something that never existed
Francis Mosses x male reader smut
1.4k words
This is really dark. Francis gives the reader a bottle of milk that makes him feel funny, follows him home, and then takes care of him.
It hits you during the middle of your shift. You aren’t sure of what, but the feeling of it has grown more intense each hour since it began. Pushing through the double doors is harder than when you did it this morning, your arms feeling heavy.
The cool evening air against your skin nearly has you moaning. Your skin burns, and the refreshing air makes you want to tear off your clothes. Each step against the pavement feels heavy as you slug your way to your home. If you were a passerby, you would probably be annoyed hearing the loud sound of your shoes against the sidewalk, but even though the noise filled your ears again and again, you could also hear the quieter steps of someone behind you.
Someone fucking drugged you. Or maybe something made it through the slot in your workstation. Or maybe–
You didn’t fucking know. All you knew was that because of it, you were half-hard by the time you made it to your front door.
“Are you following me?” You asked loudly as you leaned your sweaty forehead against your door. You panted against the door as you waited for a response. You laughed to yourself as you stuck your hand into your pocket to get your keys. Great, alongside the lust, you were also going crazy.
“You looked like you needed help. So yes, I followed you,” a voice said from behind you.
Your eyebrows drew together, trying to recognize the voice. It only took a few moments to pinpoint where you knew it from. You heard nearly a hundred voices a day at your job, but there was something about the man’s voice that was different and made it memorable.
You just couldn’t remember his name though. Frank? Fraser? Frederick? You didn’t really care to try and remember his name. You had more pressing matters, like picking up the keys you had finally pulled from your pocket and then dropped on the fucking ground.
“Let me,” Frank, Fraser, or Frederick says, his voice much closer behind you. “Here,” he says, now beside you.
You hold your hand out to accept the cold metal into your palm. You hope the man will just leave as you close your fingers around the keys and the sharp metal digs into your palm, but the man stays.
“I’m fine,” you say to the man, sticking the key into the knob with your shaky hands.
“Let me at least help you get inside,” the man responds, one of his hands moves to your shoulder, while the other goes to your waist to hold you upright.
“Fuck,” you whisper. Where he touches you somehow feels warmer than the rest of your body feels, even over your clothes. His voice brings you back to earlier in the day when he showed up to the window to be let in. You thought it was pretty weird for a milkman to deliver to his own apartment building, but it definitely wasn’t the weirdest thing you saw during your shift.
“Let me in?” He had asked you earlier that day. Through the window, you could see his carrier full of milk bottles, but you could also see an extra bottle in his other hand.
“Making an extra delivery for today?” You asked as you looked over the papers he gave you.
The man didn’t answer. He must not have heard you, you thought. He nodded in appreciation when you gave his papers back and pressed the button to unlock the door. You thought that was going to be that, but the man got your attention again after you had started going through other papers on your desk.
“This is for you, actually,” he said as he held the bottle up. One corner of his mouth twitched up, making it look like for once, he wasn’t miserable.
“Oh,” you said in surprise. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to accept gifts, but took the bottle anyway through the slot under the window.
“You must get thirsty back there.”
“Yeah,” you chuckled lightly, “my mouth can get dry with all of the talking I do.”
He left after that, but you swore his eyes had flicked down to your lips before he walked through the door.
“Did you put something in that milk?” You asked, pulling the key from the knob.
Francis. You remembered as his hand went over yours on the knob. You could see the document in your head, as you tried to remember if the man with you now was the same from earlier in the day.
“Did you like it?” He asked, “I made it just for you,” he said into your ear, his warm breath puffing across your ear.
With strength you didn’t know you still had, you sent your elbow backward into the man’s chest. You thought that would be enough, but found yourself on the other side of the door with Francis on your back.
“What’d you do to me?” You moaned against the door. His weight on your back was heavy as he held you against the door. This close, you could feel the length of his cock digging into your lower back.
You let out another moan, but this time, Francis lets out one that matches yours when he grinds his hard cock into your back. His hands go to your hips to maneuver you around so he can grind his cock into the meat of your ass.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Francis says, laying his body along the length of your back so he can say the words directly into your ear.
Enough to drug you, you guessed. Whatever he gave you was enough to turn your brain to mush, and the only control you had was dedicated to pushing your ass back into his cock.
“Please,” you whined, “it hurts.” Francis lets you fall slowly to the floor and makes his way to hold himself tightly against your back. What hurts is your hard cock, but of course, Francis knows that the relief you need comes in the form of his hands between your legs.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Francis whispers. His fingers skillfully get your pants open, and then his fingers– the same ones you saw earlier today hand you his papers, wrap around your cock.
You immediately fuck your hips into his fist, much closer than you expected. You hoped that with your release, Francis would be leaving along with it. Maybe you had fallen asleep at your station and this was some fucked up dream you were having. Letting your head fall forward to thunk into your door didn’t wake you up, so it’s likely that this was real.
“You’re so wet here,” Francis says in amazement as his fingers collect the precum from the head of your cock and what had already leaked down the shaft. He hooks his chin on your shoulder before he pulls his hand from your cock, and up to his mouth.
He groans into your neck when he gets the taste on your tongue, “Francis,” you whisper, hoping that saying his name would be enough. You didn’t want to beg, after all, your hard cock should be evidence enough of what you needed.
“I’m sorry,” Francis says, kissing his apology into the soft skin of your neck. Though it wasn’t on your lips, the press felt electric. “I just needed a taste.”
His words go straight to your cock and you feel another bead of precum drip from the head, just in time for Francis’ fingers as they wrap around the base.
You cum to Francis’ long fingers around your cock and to the feel of his cock digging into your back. With his chest pressed to your back, the groan he lets out as you come undone under his hands travels through your body. It almost feels as if he’s so close that he’s a part of you and the noise comes from your mouth. It makes you feel crazy. What makes you feel even crazier though is how much you moan for the man as your orgasm courses through your body.
Francis holds your body up with an arm wrapped around your stomach as you pant against the door and come down from the orgasm that just shot through your body. “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” Francis says, his voice full of promise, “it’s been a long day.”
It must be the drugs, you thought as you let him pull you up from the floor. Your soft cock gives a twitch from where it hangs between your legs. You weren’t even sure if it was worth buttoning your pants back up.
Francis was right, it had been a long day, but you had a feeling that you also had a long night ahead of you.
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✰ Shared Thoughts ✰
A Francis Mosses x GN!reader, chapter 1
Warnings: Gets steamy but no smut, no pronouns for reader but afab anatomy is used, francis calls reader ‘darling’, he also pleads for like one sentence ik you guys like that, not proofread <3 this is so bad and so self-indulgent i'm so sorry
Word Count: 1.7k
The tenant grumbled, barely keeping open your tired eyes, latching onto your ID and entry request as you waited for your turn to be interrogated just so you could be let into your own home. For a while, you thought the precaution was stupid until you experienced a “code red” for yourself. Typically, you were amongst the last to arrive at the apartment building, considering you worked late nights, almost every night. You didn’t mind it, really, as you had lots of free time living alone, so that meant you were home during the early hours of the day when most tenants had left and wouldn’t return home for a few more hours, and by that time, you’d be gone yourself.
You knew today would be especially tough entering the building, as you were called in to work suddenly, so you couldn’t put in a request in time to be put onto the list for today. Once it was your turn, your trudged along to the window, passing in your papers through the metal slit.
“Why aren’t you on the list?” The doorman asked, brows furrowed, clearing searching for any signs the tenant was a doppelgänger.
“Got called into work suddenly, wasn’t able to put my name on the list.” You explained, voice as monotone as ever. The doorman nodded, checking over a few things and making a phone call, before finally letting the tenant in.
You gave a small thanks, grabbed your papers back, and walked through the door. Sighing, you stepped into the elevator, ready to press the “four” button.
As you stepped back against the elevator, all your thoughts and anxieties began surfacing, most of them being of doppelgängers. What if the doorman let in one, killing us all? You didn’t doubt their abilities, but the thought always crossed your mind, with how often the alarm went off.
The elevator stopped with a ding! on the second floor, letting in another tenant of the building, Francis Mosses.
You thought of yourself as fairly close with Francis. A lot closer than the typical tenants are with the others. You two enjoyed each other's company, giving small hello’s as you passed by, small talk exchanged whenever he’d deliver the milk you’d ordered. There were a few times, as well, where you hung out at the other’s place, your shared exhaustion over your careers being a driving factor in the start of your friendship.
Now and then, in the pits of night, you found your mind drifting to the thoughts of Francis. How his bicep flexed as he lifted up the milk carrier, his button-up shirt tightening ever so slightly around his arms and elbow, leaving little to the imagination. Or how his sensual, monotone voice sent shivers down your spine.
But your relationship was purely platonic of course. These feelings would never be acted upon nor would they be reciprocated…
“Hello…? Earth to Y/N?” You were snapped out of your thoughts as the familiar voice filled your ears.
“Huh? Oh, sorry…” You mumbled, chuckling awkwardly. “Just.. tired from work.” I was totally not thinking about you… You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, both out of embarrassment and just from him looking at you.
“Mmm… Okay…” Francis nodded, albeit suspiciously. You prayed he didn’t notice the blush, and if he did, won’t say anything about it. Hopefully, he was up for as much conversation as you were at the moment… God knows what you would do to just lay down and take a nap right here.
You both stood in awkward silence, avoiding eye contact before Francis got off on the next floor. You breathed a sigh of relief, mentally berating yourself for allowing that to happen.
Once the elevator stopped on your floor, you bolted out and headed immediately to your apartment. There was always something so eerie about the hallways that made you want to be in them as little as possible. You struggled a bit with inserting your keys into the keyhole, but eventually, they implied and allowed you in. Closing, and locking, the door behind you, you breathed out, not even aware you were holding your breath.
You looked around your apartment, everything in the same place as it was before. Good. No doppelgängers have been in your home. The apartment was rather small, but that’s alright since you were the only person here. It was cozy that way. Trudging through the tiny hallway, you made it to your room, changing out of your work clothes and into some more comfortable ones. Immediately, you plopped down onto the bed and began drifting off to a dreamless sleep.
…Was that the sound of the phone? Well, it’ll be alright…
After what felt like only a few minutes, you heard someone knocking at your door, rather quickly. Begrudgingly, you sat up and got out of your bed, combing through your hair with your fingers to try to smooth down any bed head that developed in the small frame of time you were sleeping. You stood up, attempting to make yourself slightly presentable. Making your way to the door, you glanced at your rotary phone which sat on a small table next to the couch. You paused for a moment, wondering if the ringing you heard was real, but shrugged, assuming it was nothing.
You looked through the peephole of your door, spying the one and only Francis Mosses, at your door. He wasn’t in his usual milkman garb, but rather some common, everyday clothes. Quickly, you unlocked your door, opening it to greet Francis.
“Oh, hello.” You gave him a soft smile, cocking your head slightly. “Are you off the clock?”
“Yeah, my uh- my shift ended not too long ago.” He swallowed, nodding. “Wanted to check on you, you seemed real exhausted earlier.”
“Well, you did just wake me from a life-saving nap, but that's alright.” You quip, giving him a smirk as you move out of the doorway, allowing him in.
“Oh, I’m- I’m sorry, I can go–”
“No, no.” You shake your head, furrowing your brows. “Stay, please.”
He smiled at you, seemingly relieved you didn’t let him go. Internally, you were screaming, he never showed up to your apartment unless you had a pre-planned hang-out session, or he was doing his rounds, delivering the milk.
“Do you want anything? A snack, or…” You ask him, walking towards your tiny kitchen.
“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.” He said in that monotone voice that made your knees turn to jelly. Francis went and sat on the couch, you following close behind. “I, uhm.” He began, looking away. “I wanted to talk to you… I’ve been, thinking a lot. Since we talked in the elevator.”
Oh fuck, he’s so creeped out by me, isn’t he, you panic internally, but barely manage to scrape together your composure. “Oh- I’m sorry, about that I–” You started before he interrupted you.
“I’ve been thinking about… you specifically.” He gulped, causing your heart to race. “Now, you can slap me if you think I’m creepy or anything, but I’ve thought about just us in general for a while, long before the elevator. Y/N, I–” He grabbed your hand, looking you in the eyes, his own clouded with infatuation and something else you couldn’t quite make out. Before he could finish his sentence, you cupped his cheek with your free hand and kissed him with so much desperation your teeth clinked together. He was taken aback by this, not reciprocating, causing you to panic and think you misread the situation so you pulled back, breathing heavily.
“Fuck, did I- Did I fuck that up? Oh my god, I’m so–” He cut you off with a kiss of his own, holding the back of your head with his hand, keeping his grasp on you as he kissed you with a lot more passion and less desperation than the first. Immediately, you kissed back, snaking your arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss.
He broke the kiss first, to catch his breath. You smiled at him, letting out a small laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that.”
“Oh, but, I think I do,” Francis smirked, eyes darkening. “I’m a lot more perceptive than I think you realize. I’ve seen the glances you’ve stolen.” This caused you to blush and cover your face, burrowing into the crook of his neck. He maneuvered his head to give you a small kiss on your own, still smiling. “It’s cute, ‘loved knowing at least one person was paying attention to me.” He chuckled as you raised your head, still blushing fervently. He leaned in for another kiss, but this time it was much more needy, resting one hand on the nape of your neck and the other on your hip. Your hands entangled themselves in his hair, pulling your bodies as close together as possible.
“I’ve thought of you, so many nights.” You whispered between kisses.
“Trust me, me too, darling.” Francis groaned, biting down on your lip. You decided to tease him and keep your mouth closed. In turn, Francis snaked the hand on your hip up under your shirt, causing shivers to be sent up your spine, as you moaned into the kiss, which Francis took as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring every crevice he could, mapping and memorized the sensation.
You tugged on his hair, causing a moan from him to vibrate through you as he explored the inside of your mouth, your arousal growing further in your core. He cupped your breast through your bra, causing you to break from the kiss for a moment and moan his name, him looking at you, pleadingly, for consent to go further. You gave him an over-enthusiastic “yes” just before you kissed him again, but before either of you could continue further on, a loud ring ran through your house, coming from the doorbell. Whimpering a little, disappointed you had to pause your wonderful makeout session with Francis Mosses, you stood up, smoothing out any wrinkles on your clothes. Heading towards the door, you ponder over who it could be. You knew you shouldn’t have any visitors today, and you certainly weren’t close enough with your other neighbors for a surprise one.
As you leaned up to peek through the peephole, all you were met with were eyes just like your own, a face sculpted just like yours, with the most sinister smile plastered on.
It was your doppelgänger.
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Your Girl
Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader
—-
synopsis: late at night, you and clarisse get to know one another.
a/n: ykw i dont even know what i write anymore just enjoy it i truly just listen to the wind oh my god
Your Girl - Lana Del Rey (Unreleased)
warnings: im sorry im obsessed w the nightmare trope, friends to lovers MEYOW, HURT COMFORT, clarisse just wants to KISS, light tension, very light and fluffy tho…. not a lot of angst tbh, POSSESSIVE CLARISSE I SCREAMED, mutual pining YESSSSS, they’re in love but they don’t think the other could be in love w them, clarisse knows what she wants and sets out to get it, monsters- again it’s a drakon bc i’m evil, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of weapons, weed and smoking, substance abuse idk if it’s addiction my health teacher would be so disappointed, shotgunning weed, idk what’s happening honestly we’re all along for the ride, tell me if i missed anything!!
—-
You don’t know where Clarisse gets it from, but she has good weed.
They’re these perfectly little rolled blunts, with some sort of amazing concoction inside- you can’t even be bothered to care that it’s bad for you. Not when it makes you feel so good, not when it makes everything else fade away.
So, that’s why you’re here now. Sitting in the woods, leaning against a rock covered in moss, staring up at the stars. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you’re just here next to each other. But tonight, you think you took one too many hits, so you’re feeling a little sentimental.
“I would fucking die without you, Clarisse.”
She snorts. “Yeah, probably.”
“No, no, not just like- because you’re so strong, and stuff, but because of this fucking weed. I can’t sleep without it, y’know.”
She hums.
“And, like, you need sleep to live, or else your brain will like eat itself, or something ridiculous. Did you know that?”
She looks at you, mouth curved into an unimpressed smile, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t, and I care so much. Thanks for telling me, leech.”
“That’s mean,” you huff.
“Then stop leeching off of me and stealing my weed.”
Clarisse always looks so pretty in the moonlight. You would never admit that to anyone, but in the dark when your head is all hazy- you know she’s pretty. She’s beautiful, if you’re being honest, but she’s also your dealer- you can’t risk upsetting her. But still, sometimes you’re not sure how she isn’t a daughter of Aphrodite.
But you know better than anyone else that she gets everything from Ares, like she’s a carbon copy of him.
She gets her precision, her strength, her tactical mind, her rolling storm of emotions from him.
Except, there’s a softness in her. Only here, in the moonlight. You don’t know if it’s you or the weed, but you like to think it’s you. You like to think that Clarisse likes you as much as you like her, not just tolerates you for your mediocre company.
She’s sitting with one foot planted onto the ground, hair pulled back all messy, her arm balancing on her knee. The joint is held out conveniently towards you, lazily in between her fingers, so you flip yourself onto your stomach and reach out with open lips.
She smiles and flips the joint around, placing it onto your lips. Your close your eyes and your mouth, breathing in deeply. Gods, does it taste horrible, but you love it too much.
You pull back and breathe out the smoke.
“You love me, and my weed-stealing tendencies.”
“Uh, yeah, okay,” she rolls her eyes.
—-
Clarisse probably trains more than any other demigod at camp. Thirty minutes after dinner, like clockwork, you can find her heading to the field where all the sparring dummies live.
Clarisse is probably your only true friend at camp. You stick to yourself for the most part, hang out with your siblings, but besides for that it’s Clarisse. And she’s the same way. She hangs out with her siblings, and then you. Of course- everyone at Camp knows her name and her ruthless reputation.
You’re unknown, she’s known. She’s the best fighter you’ve ever seen, you’re mediocre, compared to her. She helps you at every turn, you’re the one getting helped by her. She’s mean to everyone, and you’re kind to whoever happens upon you.
You force each other to bring out the other sides of yourself no one gets to see. Clarisse gets to be soft, you get to be loud and annoying. You’re friends, but you both get something out of it.
She’s your friend, your dealer, your savior.
If the first day you came to camp, running through the woods with a drakon hot on your heels and your mouth split open into a scream- maybe Clarisse and her siblings wouldn’t have turned around and noticed the drakon.
Of course, Clarisse was the one who actually killed it, and she was the one who hoisted you up from where you had collapsed, breathing heavily. She was the one who actually made sure you weren’t hurt while your satyr protector panicked about having to face the Cloven Council.
She was the one who found you in the middle of the night, that drakon hissing in your ear, she was the one who gave you the claw she had pried from it’s dead body, she was the one who told you it was dead and nothing could hurt you in Camp.
“Clarisse!” you call, running towards her. Most campers like to wind down after dinner, so the field is empty.
“Leech,” she says when you reach her, leaning her spear against a dummy and stretching her arms above her head.
You always come everyday. You ask her the same question.
“Do you have it?”
She digs under her armor, pulling out the small cloth containing the blunt. “You would probably go insane if I didn’t.”
You feel calmer just looking at it. You smile sheepishly up at her.
“You know I can’t sleep without it, Clarisse.”
She looks away, stuffing it back under her armor, against her stomach.
“Maybe you should try and skip one night.”
You scoff. “I don’t feel like pulling an all-nighter, Clarisse.”
She nods, but her face is riddled with concern. “Okay, angel,” she mutters, so low you can barely hear it. But you do. You hear her call you angel, and you turn away instead of slamming your lips into hers.
—-
After that first night, you slept with that claw tight into your hand. And it was fine. You still had the occasional nightmare, but every demigod had those. But the older you got, the more monsters you learned about, the more comfortable you got with being a demigod- the more the nightmares came. Knowing the drakon was dead didn’t help, and the nightmares got worse and worse until Clarisse found you again one night.
You had drifted apart from her. She had her life and you had hers, but ever since you’ve been bonded by the nights.
She wrapped her arms around you and let you cry, mumbling about how she was the strongest demigod at camp, and there was the barrier, and nothing would ever get through to you.
She was soft in that moment. And you could tell she regretted it, because she ignored you for the next few days until one of her siblings pushed you to the ground. She appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his shirt, yelling that if he ever touched you again, she’d fucking kill him.
While he sputtered and asked why she cared about some stupid weak girl, she helped you up and said: “She’s my girl.”
And since that day 3 months ago, you’ve always been her girl. Neither of you really knew what that meant, except you liked being around each other and you liked this transaction. Clarisse liked owning something. You liked belonging to someone.
That’s what this entire friendship is about- convenience.
So, that’s why Clarisse being concerned about you makes you feel weird. You care about Clarisse, she cares about you- but only enough that she doesn’t want to see you hurt by someone else. But who is she to stop you when you’re the one hurting yourself?
You arrive at the rock in the forest, fingers twisting together. Clarisse is already there, lighter and blunt set out on the ground, polishing her spear.
“Hey,” she says, looking down.
“Hi.”
You sit down, eager to get your hands on the weed and forget about the way Clarisse’s concern confuses you.
You stare at your shaking hand.
Gods, are you really that nervous?
Clarisse’s eyes are sharp, she notices everything, she processes it much faster than you can ever dream to. It’s why she’s so quick in battle. She’s a well oiled machine and you’re the one job she’s assigned to do- she knows you by heart after all these nights.
Her spear is pushed off her lap. “Why are you shaking?” she says, voice low and raspy, her hand cupping yours.
“Low blood sugar,” you lie. “I’ll grab a snack before I go to bed.”
She says nothing, but you watch her hesitate as she grabs the blunt and the lighter from the ground, you watch her hesitate again as she goes to light it. But she lights it, she sticks it in between her fingers and holds it out to you.
“C’mere,” she mutters, and you lean forward and let her place the blunt on your parted lips. You breathe in, only for a few seconds, and you could go for a lot longer.
“I wasn’t done,” you huff as she takes her own drag.
“My weed,” she shrugs. “I decide how much you get.”
“You’re a bitch.”
She laughs. She laughs and it makes your stomach twist in such a good way you can’t feel like this anymore, you can’t remember what she does to you, what she called you.
You reach out blindly for the blunt, biting your lip as you practically climb on top of her.
“Clarisse!” you yell, but she seems to find your desperation hilarious, holding the blunt out as far as she can. “I fucking hate you, oh my Gods.”
“Okay, okay, fine,” she says, pushing you off of her. You realize you’re laying on your stomach in between her legs, one hand planted to the ground around her leg, the other reaching out.
She leans back and takes another drag. You roll your eyes and move to attack her, but she’s too fast, sitting up and holding your hand down, her other hand grabbing your chin. She breathes out the smoke right into your lips that are parted in shock, smiling as you stare right into her amused eyes.
She leans back while you sit there stupidly on top of her, blowing out the smoke. “That- that’s- I hate you, did I mention that?”
“You did,” she muses. “But we both know you’re lying.”
You look at her, at her wide smile, at the look in her eyes. You want nothing more than to be her girl- her girl in the way that she’ll kiss your head, tell you about all the things you’ll never do, she’ll lay down with you in a bed of soft pillows. Her girl in the way the reason she’s soft in the moonlight isn’t the weed, it’s because of you. Her girl in the way you can run to her, the way you do now, but with the added connotation of love.
You grab the joint, and she lets you, watching intently as you breathe in and blow out the smoke. She has no right to be worried over you. Not when you’re the one making the choice to waste away your youth. And especially when you’re not her girl- not in the way you want to be.
—-
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” she hums.
You sit back against the rock. Normally, you would have been here 20 minutes ago.
You didn’t catch her after dinner, and you stayed firmly in your bed until it all got to be too much. You’re terrified of sleeping, of the nightmares that will come- but for some reason, the weed just puts you at such ease that you don’t have any nightmares.
You didn’t want to be near Clarisse tonight. Not after yesterday, not after the way she’s been making you feel, and the fact that you know she could never really like you. Why would she? You are the stupid weak girl who gets pushed over. You run from drakon’s and can’t even sleep because of nightmares.
Clarisse is fiercely protective of those she loves, but you’re too much work.
You wanted to go one night. One night without the weed, and prove to her and yourself that you don’t need it. You’re not that weak.
But you couldn’t.
You sit down, she looks at your tense shoulders and doesn’t tease you, just hands you the blunt. You mumble something of a thank you, looking up at the stars, shoulders relaxing after a few more breaths.
“I, uh, I tried to skip. Tonight, I mean. I tried not to come.” It’s embarrassing to admit this. You’re so scared of the nightmares that even if it’s a placebo effect, you come back to this clearing every night.
“But you couldn’t?” she asks.
“I couldn’t,” you affirm, staring at the ground.
“Well, you can’t just go cold turkey, dummy. You have to wean yourself off of it. Do you not remember, like, any of those nicotine patch ads?” she laughs. “You’ve got a good memory, you remember.”
“Shut up, meanie,” you mumble, raising the joint to your lips. She stops you.
“Ah-ah. Starts now. Make it a good one, ‘cause that’s your last, baby.”
“Fine,” you mumble, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You breathe in for a long time, tempted to go a little longer, but Clarisse reaches over and pinches your cheek. “Okay!” you yell, throwing the joint back to her.
She laughs and raises it to her own lips, taking in another long drag before putting it out.
You look at her, silent question in the air. She shrugs.
“Been meaning to slow down for a while, why not do it together?”
“Yeah,” you hum, looking back towards the stars. “Oh, hey, Ares is out tonight.” She looks over.
“Yeah,” she muses. “Fuckin’ Ares.”
“It’s still beautiful,” you say, stars in your eyes. “You have to think about it the way mortals do. They don’t know the Gods put them up there- they think it’s just some random spotting of stars, they think they made patterns out of it. Isn’t that beautiful? To make patterns and people out of stars? To look for humanity where there is none?”
“I never thought about it like that,” Clarisse says.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” you ask. You can feel her eyes on you.
“Yeah,” she affirms. “Beautiful.”
—-
The next two weeks goes by the same. You don’t catch Clarisse after dinner, but you come every night, you smoke a little less, she teases you and gets closer to you. She gets bolder and bolder and you get shyer and shyer.
You still feel like too much. If she just lets you prove this to her and to yourself, the maybe you can lean against the rock with her and flirt back.
—-
You meet Clarisse by the rock. She’s still standing, waiting for you. She takes the last of the blunt you’ve been using for the last few days and lights it, taking one small drag before she flips it around and holds it out to you.
“C’mon,” she guides. “Not too much, I’ll stop you.”
You feel kind of like a baby as Clarisse puts the joint on her lips, fingertips against your face to steady her hand. You breathe in for just a second, tempted for more, but she takes it away. You look up at her, fingers twisted together.
“Clarisse, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
She leaves the blunt to blow out in the wind in the natural dip of the rock, your own little ashtray at the top. Of course, Clarisse will come and collect it the next morning- you don’t want to upset the nymphs and satyrs in the forest.
“It’s a good idea,” she affirms. “Don’t worry, okay?”
You’re scared. You remember being chased by the drakon even now, you remember it’s snarls, you remember it’s claws moving through the air. You remember your heart pumping in your ears, you remember the stones in your stomach that were supposed to be fear.
You feel like Kronos, but what you swallowed wouldn’t just sit idly inside of you- no, your fear would rip through your stomach and your skin and burst out of you in an explosion of blood, like some sick joke of a firework.
She grabs your wrists. Clarisse is soft, here, in the moonlight.
“Hey, it’s okay. I-I was thinking, I didn’t know if you were gonna be okay, but why don’t you sleep in my cabin?”
You shift on your feet. “Clar, no, I can’t ask you to do that. What if we get caught? And I-I- it’s embarrassing, what if your siblings see? What if they tell everyone?”
Clarisse rolls her eyes and tugs you closer from where you had subconsciously started to drift away.
“They already think we’re dating, anyways. Besides, Y/N, no one cares. Most of my siblings have secrets anyways,” she smiles.
“Wh- we’re dating? They think- why?”
Her face is deadpan. “‘Cause you’re my girl.”
You pull back. “Clarisse.”
“What?” she says, slightly incredulous. “You are. You’re about the only person I can tolerate at this camp. I hope you know that. I know I can be horrible, but really, I… care about you a lot.”
You look in her eyes. There’s no lies, no insincerity.
“I know, Clarisse. And I… I appreciate it so much. You’re, like, my only friend,” you smile.
She smiles back but it’s tight. “Friend, yeah.”
You put your arms around her neck and hug her. It’s the first time you’ve ever really hugged her, and her arms wrap tight around your waist. Her mouth presses against your hair. You let yourself be her girl in this moment.
Clarisse is your best friend. She cares about you. Of course she helps you with this. She’s your best friend. Of course you let her.
—-
You do follow Clarisse back to the Ares cabin, back to her bed- and she points to one of her siblings you can’t see in the dark, but there are two figures in the bed. She smiles and you stifle a laugh.
You know better than anyone else that big bad Ares kids are like a marshmallow on the inside. They act all tough, and they are pretty tough, but there’s a soft spot inside of them only unlocked by one person with the right key.
You notice her sibling has their arm around the other person. You wonder if Clarisse will wrap her arm around you like that too.
Clarisse climbs into her bed, opening the covers for you. The beds at Camp are twin sized, but you can fit two people on them if you’re close together. You don’t hesitate, not anymore, not when you have one chance to pretend you’re really hers.
You lay on your side, facing her, hands tucked up by your chest. Her eyes meet yours, she brushes her curls out of her face.
“Good?” she asks. You nod, breathing out.
“‘M fine,” you say.
She rubs your arm, cold from the dark night. “Just relax, okay? Just close your eyes, Y/N.”
You do, you close your eyes, but you’re so fucking terrified you can’t.
“Clarisse,” you breathe, a plead. For what, you don’t know. You want a million things from her in this moment. It’s not fair of you to ask her, you know this, but it doesn’t stop you from asking.
Your breath comes fast, your nails dig into your palms, but you keep your eyes screwed shut like sleep will just magically hit you like a train.
“It’s okay,” Clarisse says, firm. “Why are you so scared?” she whispers.
“They’re so real,” you whisper, your voice breaking.
“They’re not.”
She wraps her arms around you so tight you feel like she’s crushing you. But it keeps you in the moment. If you focus on the way her skin feels against yours, on the way her thumb brushes your shoulder blade, her fingertips scratching the back of your scalp.
If you focus, if you imagine all the thing you and her will never do, if you imagine being her girl, then you can fall asleep.
You dream of her lips pressing against your head, her voice in your ear, calling you her angel.
—-
You wake up, Clarisse still wrapped around you, and slowly detangle yourself. Drool pools at the corner of her lips, and you have to bite back a giggle as you slip out of the blankets and into the warm riding sun.
She looks just as pretty in the sunlight as she does in the moonlight. You feel like a lover slipping out of a bed of secrets. But you’re not. You’re just a friend slipping out of a bed of rumors.
She looks so peaceful, you can’t help but wonder if she always sleeps like this- or if having you next to her had the same effect on her sleep as it did to yours.
—-
There’s a loud knock at your cabin door.
There’s only you and a few of your siblings in here, putting the final touches on their outfits for the day, grabbing the last items they need. One of your younger siblings open the door, and you look around the pillars- maybe it’s a counselor doing some sort of inspection? You take a glance around your bunk- but it’s all clean.
Your eyes meet hers.
“Out,” she says, roughly. She looks at you so intently you almost wonder if she’s talking to you. But when you siblings stand there in shock, she looks away. “Well? I said get out, dummies.”
They exchange looks with you, but eventually shuffle out, not wanting to risk Clarisse and her wrath.
She shuts the door behind your last sibling.
“Being tough has it perks, huh?” she smiles, leaning against the door. Your shirt isn’t even pulled on properly, one of your bra straps is already falling down your shoulder from the act of putting your shirt on, and you’re staring at her with your mouth wide open.
She looks you up and down.
“C-Clarisse, what-?”
She walks over to you, frown etched onto her face.
“I woke up and you weren’t there.”
“Oh,” you say. “I… I thought you would have wanted me gone-”
“Don’t care. If you’re going to sleep with me then you need to wake me up and tell me you’re leaving.”
She rolls her eyes at your confusion. She sits on your bed and then gestures animatedly for you to sit down.
“Did you not sleep well?” she fusses. “What’s up with you this morning?”
“I slept great, Clarisse, it’s just- why are you here?”
“To tell you that you can’t leave,” she deadpans. “I mean, you spend all night shaking in my arms, terrified, and then I wake up and you’re not there? I almost killed someone. You’re lucky I decided to check here first, Y/N.”
She laughs. She laughs like it’s so funny.
“Why?” you ask.
“‘Cause you’re my girl,” she shrugs. “And-”
“Clarisse, what does that mean?”
You know what you want. And you’re not dumb, but you’re the only friend Clarisse really has- what did you have to compare it to? You’ve been thinking about it in your head, rolling it around like a diamond- each side reflects something you want from her. Her love, her protection, her touch, her time, her.
She plays with her fingers. “It means… I like touching you. I like protecting you. I like being near you. I like your voice and your face.”
She stares at you blankly, like she’s recounting a grocery list, waiting for an affirmative “yes, I heard you.” But all you can do is stare in shock, trying to make your brain catch up with your heart- Clarisse likes your face. Clarisse feels the same way you do. You can be her girl, and you’re not too much for her, you’re not just friends.
“Oh, fuck it,” she mumbles. She places her hand on your face and pecks your lips. “That’s what it means, okay? I’m, like, embarrassingly in love with you, if you haven’t noticed.”
Clarisse is so blunt and forward it makes your head spin.
She stares into your eyes, searching them for something other than shock and confusion.
“Okay,” she says. Shuffling back. You can tell she’s hurt and embarrassed, but her face reveals nothing other than faux confidence and indifference. “I’ll go, I guess-”
“Bitch,” you mumble, slamming your lips onto hers.
It feels so overwhelmingly right and fills you with such a calmness that weed could never compare to. If you were dependent on the joints, then one taste and you’re addicted to Clarisse. She kisses you back with just as much ferocity, throwing your arms around her neck, trying to swallow you whole with her mouth as she grabs your neck with one hand, your face with the other.
It’s months of tension and wanting, lips touching through the passing of a joint, all of it coming down to this moment that feels so bad, so sinful- surely the Gods must frown upon loving someone this much. You would never pray to any of them again if it meant Clarisse would keep kissing you like this.
When she finally pulls back, you’re both smiling wide, leaning into her palm, hands playing with the curls at the base of her neck. You feel like a giddy school girl. You feel like a lover discovering something wildly new and unknown, promising to keep it secret, sealing it with a kiss of pure fire.
“That was such a mean way to confess to someone,” you say. “Just bitchy. Brass and blunt- harsh, even.”
“Shut up,” she mumbles, pressing her face against yours.
“Yeah, it’s okay. I know you’re a big softie who drools in her sleep.” She pulls away and glares at you.
“I don’t fucking drool, Y/N. You’re seeing things.”
You fake frown, bringing her closer to you. “Such a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend?” she breathes, swollen lips parting like she’s aching to kiss you again.
“Your girlfriend,” you affirm, staring straight into her eyes.
You sunk more into becoming a demigod and all it got you was nightmares and a fear of sleeping. But the more you sunk into being her girl, the more you sunk into loving her and being loved.
You don’t know where Clarisse gets her softness from. Certainly not from her father. She didn’t learn to kiss your head from him. She didn’t learn how to hold you, how to call you hers, how to whisper in your ear from Ares.
You don’t know where Clarisse gets her softness from, but it’s good.
—-
SHOUTOUT TO clarisse “cause you’re my girl” la rue LOVE YOUR POSSESSIVE ASS!!!!!!!!
—-
clarisse when y/n smokes weed: oh so pretty……
clarisse when y/n can only fall asleep bc of her arms or her weed: my girl fr……..
clarisse when y/n: oh my wonderful perfect angel
—-
y/n: BITCH
clarisse: YOURE SO HOT FUCK
—-
where did clarisse get her weed from you may ask? me that’s where she got it from i ripped through the fabric of reality to give it to her to make this happen actually and you’re welcome
—-
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