What?”

“In the dream. We were on some mission. Something went wrong. And you were just… gone.” His voice wavers slightly. “I couldn’t find you.”

Your heart twists. “Jason…”

“I know it wasn’t real. I do.” He’s staring at the ceiling now, jaw tight. “But I woke up and you weren’t next to me and I—”

“You didn’t even knock,” you reason gently, resting your forehead against his.

“Would you have answered if I had?”

“No. But still. Rude.”

He huffs a laugh, finally. Some of the tension drains from his body, and you exhale with him, your limbs tangling naturally again.

You fall quiet for a while after that. His breathing slows. Yours does too. The window’s cracked open and the cicadas outside hum.

Just when you’re on the edge of sleep, Jason shifts again.

“You know I love you, right?”

The words are so quiet they almost slip past you. But you catch them.

You freeze. Blink your eyes open. You’ve said it before, sure. But never like this. Never in the dead of night, tangled in sheets, said like a confession. Like a promise.

You pull back just enough to see his face.

His cheeks are flushed. His brows furrowed slightly like he’s nervous.

You lean in slowly. “I know,” you whisper. “I love you too.”

His shoulders relax. He kisses you soft, sleepy, grateful.

You stay like that for a while, mouths brushing lazily, hands trailing over bare skin like you’ve got nowhere else to be (because you don’t). It’s not heated. It’s not even about the kiss. It’s about being here, being real, being safe.

You feel his hand stroke down your back.

“You’re staying here tonight,” you say into his mouth. It’s not a question.

He nods. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“Good.”

When you both finally collapse back onto the pillows, your legs are tangled and his hand is on your waist and you’re pretty sure you’ve never felt this warm in your life.

And when Jason finally falls asleep—with his head tucked into your neck and your fingers running through his hair—you know the nightmares won’t touch him.

─── ⊹ reblogs + comments = amazingness ─── ⊹ requests always open || tysm for reading !!

this is my first time posting a fic on here. lets see how this goes.

[borngoose]

WOAH i love you writing. anything jason angst x apollo reader? preferably the reader is on the argo II with the crew

𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒆

⊹ jason grace

⊹ pairing + wc: ~2.8k Jason Grace x child of Apollo!reader ⊹ notes: set post-Son of Neptune, during Mark of Athena. Jason has a crush he doesn’t feel worthy of. You’re a little sunbeam, but even you have problems.

JASON AVOIDS YOUR EYES when he says it.

“I think it’s better if we don’t… do this. Whatever this is.”

You blink once, then twice, like maybe the ship’s swaying got to you wrong. Like maybe you heard him wrong. But Jason Grace — golden boy, demigod, hero of Camp Jupiter — stands stiffly at the railing of the Argo II, arms folded like it’s the only way he won’t unravel. His jaw is tight.

You wait for the smile. The joke. The just kidding.

It never comes.

“Oh,” you say softly. Your voice catches in your throat like sunlight through smoke. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

You manage a nod and excuse yourself before he can see the way your hands shake.

He doesn’t stop you. That’s what stings.

You're not sure what hurts more the rejection, or the fact that you believed him when he looked at you like you were something.

You don’t blame him. Not really. You’ve always known your brightness could be blinding. You’re Apollo’s child — sunlight, poetry, prophecy — born to stand in the light. Jason Grace, for all his glory, lives in its absence.

You sit in the Argo’s lower deck that night, fingers resting against your temple, feeling the echo of a migraine you can’t heal. Your powers flicker when your heart hurts. You could ask someone for something, but you don’t want their pity. You don’t want anyone’s.

You just wanted Jason.

And Jason doesn’t want you.

⋆ ˚｡ ˚｡ ⋆

But oh if only you knew what he was thinking.

Jason punches through the training dummy’s chest with a little too much force.

The wooden torso cracks clean in half. He curses under his breath and wipes sweat off his brow, jaw clenched so tight it aches. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding since he pushed you away.

Gods, he’s a coward.

He told himself it was to protect you. That you deserved someone softer, lighter, better. But the truth is uglier: he’s scared. Scared of being seen. Scared of needing. Scared of you, because you look at him like he’s worthy and he’s not.

So he lies. To you. To himself. Again and again and again.

⋆ ˚｡ ˚｡ ⋆

When the ship docks for the night near a sleepy hilltop town, most of the crew disembarks. You don’t. You say you’re tired.

Jason sees you sitting alone on the deck, legs folded, fingers weaving tiny beams of light between your hands. You’re glowing. Not just from your powers — from you.

He can’t take it.

He turns to walk away, but you catch him.

“Jason.”

He freezes.

You stand, slower than usual, like your chest is heavy. You don’t smile.

“I don’t want to make anything harder,” you say carefully, “but I need to know the truth.”

He doesn’t move.

You step closer.

“Why did you push me away?”

He hesitates. “I told you—”

“Yeah. You said it was better. But you didn’t say why.”

Jason looks down. At his hands. At his shoes. Anywhere but you. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me by being close to me,” you say. “You’re hurting me by acting like I’m a burden.”

His breath catches.

“I know I’m not Piper,” you continue. “I know I’m… too much sometimes. Too bright. Too loud. I know I love too easily. But I thought you wanted that.”

“I do,” he says, fast, almost involuntary. His eyes shoot up. “I do. Gods, I do.”

You pause.

His shoulders shake. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes burning. “You make me feel safe. Like maybe I’m allowed to want things. Like maybe I could have a future and not just a mission. And that terrifies me.”

You don’t speak.

Jason’s voice drops. “When you look at me, it’s like you see someone I don’t even recognize. Someone kind. Someone whole.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know who I am. Half the time I feel like I’m stitched together out of other people’s expectations. I was Praetor. I was a weapon. I’m supposed to be a hero. But when I’m with you, none of that works. You look at me like I’m enough. And I don’t think I am.”

There it is.

The crack in his voice. The quake under the calm. You step toward him, barely breathing.

“I didn’t fall for the hero,” you say gently. “I fell for the boy who reads by lamplight when no one’s watching. The one who brings Leo extra tools and never asks for thanks.”

Jason looks at you like he’s drowning.

“I fell for the boy who made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t anymore. You don’t have to be good for me, Jason. You just have to be you.”

You raise a hand. Slowly. Carefully. And touch his jaw.

He doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to earn love,” you whisper. “You just have to let it in.”

Jason trembles.

And then he breaks.

His arms are around you in seconds, burying his face into your shoulder, gripping your back like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. You hold him just as tightly. You feel him exhale like it’s the first breath he’s allowed himself in weeks.

“I’m so tired of pretending I don’t need anyone,” he whispers.

“I know,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to, not with me.”

You don’t kiss. Not right away.

You just hold each other on the deck of the Argo II, as the stars burn overhead.

But eventually, as the silence softens, Jason tilts your chin. His hands are gentler now. More sure.

“I’m still scared,” he says. “But I think I’d rather be scared with you than brave without you.”

You smile, a little watery.

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said, Grace.”

He laughs quietly, and then finally he kisses you.

And you taste the truth in it.

Because light doesn’t lie.

✧─── I hope this was what you were looking for!! Thank you so much for the request this was so fun to write.

✧─── Also just realized it’s Leo’s birthday tomorrow or is it today??

for some reason i had like a thousand problems posting this so if something's off that is why!!

[borngoose]

✦ requests !

❝ Put the fucking sword down and get out! ❞ — Tart (2001) — 𝑴𝑰𝑴𝑺' Requests !!! ⚔️

(Only writing for PJO / HOO characters rn ‧₊˚)

✦ Mims' Request Rules ⚠ — No incest, no yandere, no threesomes — No age gap stuff. no thank you. — No polygamy or male reader POV. (Neutral reader is fine with me though!) — Smut/NSFW = characters will be aged up. — If the character is canon LGBTQ+, I won’t change their orientation. — NSFW is soft + emotional unless you tell me otherwise. — Fluff is fastest. Angst & smut take me longer. Be patient pls. — I try to be fast, but I’m busy and dramatic so no promises. — If you send a req while they’re closed, I’ll just say “they’re closed” — I do oneshots, headcanons, and blurbs: specify what you want

✦ i like it like this — No hate. Blocked right away. — Wanna be mutuals? I love to talk.

✦ Who I’ll Write For → Anyone from Percy Jackson / Heroes of Olympus (main focus rn!)