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mypoisonedvine · 8 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 (part one) | neil lewis x reader

title comes from the song you already know by bombay bicycle club

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you've been best friends with neil basically your entire life, and secretly in love with him almost as long. will you ever find the courage to tell him the truth?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut, angst, pining/unrequited love - 18+ only

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | alcohol consumption, 'kid' as a petname, reader being kind of a femcel, jonathan being kind of mvp??

Neil had asked you to make sure the Thriller section was alphabetized; sometimes you thought he was just giving you tasks to look busy, but then again, you could probably use it since the employees of Gumshoe Video never looked very busy. You spent most of the day on the couches, watching whatever old bizarre gem Neil put on— sometimes you thought he only had employees other than himself so that he could pay people to sit here and watch this stuff with him.

But, the point is, you were sorting tapes. Because everyone needs their VHS thriller movies to be in perfect alphabetical order.

There actually was a customer in the store, for once, so it was better not to be on the couch anyhow. You hadn’t really noticed him when he came in, but as he wandered around the shelves, he seemed to drift towards you.

You tried to ignore him when he stopped right beside you— and kneeling to look at the lowest shelf, he towered over you— but when you stood up he got your attention.

"Need any help, sweetheart?" he asked, leaning in a little too close. "I'm kind of a movie buff."

He had a frat guy kind of look about him— polo, boat shoes, quaffed blonde hair. He could be good-looking, you thought, if he didn’t dress like a discount Abercrombie model… and if he didn’t hit on random women at the video store. "I actually work here," you corrected, barely looking up from your task. This is why we need uniforms instead of just dressing up to promote specials…

"Oh, really?" he smirked. "What made you wanna work in a place like this?"

"My best friend owns the place," you explained, "and I'm, you know… kind of a movie buff."

"Right," he said, not seeming convinced. "You like Kubrick?"

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost choked: Wow, what a deep cut. But you kept a straight-ish face when you looked at him. "Yeah, he's pretty good. Don't care for how he treats his actors, but he was certainly a visionary."

"What are your top five favorite Kubrick movies?"

You knew this guy was a tool, but you were still a bit shocked that he actually had the gall to quiz you. "Excuse me?" you scoffed incredulously.

"Can you even name five?" he asked, looking horribly proud of himself, and you straightened up as you glared at him.

"You're heterosexual, right?" you asked him, getting a confused nod. "Can you name five women you've made come?"

Neil watched the guy storm out, Lucien cringed a bit from behind the register— and Jonathan, not seeming as if he had been paying attention at all, kept laying across the couch and tossing a ball up in the air to catch and throw again.

“Okay, that’s gotta be the third this week,” Lucien groaned. “What are you saying to these guys?”

“Nothing worse than what they’re saying to me,” you assured with a frustrated, sarcastic smile.

“Listen, don’t get me wrong,” Neil began, “that guy totally deserved it— but maybe, you know… work on your demeanor with customers?”

“Wow,” you scoffed as you crossed your arms, “do you think I should smile more, too?”

“Wha— no!” Neil denied.

“Yes,” Lucien said at the same time, though he changed his answer with an awkward cough and mumble when you both shot him a look. “No, no— you’re good— you smile too much, even…”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Neil promised. “But I think half the guys that come here are just coming here to see you! Nobody even rents movies anymore.” He groaned a little, dropping his shoulders defeatedly. “Can’t you… tell them you’ll go out with them if they rent something?”

“What?!” you squeaked. “No!”

“Sales would double,” Lucien nodded.

“No,” you said again. “I’m not letting you pimp me out to sell tapes, Neil.”

“I just mean— maybe you don’t really go out with them,” he suggested. “Just… allude to the fact that you’re only interested in guys who…”

He trailed off as he searched around the shelves for a bit, smiling when he snagged a copy of The Maltese Falcon.

“— in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” he grinned, “you know— for example. Then they rent it to impress you and we make a few bucks.”

“I am only interested in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” you frowned, snatching the tape away and shoving it back on the shelf. “But that’s not the point.”

“Maybe you have to be more straightforward, you know,” Jonathan butted in as he sat up, “guys are dumb.”

“Yeah!” Neil agreed a little too easily.

“Just say something about how a massive VHS collection turns you on,” Lucien suggested, and you glared at him.

“Jesus!” you protested, but Neil tried to soothe you a bit.

"C'mon, kid, can't you just… flirt a little? Get our sales up?"

He'd started calling you kid since you two watched Casablanca together— which was especially stupid as you were both twelve at the time. At first you complained because he shouldn't be calling you kid with you both being kids; then you complained because neither of you were kids; and then you gave up. You still punched Lucien for trying to call you that once… you only barely let Neil get away with it anyways.

But you let Neil get away with a lot. It was a side effect of being secretly, but massively, in love with him.

It had been an issue since middle school— that was when the two of you became such good friends. Technically, you’d known each other since first grade (where you had shared your crayons, a true test of friendship at the time), and you’d sort of had a crush on him as early as elementary school (mainly because he was the only boy you could stand at the time), but it all kicked into high gear in seventh grade. That was when you became inseparable, when you got in trouble together, when you stayed up all night watching movies, when you went through all of life’s ups and downs together: you even went to prom together, platonically of course.

As for your feelings, you’d managed to hide them this long and still be his best friend, even when it sometimes felt like letting him stomp all over your heart without even trying. Honestly, the only thing harder than being in love with Neil was trying not to be in love with Neil: you adored his sense of humor, his generosity, his sensitivity— and he’d been there for you through the things you couldn’t have imagined surviving alone. That kinda stuff bonds you to somebody… and when that somebody has the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen, it’s hard not to fall in love.

“Maybe I would flirt if I knew how,” you offered. “But I’m not exactly, you know, flirty.”

“How hard could it be?” Jonathan interjected. “Just, you know—”

You stared in quiet disbelief as Jonathan attempted to push his chest together with his arms. It wasn’t quite working, of course, and the rest of you watched on as he fumbled around trying to force some cleavage. “You look like an idiot,” you finally informed him after letting him do it for a minute.

“But is he wrong?” Lucien wondered.

“So, what, you guys really think that if I just went up to customers and—” you pushed your breasts together with your arms, accentuating them significantly in your tank top.

“That would work,” all three men asserted in unison before you could even finish.

“I fucking hate you guys,” you grumbled under your breath as you walked to the back, deciding to take your break in Neil’s office until these guys got their act together.

You never stayed gone for long, though— as idiotic as they could be, your friends were certainly charming. They won you back with a promise to let you pick what tape to put on, and the four of you ended up laying on the couches watching Roman Holiday.

When the movie was almost over, you rested your head on Neil’s shoulder; you guys did stuff like that, it was normal for you, but it always made your heart skip anyways.

This time, you were all hanging out at Jonathan’s primary workplace: the club. In fact, it was a much larger crowd than just you and the guys— plenty of your local friends and loyal supporters of Gumshoe Video, all sitting around a big table while someone’s mediocre cover band took the stage.

"So, uh, me and Denise broke up," Neil said suddenly, going back in for another swig of beer right after.

The others offered their mild shock and half-hearted condolences, but you knew it was going to happen— he'd told you before he did it. You tried to tell him that paying off a waiter to spill water on her was a weird way to prove what he already knew, but you couldn't disagree with his conclusion. She was definitely difficult, and shockingly judgemental for someone who managed to date a video store owner for this long.

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he promised, “I don’t think anybody’s too surprised, right?”

There was an awkward hesitation among the group as they wondered if they should lie, or just fess up now that he was obviously accurate. You broke the silence to suggest someone go get another round of drinks for the table, and even though that was pretty much a one-man job, nearly everyone agreed and quickly shuffled off— leaving just you, Neil, and Lucien.

“I guess tonight’s your chance to meet somebody new, don’t you think?” Lucien suggested. “Get over Denise, you know.”

“I think I’m already over Denise,” Neil decided.

“And if I told you that girl back there,” Lucien returned, pointing with the hand still holding his drink, “has been looking over here at you for the past ten minutes?”

You glanced where Lucien was pointing as well, seeing a girl in a denim mini skirt and massive hoop earrings settle her eyes on Neil before looking away quickly with a lip-gloss lacquered smile.

“I think I need some help getting over Denise,” Neil agreed suddenly, patting Lucien on the back before he left the table.

You wanted to pout, but you were used to this— he was good-looking, he got a lot of attention from women in places like this… it usually didn’t work out for him, though. Certainly not never, probably more often than most guys, but… definitely not every time.

You tried not to look over too much, you didn’t want to get caught spying or, even worse, looking a little jealous— but you noticed that every time you looked over at them, Neil was talking. That was his problem, see: he never fucking shuts up. Guys, girls, anybody who will listen— if you admit to not knowing about his favorite fifty-year-old spaghetti western or the most recent pre-Code horror comedy he watched, he’ll gladly blab to you about it for ages. The first time you glanced at them, you saw her giving him doe eyes, laughing at something he said— and the last time, those eyes had glazed over and her laugh seemed more nervous and confused; you smirked to yourself. He’s still Neil…

“So, um,” you struck up a conversation with Lucien, “what about you? Anybody here catching your eye?”

“That’s actually the perfect descriptor of my type,” he replied. “Anybody.”

You snorted. “Then you should go, you know, talk to anybody?”

He shrugged and frowned a bit, and it was a simple movement but you understood completely.

The band started to play a new song, something upbeat and energetic, and you smiled. “Wanna dance with me?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that—” Lucien began to protest, but a minute later you were dragging him up by the stage. Neither of you were actually any good at dancing, mainly you were just kind of jumping and flailing around together, but it was fun and that was the point.

Eventually, more of your friends wandered in to join you; when the song ended, everyone clapped and cheered, the band bowing in gratitude. You only stole one more look over at Neil and his conversation partner, watching her interrupt his rant with a hand on his shoulder: your throat felt a little dry. You just hoped what she was saying was more like hey, my friends are leaving, I’ve gotta go and not hey, wanna come over to my place so you can keep explaining German expressionism to me?

Your heart dropped when he reached for her— what if he kissed her now? What if he wrapped her up under his arm and they walked out together? What if you had to spend the whole night thinking about him having sex with her?

“Hey, we should ask them if they know any Strokes songs!” Lucien suggested, tugging on your arm to get your attention, but your mind was elsewhere.

“Uh huh, yeah,” you mumbled blankly, and he frowned at you.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to look for what you were seeing; but Neil wasn’t reaching for her, he was lifting his hand to wave goodbye as she left. You beamed, even though you did feel a little bad when you saw Neil’s shoulders sink— it’s not that you wanted him to be alone forever, you were just relieved that you might have a few more moments to breathe before he got with somebody again.

“Nothing, sorry,” you answered Lucien, giving him your attention again. “What’d you say?”

“We should ask the band if they—”

And immediately, Lucien lost your focus as you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Neil again— he was already looking at you, seeing you all on the dancefloor. You waved for him to join you, and he smiled as he made his way towards the stage. A new song began, even louder than the last, and you could blame that for not hearing Lucien’s question for the second time in a row.

Although he danced with you all for a few moments, Neil draped his arms over your and Lucien’s shoulders, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.

“You guys are coming over tonight for a movie, right?” he presumed. “Jonathan’s working ‘til late so he’s out, but—”

“Sorry, I’ve gotta be up early,” Lucien explained, “my brother and his wife are visiting, remember? We’re getting brunch and—”

“Whatever, party pooper,” Neil frowned, before suddenly smiling at you. “Guess it’s just me and you, huh, kid?”

You tried not to sigh too noticeably through your smile. “Yeah, me and you…” you agreed.

As you groggily blinked your eyes open, you found Neil staring at you, his face uncomfortably close to yours, with a big smile. “Mornin’, kid,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

You yelped and nearly jumped out of your skin while he laughed. “Jesus Christ, Neil!” you shouted, kicking off the blanket on you— and then you began to process where you were and why. “God,” you groaned as you held your head in your hands, while Neil kept laughing at you, “did I fall asleep on the couch again?”

It was sort of a rhetorical question— obviously you had, it would be much stranger if you woke up on the video store couch without having fallen asleep there. “Yeah,” he said, standing up and sighing a bit, “but you didn’t miss that much of the movie.”

“What happened at the end?” you asked, stretching your legs and snatching the blanket off the floor to fold up; Neil must have put it on you after you dozed off.

“No, we can finish it later,” he decided, walking up to the register, and you groaned.

“Seriously? Not even falling asleep gets me out of finishing The Man Who Laughs?”

He smiled a little as he started prepping the store for open. “Nope,” he said proudly, popping his lips on the p sound.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” you assured, getting up and trying to ignore the soreness in your back from sleeping on a ratty old sofa all night— you remembered helping Neil carry this thing from where he found it on the side of the road. Considering you knew where it came from, it was a wonder you ever sat on it, let alone slept on it… but this happened relatively often. Sometimes it almost felt like you slept easier here or at Neil’s apartment than your own.

You stood up and stretched your arms, sparing a glance over at him.

“Can I run home and change?” you asked, and he frowned.

“We open in ten minutes,” he noticed, “you won’t be back in time.”

“Yes, and who will serve the clamoring crowds that await our open outside?” you rolled your eyes, gesturing out the storefront to the abandoned sidewalk. “You can handle it on your own.”

“Just go to my place,” he shrugged, “it’s closer. And I think you left some jeans there anyway.”

Right— you’d borrowed a pair of his sweats to get comfy for a movie night, and forgot to take the jeans back when you left. You yourself had one of Neil’s short-sleeve button-ups at your place, when you’d both changed there for a costume party, but you let him believe it was just lost… it was too late to tell him now that you had it, ‘cause then he might ask why you kept it so long and then he might, somehow, deduce that you had been cuddling it at night from time to time…

“Right, okay,” you nodded, “but I still need a shirt.”

“Just borrow one of mine,” he said, like it was no big deal at all and didn’t make your heart skip.

For a second you wondered if you should protest— if he was still dating Denise, you probably would’ve said something. But you decided not to say anything, in case he changed his mind; you nearly bolted out of the store and down the two blocks to his apartment.

Your jeans were on the dresser, draped haphazardly in their same just-peeled-off shape you must have left them in last week. You grumbled to yourself a little about how he could’ve folded them for you so they wouldn’t be wrinkled… but then again, all his jeans were wrinkled, so he clearly didn’t know any better.

And now the fun part: picking a shirt. You smiled to yourself as you opened the drawer, perusing through t-shirts with old movie posters and semi-witty slogans… cute, sure, but those were pretty similar to what you already wore.

But the button-downs? Those were quintessential Neil, and you'd be wasting an opportunity if you didn't put one of those on.

You felt a little giddy as you opened the next drawer down and found them all folded. The first one you saw had light blue and white stripes, so you snatched it up and slipped it on.

The fit was definitely off, but you let yourself indulge in a fantasy for a moment: waking up here, in Neil's bed… in Neil's arms. You'd slip on his shirt while you went to find some breakfast, and he'd hum something about how pretty you look in his clothes, and you'd end up tangled in the sheets again not too much later.

Sighing to yourself, you buttoned the last button, leaving the two at the top undone so you didn't look too formal, and headed back to the store for opening.

Neil stared at you for a second when you walked in— at the shirt, specifically. You waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "What, should I not wear this one?" you asked, looking down at it as well, and he shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine— sorry," he mumbled, "just start sorting out last night's returns, please."

You definitely got a much stronger reaction from Jonathan, as soon as he walked in the door.

(Why was he here when he wasn't even working today? Who knows— he was just always here somehow.)

“Hey! You look even more like a lesbian than usual,” Jonathan greeted with a peppy fake-smile as he approached you, and you smirked a bit.

“Don’t blame me, it’s his shirt,” you nodded towards Neil.

“See, I told you you dress like a— wait,” Jonathan stopped mid-insult, looking back at you, then at Neil again, then at you; he pointed his fingers at each of you, crossing them back and forth. “Did… you two…?”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to explain what he meant.

“Did you guys hook up?!” Jonathan accused, wide-eyed.

You felt your face getting warm, and you stammered out your denial; Neil started waving his hands in disagreement as well, but Jonathan was already on a roll.

“Oh my god!” he yelped. “The one time I miss movie night here and it gets freaky! Should’ve known better than to leave you two lovebirds alone—”

“Jonathan, we didn’t—” you choked.

“It’s not— it wasn’t—” Neil butted in. “She just borrowed my shirt! ‘Cause she— because—”

“I mean, we’ve kinda all been waiting for this to happen— but I never really thought it would,” Jonathan steamrolled along. “Well, yeah, I guess I thought it would, I just—”

“Wait wait wait, what?” Neil shook his head, stepping up closer to the two of you. “What does that mean?”

Finally, he seemed to get Jonathan’s attention, who began to nervously backtrack as both of you stared at him. “W-well, I just mean—” he started.

“And who’s ‘we all’?” Neil noticed. “This isn’t just you, thinking this?”

“I… I mean,” Jonathan scoffed, “you know— just, just some people… we thought that maybe… that since you two are so close, that you might—”

“Wow,” Neil chuckled, crossing his arms in disappointment. “You know, that’s so reductive. For a bunch of progressive, free-thinking hipsters—” he waved his hands as he said it in a mocking way— “you’re really just, like… like… you know, not! ‘Cause apparently men and women can’t really be friends?”

“No, come on, not like that,” Jonathan denied, “of course we can—”

“I mean, you’re her friend, you’re both single,” Neil noticed, gesturing between the two of you, “why don’t you two, just, you know… hook up!”

You cringed a little as Jonathan tugged at his collar nervously. “Well, I—”

“Come on, why not?” Neil went on, smiling at the suggestion even though he was clearly unamused. “I mean, she’s nice, she’s pretty, she’s got a vagina— why don’t you hit on her?”

“Hey, come on, Neil,” Jonathan sighed, “I’m well aware she’s got a vagina—”

“So what’s the problem?” Neil insisted. “Clearly you can’t just be friends with someone with a vagina—”

“I would really prefer if we didn’t talk about my vagina anymore,” you mumbled nervously.

“— how come you never hit on her, Jonny?” Neil pressed, backing him into a corner metaphorically— but also somewhat literally, he was leaning in and Jonathan was pressing his back more and more against the shelves.

“You really want me to answer that?” Jonathan replied, almost threatening. That made you furrow your brow a bit. It seemed like a rhetorical question, Neil trying to prove a point, but you didn’t expect Jonathan to have a literal answer.

“Yeah, sure,” Neil decided, “enlighten us.”

Neil glanced at you, like you were just as gung-ho about this interrogation, but you were feeling a little sick. You understood the spirit of Neil’s argument— and technically, you agreed with him— but it still stung to see him so incensed at the suggestion of you two together. You were trying not to take it personally, it wasn’t like he was disgusted by you or anything… he even said just now that you were pretty, and he’d told you that before, but… it still bothered you a little, for reasons you couldn’t quite describe and that you were sure were illogical.

“I never hit on her,” Jonathan answered, lowering his voice, “because I… I figured it would piss you off.”

That seemed to surprise you both, maybe for different reasons; you bit your lip to suppress a smile. Did Jonathan really think Neil was that protective over you? “Why would it piss me off?” Neil wondered, but he sounded a little defensive— defensive in a caught-red-handed sort of way.

“I… I don’t know,” Jonathan shrugged. “That’s just the vibe I got, okay? That she’s sorta… off-limits.”

Neil hesitated. “Well… she’s not,” he decided. “You’re grown-ups. Whatever you wanna do is none of my business— as long as you’re not being, you know, creepy or an asshole.”

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed, most of the tension settling as Neil backed up a step.

“Okay, well, ask her out then,” Neil instructed firmly.

“I didn’t say I wanted to!” Jonathan sputtered.

“Neil, Jesus!” you complained simultaneously, and he seemed to relent, shrugging as he walked back to the register.

“Sorry, sorry,” he dismissed, “just letting you know it’s… fine with me!”

You rolled your eyes a bit and looked back at Jonathan. “Sorry,” you offered him quietly, “he’s… I don’t know. He gets weird about that.”

“Oh really?” Jonathan scoffed sarcastically. “Didn’t notice.”

“The real reason you shouldn’t be hitting on me is because we’re coworkers, by the way,” you reminded him.

“Hey, I only work here part-time,” Jonathan noticed, “so I think that means it’s cool as long as we only go out part-time.”

You snorted, but he seemed to get nervous.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” he added quickly, and you nodded with a laugh.

"You know, I was thinking— we don't have many events at the store these days,” Neil mumbled around a bite of pretzel, watching you play your turn at Skee Ball. Normally he would put coins in the machine beside yours and try to beat your score, but the other machine was out of order and you decided to take a relay race approach. “What if we did, like, I don’t know… maybe a double feature for a couple bucks?”

“Neil, we show movies every night,” you sighed, “and we invite everybody, and ninety-nine percent of the time it’s just some combination of me, you, Jonathan, and Lucien.”

“Yeah, but this time we could do movies that more people like— a little easier to watch,” he suggested, “something that would get new people in the store.”

“New people don’t wanna sit on a musty old couch with strangers,” you reminded him, and he nodded as he chewed and swallowed his next bite.

“You’re right,” he agreed, holding the pretzel out towards you. “Wanna bite?”

You were trying to get through your skee balls pretty quick, so you just leaned your head over and chomped down on the end of one of the twists while he held it for you. You hummed in appreciation— it was pretty good, fresher than the last one you guys got here.

Visits to the arcade used to be your thing, back in high school (aside from watching movies, but that was a given). Then you slowed down with the trips, feeling a little old and out of place surrounded by kids— but the problem was, this place wasn’t filled with kids anymore. It hadn’t changed much at all since you were both in high school, and that was exactly the issue: it was old, run-down, a bit grimey… kids weren’t coming to arcades anymore anyways, they were all on the Internet apparently. So, while you and Neil sort of appreciated having the place to yourself, it also broke your heart knowing your old haunt couldn’t hold itself together forever… you two visited not just to recapture some old childhood joys, but to try to do your part to keep the business afloat.

You pretended to like being here— because you really did want to support the place, and Neil wanted to keep coming back— but it actually made you pretty fucking sad. Surrounded by all the neon, the noisy pinball machines, the Dig Dug machine that had a fifty-fifty chance of stealing your quarters, the photobooth (you still had some strips from that thing pinned to your wall, some so old that they’d faded from the sunlight that came in your window each day); it all felt sort of eerie now. You would’ve never known all those years ago how little this place would change, even though you never expected it to— you would’ve never known how little anything would change. Neil was still by your side, but still so far away… if you could talk to that fourteen-year-old girl now, you would warn her that no amount of time spent running around this place and playing Street Fighter was going to make Neil love her, or you.

But here you were anyways. “Woo!” you cheered when your final score came through: 50,765. “Beat that!”

Neil set the pretzel down on the bar-height table (on a pile of napkins, don’t worry, neither of you trusted those tables that much) and brushed the salt off his hands with a scoff. “Oh please, I can beat that with my eyes closed,” he assured as you crossed your arms.

As he put his quarters in and stepped up to the game, you smiled wide. “Alright, if you say so.”

You came up behind him and covered his eyes with your hands, making him jump and then laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping you honest,” you giggled, holding on tight even when he tried to move his head around so that he could see.

He did his best, usually struggling to even find where the balls were coming down more than rolling them decently— but after the first three went in the gutter without even scoring, you knew he didn’t stand a chance. He did score a few times, but when the buzzer went off and he lifted your hands from his eyes, he laughed at the pitiful 1,150 on the board.

“Ohh, that’s too bad,” you winced, “guess you’re just full of it.”

Still holding your hands away from his face, he spun around and twirled under your arms like you were dancing for a moment; it ended with him face-to-face with you, swinging your hands back and forth a bit to force you to twist with him slightly. “Wanna play Street Fighter next?” he suggested quickly. “I know I can beat you at that.”

The giddy joy of the moment dropped and shattered; if you thought about it too much, you probably could’ve cried right then. As pathetic, yet oddly aesthetically pleasing, as it would be to cry in an arcade, you swallowed down the emotion and smiled back at him. “Yeah, okay,” you agreed.

You’d been a little antsy all day— Neil seemed to notice, asking a couple times if you were okay, but you just nodded and shrugged it off. He had a sense for when you were lying; but that’s the thing, you weren’t lying, really. You just weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you should say anything. And yet, you felt a little guilty not telling him everything that was going on with you— not just guilty, but plain weird. Because you usually did tell him everything— except, you know, the thing— but you didn’t know if you should talk about this. Not that you couldn’t— but should you?

So you were sort of gnawing on your lip most of the day, keeping yourself busy with tallying late fees behind the desk, trying to keep conversation light and meaningless: thankfully, in that regard, Jonathan and Lucien made it pretty easy.

“Okay: fuck, marry, kill,” Jonathan began, “Dracula, the Mummy, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

“Dude, I can’t answer that,” Lucien refused.

“Okay, then Neil, what would you do?” Jonathan changed his target.

“Um, well,” Neil pondered, “I think I’d have to kill Dracula— spare the world from that evil, you know— and I guess I’d marry the Mummy—”

“Freud would like to have a word,” Lucien butted in.

“And I’d fuck the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” he concluded, “out of morbid curiosity.”

You snorted, but didn’t look up from your clipboard. “You come up with one that Lucien will do,” Jonathan challenged Neil.

“Alright, uhh, let’s see…” Neil stalled as he thought, looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin dramatically. “Fuck, marry, kill: Sarah Carter, Ripley, and Trinity from Matrix.”

“Okay, see, that’s a real challenge,” Lucien affirmed. “If I marry Trinity, do I have to live in the post-apocalyptic wasteland or can she live here?”

“You’d have to live in the Matrix,” Jonathan announced, like it was obvious.

“Hm,” Lucien pondered, “do I know it’s a false reality? Does she know?”

“She knows, you don’t,” Neil decided.

“Is she gonna tell me? What if she has another guy on the side in the real world?”

“Okay, you’re overthinking this,” Jonathan groaned.

“And is this the Sarah Carter that’s already had John? ‘Cause if not, I can’t kill her, or the human revolution stands no chance— but if she has him, I can’t marry her, ‘cause I’m not ready to be a stepfather—”

“You’re useless,” Jonathan informed him flatly.

“Well, it’s easy then,” you offered, still tallying fees on the printed table. “You fuck Carter, marry Ripley and kill Trinity.”

“Yeah, I guess that works,” Lucien shrugged.

“If you’re so good at this game, you should play,” Jonathan decided. You looked up from your work for once, finding Lucien looking excited at the idea and Neil looking a little nervous but intrigued.

“I’ve got one for you,” Lucien decided, looking concerningly smug. “Fuck, marry, kill: the three of us.”

Jonathan let out a giddy ‘ooh’ and Neil raised his eyebrows. “Oh— I don’t know— that’s too weird,” you shook your head, “it’s different, you’re real—”

“Wait, wait,” Neil interrupted, “now I wanna know.”

You froze for a second, wondering if you should double down on not participating, or if you should tell him the first thing that popped in your head: am I allowed to do all three to you?

Instead, you set the clipboard down and crossed your legs, and the men seemed to straighten up as they prepared for your answer. “Alright,” you said, looking at them for a lingering moment before sighing. “I think I’d fuck Jonathan, and then kill myself.”

“Yes,” Jonathan hissed, shaking his fist triumphantly.

“Dude, really?” Lucien snapped at him. “That didn’t sound like a compliment to me.”

“Don’t care, I stopped listening after ‘fuck Jonathan’,” he replied. “Alright, Neil, you’re gonna have to make good on that ‘she’s not off-limits’ promise you made to me—”

But Neil wasn’t listening to Jonathan, he was still looking at you. “Wait— you wouldn’t marry me?” Neil interrupted, putting a hand on the desk and leaning in a bit closer— he looked half-amused and half-offended, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Um…” you started to wonder how to defend yourself from that. What did he expect you to say? Yes, I’d marry you, I’ve actually been planning our wedding since junior year.

“Hold on,” Lucien stopped you, “if she fucks you and marries you, that means I’m getting killed!”

“Yeah, so?” Jonathan smirked.

“What, you don’t think I’m marriage material?” Neil laughed… but he didn’t seem like he was really joking, per se. He didn’t seem serious either, of course, but you decided to take his question seriously since he’d dared to ask it twice.

“Well,” you mumbled, “no. I don’t.”

Then he seemed a bit more serious, adjusting his posture a bit. “Why not?”

“I mean… you’re my best friend,” you reminded him, “but… you’re not reliable.”

He nodded, pursing his lips together.

“You’re not ready for marriage,” you continued. “I mean, I think you’re just as sure of that as I am.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And honestly? You’re a great friend and all, but… if you were my husband, I don’t think I could really… you know, trust you…”

The silence seemed a little heavy— all the men were sort of frozen for a second, you wondered if you should wave your arm around to make sure time hadn’t stopped. But they did move, Neil first in fact, as he stopped leaning on the counter and nodded a little.

“I’m just surprised that you didn’t fuck Dracula,” Jonathan said to Neil in an attempt to cut the tension, “considering your massive man-crush on Bela Lugosi.”

“Hey, that reminds me, tonight’s movie is Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla,” Neil announced, apparently shaking off whatever odd energy he’d picked up just before, “you in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan nodded, “should I bring drinks?”

“Uhh, yeah, why not?” Neil agreed.

“Is a six-pack enough?”

"Uh, maybe…” Neil considered, turning over his shoulder to look at you. “Kid, how many beers are you gonna want?”

You swallowed nervously. “Um, I… well, I’m not coming. I’ve got a date, actually.”

Of course it was just assumed that you would be there; you felt a little guilty admitting you wouldn’t, to the point that you almost considered just skipping said date and staying to avoid the awkwardness.

“Hey, great!” Jonathan said proudly, throwing his arms out wide.

“A date, huh?” Neil noticed, looking happily surprised. “Sorry, I— I didn’t know— you didn’t say anything—”

“No, it’s cool,” you shook your head, “it’s kind of a last minute thing… you know how they’re showing Rope at the Palace tonight? I met this, um, this guy the other day and we got to talking, and I asked him if he’d wanna come with me.”

“Rope, wow, that’s a great first date movie,” Neil nodded approvingly, “that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah— he hasn’t seen it, actually,” you admitted, smiling nervously, “so I guess how much he likes it will kinda be a good judge of if he’s worth going out again, right?”

Jonathan nodded approvingly, but Neil seemed skeptical. "Well, the showing isn't until nine— you can at least hang out until the movie starts, right?"

"I've gotta get home and get changed!" you explained

"You can't wear that to a date?" Julien wondered.

"No!" you scoffed, looking down at your ripped jeans and Dracula t-shirt. "Besides, I have this whole plan of what I'm gonna wear— remember when we did Bonnie and Clyde for Halloween?"

Neil was Bonnie and you were Clyde, in fact; he looked shockingly good in that blood-red lipstick, you tried to convince him to wear it again but he insisted it was a one-night-only situation.

"I figure if I wear my Clyde suit, I'll look kinda like James Stewart!"

"You're doing drag on a first date?" Lucien pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, lighten up, I'm just dressing up for the movie— I'll still, you know, try to look pretty," you assured. "What, I don't look good in a suit? 'Cause I got a lot of compliments on Halloween—"

"No, hey, go for it," Jonathan decided, "it's festive!"

"I think it's cool," Neil agreed. "Have fun, alright? And if he creeps you out or something, call the store number and I'll come get you."

"I'm not really worried about—"

"You know? Just call the store when you get home," Neil decided, "so I'll know you didn't get murdered."

"Dude, chill," you groaned. "We're going to the movies, not, I don't know… hiking off-trail in the middle of the night."

You never agreed to call, but you did him one better: you ended up coming back to the video store afterwards, a bit over two hours later. Of course, the guys were still on the couch— apparently the movie was over but they were watching anime (undoubtedly something Jonathan had brought as a palate cleanser after the movie).

They all looked over at you when you came in the front door and the little bell rang; they seemed excited to see you, and presumably to interrogate you about the date. You sighed, knowing you couldn't have expected anything else, but you'd come here hoping they'd let you watch something with them so you could stop thinking about the date.

“How’d it go, hot stuff?” Jonathan purred, and you rolled your eyes as Lucien wolf-whistled.

“Oh yeah, it was awesome, best first date ever— I’m at his place having sex with him right now,” you frowned as you tossed your purse down onto the couch, and Lucien chuckled while Neil looked a little defeated.

“Not that great, huh?” Neil noticed.

“Was he a creep?” Jonathan assumed.

“Did he think the movie was bad?” Lucien pressed.

“No, no, he was great,” you sighed, “he loved the movie. We talked about it for a bit afterwards and he seemed to really understand it.”

“Okay! That’s good, right?” Jonathan said optimistically.

“Yeah— so good that I asked him when we could do this again,” you recalled, “and he said that he didn’t wanna lead me on and he wasn’t interested in seeing me.”

“What?!” Jonathan yelped, while Neil winced a little.

“He said I was really cool and funny and easy to talk to,” you explained, “but that he didn’t feel any chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” Lucien repeated, confused.

“He means he’s not attracted to me,” you clarified.

“What?” Jonathan scoffed again. “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, but you did know. “I think I’m just, like, friend material. I’m just ‘one of the guys’, you know? Not somebody you actually wanna be with.”

“But isn’t that what every guy wants? To date somebody who’s just ‘one of the guys’?” Lucien noticed, and then paused when everyone gave him an inquisitive look. “That sounded way less gay in my head. You get what I mean, right?”

“As much as I would love to never let you live that down,” Jonathan smirked, “you’re not wrong— like, a chick who can hang. That’s the best.”

“Well, here I am! Hanging!” you snapped. “Where’s my harem of suitors just desperate to date one of the guys?!”

“I mean, you are wearing a suit…” Neil noticed, getting a little defensive when you groaned and dropped your head back. “No, no, you look cool! I mean, you look really great. I’m not sure what he wasn’t seeing.”

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend!" Jonathan suggested. "And he was gonna cheat but he chickened out."

"Maybe he's intimidated by strong women," Lucien added, sounding more like he was quoting a Cosmo than actually thinking that.

"Respectfully, guys aren't that complicated," you assured. "If he wanted me, he would. He doesn't. It's not that deep."

Neil looked away when you said that.

"Well, come take a seat on the losers couch," Jonathan offered, but Neil sitting next to him frowned.

"You think I'm a loser?" Neil protested.

"No, I was talking about that couch," Jonathan said as he pointed to the other one which Lucien was on.

"I'm not even offended," Lucien decided, patting the spot next to him. "I'd rather be a loser with you than a winner with anybody else."

You smiled and plopped down next to him, pulling your legs up on the old sofa and finding the best angle to see the TV from. "Okay, catch me up," you requested, bracing for the barrage of borderline nonsensical exposition about whatever obscure anime Jonathan was forcing on the group this time.

Since the store closed at eight on Tuesdays, you and Neil decided to go out for a late dinner after locking up— the nearest place you usually walked to was a little hole-in-the-wall dishing out Thai fusion, and even though there were open tables inside, you took your paper boxes outside to eat together on a bench.

You each sat up on it with your legs crossed, facing each other, while he poked at his fried rice with his fork and you stirred your noodles with the chopsticks.

“The Palace is still doing their Hitchcock screenings on Sundays,” you recalled, “I think the next one is Rear Window. We could make Lucien man the store and go see it together?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he smiled. “But we gotta sneak in the candy, that place is getting so overpriced…”

“Well, that’s a given,” you laughed. “When I went on my date there I had Sour Patch Kids in my bag, but I was kinda craving Reese’s by the time the movie started.

"That guy sounded like an ass, by the way," Neil announced with a frown.

"Oh, no, it's fine," you dismissed. "He was really nice, even when he blew me off, and I… I guess I wasn’t really expecting it to go anywhere, anyways.”

“Really?” Neil scoffed. “Then why’d you ask him out?”

Just in case. “I… I guess I’m trying to put myself out there more?”

“Huh? You’re trying to put out more?” Neil joked.

You rolled your eyes and unfolded your legs to kick him playfully. “You know what I mean,” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he admitted, “and I support it. It’s sort of insane that you’re still single.”

“Wow, thanks for the pep talk,” you rolled your eyes before shoving a thick swirl of spicy-sweet noodles in your mouth.

“No! I mean, like, I can’t believe you’re single,” he clarified, and you smiled somewhat awkwardly while chewing your mouthful. “You’re smart and fun and cool and pretty—”

Thanks to the food in your mouth, you didn’t have to worry about coming up with a way to respond to that, so you just shrugged.

“Seriously!” he insisted. “I mean, guys hit on you at the store— I wish somebody who actually deserved your attention would walk in that place.”

The guy I want is already there every day. Swallowing, you finally got a chance to talk to him again. “Thanks,” you sighed, “it’s fine, though. I mean, I’ve been single this long— I think I’ll survive.”

“Keep waiting for the right one, okay?” he encouraged, and your heart swelled.

“I will,” you promised, sounding more wistful than you meant to.

After a brief lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and continued. “Hey, um, while we’re on the topic of Sunday, about the whole fuck-marry-kill thing—”

“I’m sorry,” you offered right away, “I shouldn’t have answered that. I wasn’t being serious, obviously.”

“No, I wanted to apologize,” he returned, “I shouldn’t have pressed you on your answer. It was funny. And it wasn’t like you could say you were gonna kill one of us.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that one was probably the worst of the three.”

“But I shouldn’t have asked you about what you would’ve done to me,” he shook his head, “I was making it weird. So, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “Did you really expect me to say I would marry you?”

“No,” he admitted, “I thought you’d say you’d fuck me, marry Lucien and kill Jonathan.”

“What?” you scoffed, though you were still smiling. “Why?”

“Well, Lucien would definitely make the best husband of the three of us,” he explained, “and Jonathan was the only one who wouldn’t have gotten butthurt about you saying you’d kill him. He probably would’ve just asked you to give him a nice send-off, y’know…”

You nodded in agreement, wondering if he was going to address the obviously missing third piece of all this… he sure was staring down into his empty fried rice container with intense focus…

“And, you know, as for me,” he began sort of thinly, “I, um… I guess I just figured, you know, you’re the most comfortable with me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “obviously, but maybe that would make it worse? Like, at least with Jonathan, I know that if we ever did hook up or something, it probably wouldn’t mess up our friendship. ‘Cause we’re friendly and all, but it’s not so serious. But with you…”

“Uh huh, well, that’s why it’s good it’s just a game,” Neil finished for you, chucking his trash in the nearest can. “Don’t have to worry about any of that stuff. Least of all you and I being married. Talk about a disaster.”

You choked on your throat. “Yeah. No kidding…”

“Well, anyways,” he sighed, standing up from the bench and stretching for a moment, “wanna come over and see if the game’s still on?”

“Oh, um, I’m just gonna go back to my place,” you decided, throwing away the last couple bites of your food on account of your suddenly-lost appetite. “Kinda thinking I should get my sleep schedule in order.”

“That’s good,” he nodded, “I respect that. Have a good night, then, kid.”

“Yeah, you too,” you breathed, waving as he turned and walked off into the night, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

You looked down at your lap, taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes for a second. Did he have to be so sweet just to cut you down like that? Could he have even known how it would hurt you to say that?

It’s not even like he was wrong, but you were dying to ask him why he was so sure that you and him together would be so bad. What was wrong with you that he still couldn’t see you that way?

Not interested in this repetitive thought cycle anymore, and being very familiar with where it leads, you got up and started to walk down the street. You didn’t turn to go to your apartment, though; you kept going until you heard live music— scratchy, whiny guitars and throbbing bass drums— seeping out of the club. You just needed to be somewhere familiar that wasn’t the video store or home; and, this place conveniently also had liquor.

You slipped inside— hit by a wave of sound as you entered— and took a seat at the bar, half-listening to the band that was playing, pretending to be focused at all on what was going on in the outside world rather than just spiraling into your own thoughts inside your head.

“Hey,” Jonathan nodded at you from the other side of the bar, and you nodded back. He instantly started looking for Neil— of course he would— and you deflated a bit. “You here alone?” he noticed.

“Yeah,” you shrugged.

“Wow,” he smirked, “it’s like when Peter Pan’s shadow escaped.”

You should’ve probably been offended by that, but it wasn’t worth denying— and you were more interested in getting liquored up than justifying that you did, in fact, have a life outside of Neil.

And, actually, Peter Pan was a pretty good way to describe Neil, too. Fear of commitment, leader of freaks and outcasts, daydreamer… all he needed was some green tights. “What are you drinking tonight?” Jonathan finally asked.

“What pairs well with feeling completely unattractive and unlovable?” you sighed.

“Well, that would be my drink of choice: whiskey,” he smiled, setting a bottle down in front of you. “I’ll do a shot with you.”

He poured you both a shot, and you timed it to shoot it back together; he, obviously, took it better with you, and you cringed from the acidic flavor. "Jesus, people really drink this on purpose?" you grumbled.

"Yeah, give it a few minutes," he assured, "it's gonna numb all those stupid emotions."

"I don't have a few minutes," you sighed, "do you have anything more fast-acting?"

"Yeah— a second shot," he joked, but you nodded in agreement. "Okay, shit, you're not messing around tonight."

"Nope," you agreed, watching him pour just one shot this time. "You're not doing it with me?"

"I need to pace myself, I'm here 'til two," he explained.

He slid it to you and you contemplated it for a moment, before forcing yourself to get it down as quickly as possible to avoid the burn. You still grimaced, but recovered quickly.

"Is it working yet?" he wondered.

"I guess," you answered half-heartedly.

“Well, you could always gush to the bartender about all your problems?” he offered, but you just shrugged it off. “Come on, you wouldn’t be the first tonight. And since I know you, I might actually be able to help.”

“I don’t think you can help with this one,” you assured. “This problem has been going on longer than you’ve ever been around.”

“Oh?” he pressed. “Let me guess… boy troubles?”

“Isn’t it always?” you scoffed, irritated that he saw through you that quickly— apparently your reputation of being horrible with men preceded you.

“But this is just one boy,” he presumed. “One boy who… conspicuously isn’t here tonight…”

“Is it that obvious?” you wondered with a whine, dropping your head in your hand.

“Well, if you weren’t having any issues with him, you’d be with him,” Jonathan guessed— and it wasn’t bad logic.

“But, like, does everyone know?” you wondered. “Does everyone but him know that I’m in love with him? Oh god, Jonathan, you don’t think he knows, do you?”

“Wait— love?” he repeated, and you swallowed thickly as you realized the whiskey had already gotten you to say too much. “You… you’re…”

“Okay, so I guess not everyone knows,” you mumbled.

“No, yeah, I think you managed to keep that under wraps,” he assured with a nod, eyes getting wider. “Sheesh. No, I had no clue. Now it’s even weirder that you guys aren’t together.”

“Well, he doesn’t love me,” you explained flatly.

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, god no— I mean, he tells me he loves me,” you corrected, “but he doesn’t mean— we just say that, you know, like at the end of phone calls or when one of us is sad. It’s not, like… we never meant it that way.”

“Right, okay,” Jonathan nodded as he wiped a glass— the way bartenders do when they’re listening to people— but he didn’t seem to understand entirely. “So, you’re not his type?”

“I don’t think I know what his type is,” you scoffed. “I haven’t really noticed a pattern, have you?”

“You’d have to have a few more data points to really draw any connection between them,” Jonathan laughed.

“Yeah, fair,” you smiled, “he’s only had… I don’t know, maybe four girlfriends since I’ve known him? One in high school, for a month— then Eva, they weren’t even really serious, just dating for a while. And then, uh—”

“Tanisha,” he remembered.

“Right! I liked her,” you hummed.

“What happened to her again?” he wondered.

“Got back with her ex,” you recalled.

“Wow, that blows,” Jonathan sighed.

“She told me before she told him,” you admitted. “She wanted me to tell him for her, actually, but I… I couldn’t do that to him. But I came over right after, you know, and we ate ice cream from the tub and watched movies ‘til we fell asleep.”

Jonathan made a sort of face, one you couldn’t quite interpret, and you tilted your head as he seemed to mumble to himself.

“What?” you wondered.

“Nothing, it’s just… he’s kind of an idiot,” Jonathan decided. “I don’t think he gets how lucky he is.”

You wrinkled your brows together, laughing a bit. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m not saying he’s, like, legally obligated to fall in love with you just because you guys get along so well,” he clarified, “even if that’s what Neil accused me of thinking— I really do think it’s fine for men and women to just be friends.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying… like, how do you have someone who cares about you that much, and you end up dating fucking Denise for almost a year?!”

“Well, nobody knows how he ended up with Denise,” you coughed. “That was a fucking disaster.”

“I mean, not to be crass, but, uh,” he stumbled a little over his words, “I’m surprised that you coming over after that breakup didn’t turn into a rebound, at least.”

“After eating that much ice cream?” you laughed. “That would’ve been awful.”

“But really, though,” he insisted. “I have a hard time believing the thought didn’t even cross his mind…”

“I can’t really be sure that it didn’t,” you admitted, “I’m just saying, nothing happened.”

“I guess he’s just known you too long to go for it with you,” Jonathan shrugged.

“It’s not just that— you know Neil, he’s kind of an adrenaline junkie,” you rolled your eyes, “or at least he thinks he is. He wants adventure, I guess— and he always talks about us doing spontaneous stuff but it never happens— and I’m just too familiar. Too comfortable.”

“Yeah, he does kinda have something against stability,” Jonathan agreed, “do you think it’s a divorced parents thing?”

“I don’t know, I stopped analyzing that a long time ago,” you groaned, “and I told myself I would stop trying to be what I thought he wanted, but I think I keep doing it.”

“Well, I know you know him better than anybody,” Jonathan countered, “but I know guys, and that guy… there’s no way he thinks of you as just a friend.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because he was fucking lying when he said it wouldn’t piss him off if we hooked up,” he insisted.

“You really won’t let that go, will you?” you grinned.

“Did you see his face? He couldn’t get the image out of his head!” Jonathan assured confidently. “And then that whole ‘fuck marry kill’ thing— he started getting nervous, I think.”

“Nervous about what?”

“That something could really happen with us!”

“You really think he would care?” you frowned.

“I swear to— to Ash Williams,” he decided, “that if I walked into that fucking video store, and told him that you and I did whiskey shots and you came back to my place and we did the horizontal tango, he would beat me to death with the register.”

“You swear on Ash Williams?” you repeated with a smirk, knowing that meant more than swearing on any deity would mean.

“Him and his chainsaw hand,” Jonathan assured, putting a hand over his heart to add to the bit, and you giggled.

“Well, I don’t think Neil can pick up the register,” you decided.

“In that case, you let me know the next time you wanna get back at him for something,” he offered with a wink, and you smiled at him sympathetically.

“I know you’re trying to be nice,” you sighed, “but you don’t have to do that.”

“Hey, come on,” he frowned, “I know you’ve got this I’m insecure I’m a weirdo nobody notices me thing, but you can’t actually think it would be some kind of charity work for me to sleep with you—”

“No, I don’t mean that,” you sighed, “I know I could get laid if I wanted to—”

“But you don’t wanna get laid,” he finished for you, “you wanna be loved.”

You sighed again, even harder. “Yeah,” you nodded.

“I know,” he agreed. “And you know I love you, but—”

“But not like that,” you took your turn finishing his sentence.

His only reply was raising the bottle of whiskey with a sideways smile, a silent offer to pour another shot— for both of you this time.

“Yes, please,” you hummed, watching him fill the miniature glasses with a sigh.

part 2

#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis smut #watching the detectives #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #you know... eventually #but you have to get to part two for that lol

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miirohs · 3 days

Text

world burning [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader wc: 1.4k cw: someone is literally shot, charles kisses reader a bit forcefully an: to the anon who said they'd sell me their soul my cashapp is @bestfanficwriterever (jk jk, i hope that anon sees this tho). Real reminder to you all, again, that non of this stuff is to be encouraged irl and this is all meant as a fictional scenario!

“Charlie?”

You could hear him softly cursing in French on the other line, whispering as the bed creaked in the background. It was obvious he had just woken up, and you felt terrible for waking him as well, knowing the day he probably had.

“Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, tu ferais mieux d'avoir une bonne raison de me réveiller (what's the matter, you'd better have a good reason for waking me up)-”

“Charles, I've been arrested, I need someone to come get me.”

The muttering stopped, grogginess disappearing from his voice almost instantly. “Y/n? Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé bon sang chéri (y/n? what the hell happened darling)?”

“Charles, not now please,” You chastised softly, looking to the door as the guards quietly conversed among themselves outside the room, “I have no idea why this is happening and what they’re gonna do to me.” “How did you even manage to get arrested… Nevermind that, I just hope you haven’t answered anything they've asked of you.” He groaned, heavy thumping over the phone as you looked nervously at the door for any indication they’d been listening to your conversation.

“I’m not that dull,” You said quietly, looking down at your lap, “and it couldn't have been anything i did, all they did was seize the car from me in the lot and bring me here.”

He paused for a moment, silent over the line. You pressed the phone against your ear, straining for any sounds on the other side of the line.

“Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you fumbled, tripping over your words in a hurry to get them out.

“Char, what are you planning on doing?”

He laughed humorlessly over the phone, the sound of keys jingling and door slamming making you jump back from the phone as if it’d grown a head.

“Exactly what I said I'm going to do, come and pick you up.”

You swallowed the thick ball that’d formed in your throat.

“You know what- never mind, send someone else in your place, maybe Carlos?” You bargained, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Pas de souci, mon amour. Je ne fais que commencer (no worries, my love. I'm just getting started). They should’ve learned not to fuck with the wrong person. I’ll be there in another 20 minutes, you won’t need to call anyone else.”

You shivered as the line went dead, looking at the now opened door, all the cops watching you with a suspicious look.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

All you could do was shake your head.

Not even a grand total of 15 minutes later, a shouting match erupted, followed by loud bangs.

There was a single person you could think of who was capable of this level of chaos, and you could have swore you’d heard him threatening the cops right now.

“Where is she?”

“Sir-”

“Don’t sir me, where the hell is she? Don’t tell me I have to blow another head off just for you to tell me.”

Everything seemed to fall silent for a couple moments, only a few voices daring to make a sound.

“Char?” You called out, a couple beats of silence weighing you down.

The sound of footsteps only got louder, stopping in front of the room you were in.

Keys jangled, the door slamming open as Charles walked in, a couple of police tailing him timidly to the outside of the door.

There were dark stains on his otherwise clean shirt, an indication of what happened visible in the peeved look on his face. Your eyes slowly trailed to his hand, a gun held tightly in his grip, smoking oh so slightly.

Noticing how your attention had drifted to the weapon, he put it down on the other side of the table as he approached you, shrugging off his jacket as he approached you.

“Tu vas bien maintenant (you're all right now),” He said quietly, running his fingers through your hair as he pulled you to him, “Come on, we’re going home.”

You clutched his arm as he stood you up, eyes glued to the floor as you walked next to him.

You could hear their disappointed exhales, tinged with a bit of surprise as Charles kept a firm grip on your back, guiding you through the long hall to the main office.

As you continued to walk, he gently stopped you, turning around in the middle of the room as someone called for him.

“Fucks sake,” He sighed, turning around.

“Sir, i believe there has been a mistake-”

“What sort of mistake do you think you’ve made?” He snarled, his hand running down to your hand, lacing his fingers into yours.

“You see, the car we identified was yours and we thought that perhaps she’d stole it-”

“And you didn’t think to call me so I could deal with them myself?” He chuckled humorlessly, pulling you to his side. You held your breath, completely aware of what was about to happen.

“Charles, no-”

He shook his head at you, basically telling you to not interfere. You obliged, eyebrows creasing as you watch the poor man who had tried to explain himself get shoved to his knees.

“First off, you interrupt my very precious time, and then you have the audacity to say that you’ve made a mistake?” He stands back, waving at someone behind him to step forward to his side with a gun. “Do you know who she is?”

The man stumbled over his words, trying to plead for his life, but you already knew it was too late.

“Since you don’t seem to know, let me tell you. She’s the last face you’ll be seeing but since she’s here, I've decided to spare the rest of you for the time being. If I ever hear of anything happening to her again, anyone in this room will not be spared like they were today.” He remarked bemusedly, turning to you with the widest grin you’d ever seen from him.

“Chéri, close your eyes, and cover your ears as well.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The second you did, there was a bang, followed by a thumping sound.

Something warm was on your face, but you didn’t dare open your eyes, shaky hands coming off your ears to touch your face.

“Don’t.” He was closer than you thought, causing you to jump as he rubbed what you assumed was a handkerchief against your face . “Don’t say anything, don’t look, just follow me.”

You cracked open an eye, briefly wandering to the pool of blood a couple of feet away from you.

“What did I just tell you?” He remarked, barking at the rest in rapid french as he grabbed your hand and pulled you out the doors of the station.

There was an awkward silence as you lumbered into the passenger side seat, pressing yourself against the seat as he pulled out and onto the road.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” He muttered, hand reaching over to squeeze your thigh.

“I thought you’d be upset with me.” You looked down, noticing the dried blood on his hands, not that it made much of a difference to you anymore. Less than two years ago, you would have been horrified at the idea of blood within six feet of you, but you had come to accept it as a part of him you could never erase.

“No-” He punched the brakes, eyes slightly apologetic as you jumped from the sudden shock of stopping.

“No, no, Y/n, look at me,” His hand left your thigh, fingers curling around your chin and pulling your face to his, “You are not responsible for any of that, i gave you the car, remember? You are not to blame yourself because I would gladly do anything for you.”

“Char-” You whined, muffled slightly by the pressure of his fingers against your cheeks.

“I would give you the world to see you happy, so shut up and take it.” He pressed his lips harshly against yours, almost needy in the way he nipped at your bottom. Warmth seemed to stir inside you as he let you go, your own mind racing at a million miles per hour as he returned to the wheel as if nothing had happened.

However, under his breath, he muttered something that even escaped you as your thoughts drifted off elsewhere. “Le monde brûlera, si tu le veux ma chérie, je te le promets (the world will burn, if you want it to my darling, I promise).”

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star-girl69 · 3 months

Text

Music To Watch Girls To

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

sypnosis: is it wrong to be obsessed with clarisse? obviously not!!

a/n: i cant just write a drabble what is wrong w me it’s always gotta be a full fledged fic damn anyways i don’t like this one that much so don’t crucify me, but i hope you all enjoy!!

Music To Watch Boys To - Lana Del Rey

warnings: FRIENDS TO LOVERS GOOD LORD, all clarisse know is be mean to her friends, like girls, and lie, reader is a little insane this time…., it’s not watching clarisse train bc i got struck with inspo but you all will like it dw, there’s still muscles and watching clarisse fight, swearing, violence, mentions of weapons, reader is an honorary ares cabin member bc i think it’s cute and i do what i want, y/n gets hurt like 20 times ITS FOR THE PLOT OK, kissing!!!!, like angst for half a sec not rly tho, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

The only word you think of when you think of Clarisse is fuck.

It describes your feelings about her so accurately. The first time you saw her, you knew you had to have this girl. And the first time you heard her talk, she was calling some Hephaestus kid a dumbass for not fixing a dent in her armor correctly.

She was an asshole, a bully, whatever, and she was also the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. But, thank the Gods you became close friends with her brother Matty, and then Carrie, and then you practically knew everyone in the Ares cabin like your own siblings.

Even just friendship with Ares kids is an intense rollercoaster.

They admired your for your deadly skill with a bow, a few of them even openly claiming you were probably the best at camp. They were loyal and fierce, protective, funny and everything you could want in a replacement family. Your mortal parent went down a dark road after your godly parent went back to Olympus, and you had never felt that love that everyone craved.

Clarisse hated you at first, like she does everyone, until one day at the bonfire you were sitting with her and a few of her siblings, the fire was hot and it was never the same. You still remember her eyes on you, feeling intoxicated under the moon. Besides, the nights are made for secrets.

And it became a tradition.

You would look at each other next to the fire, and never speak of it again.

The rest of the time, she was like any friend. That same loyalty, focus, but sometimes you could swear she seemed to look a little longer.

After the arrival of Percy Jackson, Clarisse was especially on edge. She was supposed to be training, but she was instead sulking and ranting to Matty and Carrie.

“And he really thinks he killed that Minotaur? Doesn’t matter. That’s what everyone else thinks.”

“Talking about the new kid?” you ask, sitting on top of the picnic table next to their cabin.

“Oh, yeah,” Carrie mumbles. “Talking all about the new kid.”

Clarisse stops her angry pacing to send her a harsh glare.

“He’s just a baby, Clarisse.”

She slams her hand down on the table next to you, pointing her finger in your face.

“He’s a liar,” she hisses. “I’m gonna make him admit it.”

“Hm, okay,” you say, pressing her foot against her stomach and pushing her back. “And that’s totally logical. But have you considered that he actually killed the Minotaur?”

“I’ll punch you.”

“Oh, you love me, Clarisse,” you smile, sweeping your arms out in a big circle. “I’m the brightest part of your day.”

She glares at you.

Matty coughs to hide a laugh.

“Just ignore him!” you say. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed over him anyways.”

“I’m not explaining myself to you,” she huffs, stubborn as ever.

“Okay, Clarisse,” you say, drawing out the words.

You miss Carrie and Matty shooting each other looks.

—-

Chiron announces the next capture the flag game later that day, and the next morning you’re heading off to the Ares cabin with your bow and armor in tow.

You walk in. They’re all adjusting their armor, polishing their weapons. A few smile at you and wave, but you head straight towards the back. Clarisse is there, helping some of her younger siblings pick out weapons from the secret weapons stash the Ares kids have curated over the years.

It’s Danny’s first game. He’s only twelve.

She looks up at you for a moment, which is about as much acknowledgment as you’re gonna get. You sit at the end of someone’s empty bed, right next to Danny.

“How you feelin’?” you ask. His face is twisted into a stone cold mask.

“Excited,” he says, like he practiced it in the mirror.

“Well, I’m scared.”

He looks at you and frowns.

“You’re the best archer in camp. Matty says so.”

You shrug. “I may be the best archer, but I’m nowhere near the best fighter.”

He nods, thinking hard like the whole world is suddenly starting to make sense.

“Hey, if I promise to keep a look out for you from the trees- will you watch out for me on the ground?”

He doesn’t need your assurance. He’s a child of Ares, they’re prebuilt with the lust for battle. But you know how to play all of them like a fiddle. They like feeling important, and he’s only twelve. It doesn’t hurt you to give this to him.

You stick out your hand and he grabs it.

“Deal.”

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. You realize she’s been standing there for a while. “Are you here to distract everyone or for a reason?”

“You know, I would welcome you into my cabin warmly.”

Her face remains stone cold. Danny runs off. Clarisse can be some sort of halfway nice, but rarely, and most of the time everyone just knows her cruel words, her ruthless tactics in battle, and her misleading words and smiles.

“You’re no fun,” you pout.

“You’re the one who sticks around. No one’s holding you hostage- you can leave.”

“I need a dagger.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “Wow, you actually came here for something? What happened to yours?”

“Broke,” you shrug. “The handle fell off. Weird, whatever.”

She hums, looking through the daggers hung on the wall. “This one.”

She hands it to you. It’s similar to your old dagger, except a lot sharper and a lot more sturdy. But it’s the same style you’re used to. You wonder if she knows that or not- Ares kids do notice everything.

But for Clarisse to actually do something like that with intention is rare.

“I like it,” you say. “Thanks!”

She hesitates for a second.

“Keep it.”

You look at her. “I can give it back.”

“I already told you to keep it. Don’t be pathetic and make me reassure you.”

“Okay, Clarisse,” you roll your eyes.

—-

Your position on capture the flag is always the same.

Carrie, Matty and Clarisse hunt in the woods on the ground, and you get thrown up into some random tree to shoot arrows at anyone you see.

The idea is, they see the arrow coming from up above and look to the trees, only for Clarisse, Matty and Carrie to ambush them on the ground.

It’s only the third game you’ve employed this tactic, so the blue team is starting to catch on.

After Chiron gives his speech you could probably say yourself, you head over to the three of them, holding your arm out to Matty and the red bandana. He ties it around without saying a word, Carrie reaches over and scolds you for not tying your armor tight enough.

“Blah, blah, blah,” you say. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah,” Carrie snorts. “Because I fixed it.”

“Shush,” Clarisse hisses. She finishes talking to a few more of her siblings, and they take their companies off into the woods. She turns back around. “I have a different plan today.”

Carrie and Matty grin dangerously.

There’s something in between the three of them, some sort of matching glint in their eyes.

“Okay, did I miss something? Why are you guys being so… scary?”

“You’ll see,” Clarisse says, her eyes dark.

Gods, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

—-

The great thing about being up in the trees is you get to see everything.

You get to see the way Clarisse grins while she fights, the way she whips her spear around like it weights nothing, the way sweat forms at her brow- and the way her muscles flex. That’s the best part.

Her arms, her legs, her stomach, every part of Clarisse is just lean and toned muscle.

It makes you want to betray yourself in a way that would permanently embarrass you.

You follow them, of course, even though you have no idea what the hell is happening or what the plan is. There’s a reason she’s not telling you the plan. Why?

When you walk past the woods where you normally hunt, you start getting fidgety.

“Ok, guys, seriously. Tell me what’s going on.”

You realize you’re heading towards the side of the big hill, starting the climb up through the trees and rocks.

Clarisse turns around.

“Stop. Worrying.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m not worried. I’m just confused.”

She sighs, signaling to Carrie and Matty.

“You know,” she mutters. And they leave, so it’s just the two of you.

They spit up, making their way on the farthest two ends, all leading to the same ledge.

She grabs your wrists. “Stop cracking your fingers. It’s annoying, and you’ll hurt ‘em.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

She lets go of one of your wrists, but keeps her tight grip on the other, forcing you to keep pace behind her.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Y/N. Don’t worry. I’m not going to put you in danger, obviously.” She laughs, as if the idea is ridiculous. “You’re a damn good archer.”

“Oh, my Gods. Did you just compliment me?”

She tenses up, finally realizing she did it.

“D-don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I won’t. It will just be our little secret, won’t it?”

You bite your lip as you smile so you don’t burst out laughing.

“Sure,” she mutters, and you don’t miss the way she stares at your lips. She clears her throat, finally letting go of your wrist. “Percy Jackson-”

“Who’s a baby.”

“-attacked us last night.”

You raise an eyebrow, walking next to her. “Did you attack him first?”

She doesn’t answer that.

“I doubted you would join us. I just didn’t want you to be alone in the woods.”

“Why?”

“Hm, I saw Annabeth as we left the bathrooms. She knows, she knows we’re gonna get revenge so Luke’s gonna go straight for the flag because we’re not in the woods.”

“So you’re just sacrificing the entire game for revenge? Against a 12-year-old?”

“Revenge,” she mutters, thinking over it. “That’s a fun word.”

She smiles, looking at you.

“Oh, Gods,” you mutter.

—-

The rest of the walk continues in silence, until you can see Carrie and Matty in the distance, both waiting for Clarisse’s signal. She grins.

“Now, why don’t you just stay behind me and draw an arrow, and tell me if anyone’s coming. And when he’s distracted, you’ll sneak around behind him and block him from escaping, hm?”

You look around the forest. “Okay. But, Clarisse-”

She smacks her hand over your face. “I don’t need your morality right now. I just need you to keep those pretty eyes open and be our lookout.”

“Fine,” you hiss as you throw your hand off her mouth.

“Thank you,” she smiles, sarcastically. “Was that so hard?”

You mock her under your breath, but she signals to Carrie and Matty. They all start walking forward, trying for stealth, but your feet make sink into the gravel. He hears them. He sits up.

You don’t know anything about Percy Jackson, except for the fact he supposedly attacked the three musketeers you call your friends and possibly killed a Minotaur.

True to your word, you stay behind Clarisse, watching as she lifts her helmet off, throwing it to the ground.

Her spear sinks into the dirt.

“Flag’s that way,” Percy says. “It’s not here.”

“We know.”

You start walking out from behind her. His eyes flick between all four of you.

“Yeah, glory’s fine.” You can feel her eyes on you. “Revenge is more fun.”

She looks up at her spear, slamming it down, and you hear the familiar crackle as it lights up. Red hot electricity.

She laughs a bit.

He scrambles for his sword and spear, forgoing his helmet. They close him in. You walk around Carrie and behind him. His eyes move between you and Clarisse, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the four of you from surrounding him.

“No maiming. It’s like the one rule.”

His stance isn’t even close to correct.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while,” she fake frets, looking up at her spear. She smiles and looks back at him. “I’ll live.”

Her face twists into a mask of focus and she swings out at him. He manages to dodge her first hit, and block the second with his shield.

She looks at Carrie and Matty. They lunge forward, attacking him together, and he certainly is a demigod- he has a natural talent.

But you can only really focus on the way she lifts her spear back over her head.

She grunts and spins, shocking him, before jabbing forward at his armor, making him fall back over the log he used to be laying on, right at your feet.

“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” she says, standing over him. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better. Are you feeling up to that yet?”

The way she holds her spear, the way she says it’ll make her feel better- you miss the way he swings out with his shield, hitting you in the shins.

“Fuck,” you hiss, leaning down to touch your burning leg. “Oh, fuck, that hurt.”

Percy grunts and takes off running.

“Y/N,” Matty says, a silent question in his concerned voice.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, shaking your leg out.

Clarisse glares at his retreating figure.

“I guess he has a fucking death wish,” she whispers, voice full of a deadly promise.

She grunts and launches herself over the log, Carrie and Matty following. You straighten yourself and take off running after them. You leg does burn, but you still manage to keep pace. Besides, Matty is already far ahead, surprising him and knocking him down from the path, making him tumble through the woods and land on the beach.

Matty and Carrie wave their swords at him from the right. He pants and breathes heavily, backing up, but when he turns around to run- Clarisse is there.

You draw your bow again, out of habit.

The arrows you use aren’t actual arrows of course, but filed down to little circle rocks at the end. They won’t kill you, but they fucking hurt.

You can’t help but giggle as he falls onto his back, scared just by Clarisse being there.

She laughs too, before all three of them launch into an attack.

They push him back, towards you, and you step back with them, waiting for the perfect moment.

But your eyes drift up to Clarisse. She’s hanging back for just a second while Matty and Carrie jab at him. She looks… proud. She looks really fucking proud that you’re laughing at this 12-year-olds misery.

But Clarisse was right. Revenge is fun. And you hate it, but you can’t stop it.

You smile back at her, and it’s like those nights at the bonfire, you know you’ll never speak of it again. It doesn’t matter. Right now, there’s angelic music playing in your head, and you’re watching her. You’re watching her, the sweat on her brow, the way her hands clasp her spear.

Her face twists into something else.

“Y/N!” she shouts, but Carrie and Matty pushed him too far, you didn’t move back enough- distracted by her- and you slam into each other, a tangle of limbs and metal.

He does this awkward sort of flip over you, landing a few feet behind you. You drop your bow in favor of catching yourself, and it gets caught on his shield and dragged along with him.

It’s a blur, you yelp as you go down, Percy groans.

They’re all standing there, tense and watching the way Percy stands up with your bow in his hands. His stance is nowhere near correct, it actually makes you cringe more than your bruised side after the fall.

Why the hell are you the one who keeps getting hurt?

Percy let’s out a breath. “Why don’t we all just walk away and forget this happened?”

“You just made that impossible,” Clarisse hisses.

You just want to get an ice pack on your leg and sit down. You’re tired. You want to boss Clarisse around as payment for bringing you here.

“Okay, okay, just stop. This is stupid, all of you. He’s, like, 12. He didn’t do it on purpose, you’re just attacking him for no reason.” Carrie and Matty look at the ground. Clarisse glares at you.

You turn around and face Percy. “Just go, okay.”

He looks between you and Clarisse.

“O-okay,” he breathes.

You can feel her move, hear her footsteps in the sand, her spear cutting through the wind. She comes around you, and Percy gets scared, so he raises up the bow and let’s it go- pointed straight at her face.

But it never hits her. It hits you, of course, because you have the worst luck in the world.

It hits you right in the chest, and it doesn’t kill you, but Percy is strong and it knocks the wind out of you.

Clarisse throws her spear to the ground and catches you, screaming your name at the top of her lungs.

Gods, this was so stupid. All of it. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to stop her from attacking him. Because Clarisse is bloodthirsty. She cares about no one else but herself.

You were stupid to think she ever did.

But even through all of this, everyone treating you like a rag doll, you stare into Clarisse’s eyes. She’s frozen. She’s watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, she’s watching the way you press your hand into your chest, trying to breathe, she’s looking at the fear in your eyes.

You’re terrified. And Clarisse looks the exact same way you feel.

You mouth her name.

Carrie and Matty are gathered around you, telling you to just breathe, take a breath in, but you can’t.

Clarisse let’s go of you and ignores your hands trying to hold her back, ignores Carrie warning her.

Oh, Gods, you’re in love with her and she’s just your friend, but it all hurts and you just need her right now.

Percy tries to scramble away from what he’s done, but Clarisse grabs him by his shirt and holds him up.

You think she’s actually going to kill him- then the conch sounds.

You all turn around.

The blue team runs to the beach, sticking the red flag into the ground. They all cheer loudly, Luke and Chris at the center of it.

Clarisse throws Percy back down on the ground.

She picks up your bow. Matty helps you stand up, you can breathe now, and you’re really fine. You just couldn’t for a minute. You don’t look at Clarisse, even though you want to.

—-

The four of you end up at the sword practice field, sitting on picnic tables like you did that one day.

Matty touches a few scratches on his arms from where he burst through the woods, scraping himself on something thorny.

Clarisse walks towards a dummy and starts attacking it. She lets all her anger out on it. They didn’t win, and her revenge is incomplete so, its not even worth it. You could have told her that from the beginning, but whatever.

Clarisse can do whatever she wants. She doesn’t listen to you, she doesn’t care about you- not as much as you want her too. Not as much as you care about her.

She’s so wonderfully in her element it makes you want her more. This is where she belongs, in the field in the sun, with her spear in her hands. She belongs here, where she feels closest to her father and farthest away from her responsibilities, from the constant battle it is for her to keep her emotions in check.

Even after a minute of her obliterating the dummy, she seems better. Finally, after another minute, she slows down until she stops.

You don’t stop looking at her until she turns around and looks at you. She breathes out.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench.

“Fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

She hums.

“C’mon, Matty,” Carrie says. “Let’s go back to the cabin, I’m thirsty.”

You’re not ready to get up yet, you’re too comfortable here on the bench, it’s too easy to breathe in the valley.

Clarisse flexes, stretching her spear over her head, and you watch her. Of course you watch her. You don’t think you’ll ever just be able to look at her in passing- you’ll always have to focused, you’ve always have to have your eyes totally and completely on her.

Like she’s some book you have to study. Like she’s all you’ve ever wanted to look at.

“Stop staring at me, weirdo,” she mumbles.

You sit up straighter. “I’m not. You’re just flexing dramatically all over the place, of course I’m gonna take notice of it.”

“Okay, sure,” she taunts, and you remember what happened, you remember how you felt when she walked away from you to continue with her revenge.

“I-I’m gonna go back to my cabin.” You don’t wanna be around her, not right now at least. “See you later, Clarisse.”

She stands up immediately. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks, it’s fine.”

“Y/N, you got hurt because of me.” She crouches down and tugs up your pant leg. “How’s your leg? Your side?”

Matty, Carrie and Clarisse too, sometimes, are always touching you and doing things for you. It’s sweet. They aren’t good with the words, but they show you they love you, and that means more than anything else.

If she hadn’t done what she did, if she really cared about you, then you wouldn’t mind her touching you like this. You would love it.

“Clarisse- get off of me,” you shake your leg out, which hurts a bit, but she lets go and stands up.

Her face twists into one of anger, her fists clenched.

“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry you got hurt. I feel really bad about it, so just let me do this for you.”

“It’s not about that,” you mumble, cursing yourself and hoping she doesn’t hear you. Of course she does.

“Then what’s it about?”

You try to turn away, but she clamps her around your wrist and tugs you back towards her.

“What’s it about, Y/N?”

She holds your hand to her chest.

You both know what it’s about.

“Just stop, Clarisse,” but your body betrays you and you make no move to push her away. She notices, of course she notices, and she pulls you closer. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

She blinks and her grip on your wrist loosens.

“And it was fun. It was a fun game, okay, Clarisse. But you can stop playing it now. You showed me today that your care more about yourself then you ever could me. I’m sick of it.” You tug your hand away. “I’m so sick of it, Clarisse.”

She grips you tighter again.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m running around looking like a fool, and you think I care about myself? You think I don’t care about you?”

Your breath is a little shaky again.

“You could have helped me and you chose revenge.”

“For you.”

“What?”

“He slammed his shield into your leg, knocked you over, and then shot you in the chest. Of course I wanted revenge. Not for me, it was about that at first, but then, Gods, did you do something to him?”

You laugh. She smiles, staring at your face like she’s seeing you for the first time.

“Like, he just kept coming after you, I don’t get it. But I… I like you. Like, like you. And I don’t know what that means, but I don’t really care. I just… want you. I want to be near you all the time. And I go crazy when you’re with someone else. I want to touch you all the time, hug you, hold you… I want to kiss you so bad I think I’m gonna fucking explode.”

Fuck is always the first word you think of when you think of her. It used to be because she made you so angry with the secrets, but now it’s just the things the says make you wonder how much more you can fall in love with her.

“Well, I don’t really want you to explode,” you roll your eyes. “That’d be too messy. Besides, I-”

“You’re always such a fucking worrier.”

She plants her hands on your face and presses her lips to yours. You can feel the slight desperateness she won’t say, but she’ll tell you with her body. You can feel everything she won’t show, won’t say. How beautiful you are. How scared she was. How much she wanted you and for how long.

You feel it all just by her lips, and you can’t help but wonder what more she can tell you.

She pulls back and smiles.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

“I’m the light of your life, Clarisse.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, grabbing you tighter and kissing you again. You grab onto her arms, smiling. You always wondered what he muscles would feel like against you.

There’s only one word to describe the way it feels.

Fuck.

—-

clarisse when she accidentally told y/n she has pretty eyes: PLEASE DONT NOTICE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

y/n my ladybug not noticing: 🧍‍♀️

—-

y/n and clarisse just being insane together WDYM YOURE LAUGHING WHEN A KID FALLS OVER STOP

—-

clarisse: bitch stop WORRYING

y/n: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME SHUT UP

—-

clarisse and y/n both pretending that clarisse giving her a dagger wasnt literally a declaration of love and also clarisse throwing her spear down to catch y/n???? bitch she’s in LOVE

—-

taglist:

@jazhandzzz

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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