#dragona

I’m not sure have fun LOVE YOU SM UR WRITING IS PEAK 🙏🏽🙏🏽🥰🥰❤️

a guy who treats his love life like it’s a classified government document? amazing. also luv you too <3

= jodio x female!reader

a/n : hope you don't mind but im gonna start making these fic's a little longer. but if its overwhelming or too much (pause) please lmk!

jodio never said he had a girlfriend. not to dragona, not to the crew, not even in those half-joking conversations where everyone’s throwing out lies just to see who folds first. if anything, he leaned into the opposite. shrugging when people asked, giving that lazy half-smile like the idea of him being tied down was kind of funny. like it didn’t fit. and maybe that was the point. because the truth wasn’t flashy. it wasn’t something he could spin into leverage or profit or power. it was quiet. it lived in the spaces no one bothered to look. like the backseat of his car at two in the morning, or the corner of a convenience store where the lights flickered just enough to make everything feel unreal. you weren’t something he talked about. you were something he kept. and there’s a difference, even if most people are too loud to notice it. the first time dragona almost caught on, it wasn’t even dramatic. just a glance at jodio’s phone when it lit up, your name sitting there like it belonged. no emoji, no nickname, just your name. plain. normal. suspiciously normal. jodio flipped the phone over before the screen could even dim, like it burned. “who’s that?” dragona asked, casual but not really. jodio didn’t even blink. “nobody.” and that should’ve been the end of it. except it wasn’t, because jodio didn’t lie like that unless it mattered. and things that mattered were rare.

you learned early on that being with him meant being… invisible. not in a sad way, not in that tragic “he’s ashamed of you” kind of way people love to assume. it wasn’t that. it was more like being part of a secret that only worked if it stayed one. he didn’t introduce you to anyone, didn’t bring you around, didn’t even mention names. but he showed up. every time. that was his language. he’d pull up without texting first, engine still running, waiting for you to notice him through your window. or he’d leave things for you, small stuff, like your favorite drink sitting on the step outside your door, still cold, like he’d only just left. he never stayed long when you were out in public together. always just passing by, brushing your hand like it meant nothing, like it wasn’t the only thing grounding him. and you got it. somehow, you did. because jodio’s world wasn’t built for softness. it wasn’t built for anything that couldn’t be used, traded, or protected. and you… you weren’t any of those things. you were just his. not in the possessive, toxic way people like to romanticize. just… his person. the one place he didn’t have to calculate every move. even if that meant no one else could know you existed in his life.

still, there were moments where the line blurred. like the night everything almost slipped. it was late, the kind of late where the air feels heavier, like it’s holding onto something. you were sitting in his car, legs tucked under you, talking about nothing important. he was quieter than usual, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn’t match the radio. “you ever think about just… leaving?” he asked suddenly, not looking at you. it wasn’t a joke. you could tell. jodio didn’t ask questions like that unless they’d been sitting in his head for a while. “leaving what?” you said, even though you knew. he huffed, a small, almost laugh. “all of it.” his hand found yours without thinking, like it always did when he stopped pretending. and for a second, it felt normal. too normal. like this was just some regular relationship and not whatever complicated thing you two had built in the shadows. “you wouldn’t like it,” you said softly. “you’d get bored.” he squeezed your hand, just once. “nah,” he muttered. “i think i’d be fine.” and that’s when you realized something dangerous. he wasn’t talking about leaving alone. he was talking about leaving with you. the idea hung there, fragile and impossible. and then, like everything else with him, it disappeared just as quickly. headlights passed, the moment broke, and jodio pulled his hand away like it hadn’t happened.

the crew started noticing things after that. not enough to piece it together, but enough to feel like something was off. jodio disappearing more often. answering texts quicker than usual. that one time he showed up with a scratch on his cheek and brushed it off like it was nothing, even though it clearly wasn’t from any job they knew about. dragona pushed a little harder, watching him the way only someone close to him could. “you’re hiding something,” they said one night, half-teasing, half-serious. jodio leaned back, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “you’re bored,” he replied. and maybe that was enough for anyone else. but not for dragona. still, even they couldn’t crack it. because jodio wasn’t just keeping a secret. he was protecting it. there’s a difference, again. secrets can slip. protection is intentional. every time he almost said your name, he swallowed it. every time someone got too close to figuring it out, he redirected, distracted, shut it down. not because he didn’t trust them. but because trust wasn’t the issue. safety was. and in his world, the more people knew about something you cared about, the easier it became to lose it.

you didn’t realize how serious that was until the first time things went wrong. it wasn’t some big, cinematic disaster. just a wrong place, wrong time kind of situation. you were waiting for him, leaning against the side of a building, when a couple of people from his orbit passed by. they didn’t know you, not really. just recognized you enough to know you didn’t belong there. one of them asked a question, something casual but loaded. “you waiting for someone?” you smiled, polite, neutral. “just a friend.” they didn’t buy it. you could tell. and for the first time, you understood why jodio kept you separate. because in that moment, you weren’t just you. you were a variable. a potential weakness. something that could be used. and when jodio found out, he didn’t get angry. not at you. never at you. he just got… quiet. the kind of quiet that meant he was already ten steps ahead, already fixing something before it broke completely. “don’t come around here anymore,” he said later, voice low, controlled. it wasn’t a suggestion. it was the closest he’d ever come to pushing you away. and it hurt. more than you expected. “so that’s it?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “i just… disappear?” he looked at you then, really looked, like he was memorizing something. “you don’t disappear,” he said. “you stay where it’s safe.” and there it was. the truth, stripped down to something simple and unfair. loving him meant staying hidden. and for a second, you wondered if that was enough.

but then he showed up again. of course he did. different place, different time, same quiet knock on your door. like nothing had changed and everything had. he didn’t say much when you let him in. didn’t need to. he just pulled you close, arms tight around you in a way he never let himself do anywhere else. “they didn’t touch you, right?” he asked, voice muffled against your shoulder. you shook your head. “no.” he nodded, like that confirmed something in his head. like the world could keep spinning. “good,” he murmured. and that was it. no apology, no explanation. just relief. and weirdly, that was enough. because this was how he loved. not loudly, not publicly, not in ways other people could understand or validate. but consistently. carefully. like he was holding something fragile in a world that wasn’t built for fragile things. and maybe, someday, that wouldn’t be enough. maybe you’d want more than late-night visits and hidden touches and a name that never left his mouth around other people. but right now, in this quiet, in this strange, protected space he carved out just for you… it was real. and jodio, for all his secrets and calculations and carefully controlled distance, was the one thing in your life that never felt like a lie.

usagi the ideal boyfriend