꒰ 𝓢ummary ❥ You should really be more careful with your stuff, especially if it includes personal or embarrassing stuff!
꒰ 𝓣ags ❥ First fanfic ⸝⸝ lesbians ⸝⸝ fluff ⸝⸝ best friends to lovers ⸝⸝ yearning ⸝⸝ slightly suggestive ⸝⸝ mentions of violence ⸝⸝ Butchfemme (reader is a hopeless romantic coded hyperfemme) ⸝⸝ reader fell first and Clarisse fell harder!
꒰ 𝓐/𝓝 ❥ Reader is an Aphrodite camper, and Clarisse is butch in my writing but it's not mentioned in this fanfic! ૮₍ • ˕ - ₎ა♡
Click, click, click..
You sat in your cabin, dazedly clicking your pen as you swung your feet in the air. You've been in the same position for the last hour, figuring out how to start your diary entry. A lot happened today and you couldn't think straight, your heart was racing.
You didn't know where to start, you couldn't decide on chronological order or just blabbering out your girlish excitement on paper—but you hated not being able to understand your notes when you read them later on, so you chose the latter.
꒰ D/at/e ❥ 𝓓ear diary.. Today might've been the best day of my stupid demigoddess life. I know I say that every entry, but Gods, I might mean it this time. To start, this morning, Clarisse kicked her own brother, like actually kicked with her foot, off the seat next to her to make space for me.
I know it's kinda disrespectful to my mother to not sit at my table, but certainly she has to understand! I'm so in love it's embarrassing, and love is her thing!
Anyways, when I took the seat next to her, she hooked her arm around my shoulder and gave me that damn grin. That one! Gods, I could squeal just thinking about it. I'm so fucked! I had to play it cool though, and thank Aphrodite I did. However, I lost my cool completely when later, an hour after lunch. Sh
Bang!
Your head whirled around to your cabin door while you hurriedly shut your diary and shoved it under your pillow, breath hitching even higher than before as you clicked your pen closed and quickly put it into the pen cup on your head board.
"Clarisse!" You said breathlessly, sitting up and sucking in air so you didn't look panicked. Clarisse seemed to notice, but by a miracle she said nothing and just slammed the door behind her. She didn't say anything until she got close enough to drop herself onto your bed right next to you, taking up most of the mattress' space. It's not like you cared though.
"Hey, loser." She greeted blandly, her arms crossed over her chest. Even when you're one of the few people she actually cared about, sweet nicknames didn't come easy. Though it didn't make you upset, you were obviously used to it.
"Hi. Uhh.. What are you doing here?" 'You interrupted my time to gush over you in my diary' is what you wanted to say, and you're glad Ares kids can't read minds, because she just shrugged casually—the complete opposite of what your mind was.
You were trying so hard not to stare, but her biceps looked like they were reflecting light just to grab your attention. They were so smooth depsite being scarred.
'What I'd do just to get a bite..'
She jabbed you in the shoulder to grab your attention, and you jolted out of it.
"Earth to dumbass!" She snapped.
"Sorry! What were you saying?" You squeaked, adrenaline rushing through you like sugar in a kid.
She scoffed, trying not to laugh. She saw how you were staring. She always did. Yet she never said anything, because if she'd ever brought it up, she was terrified she'd stutter and do a shit job at flirting with you. Ares kids stuck to one thing for a reason.
But fuck does she love it when the girl of her dreams stares at her.
"I said I'm here to bother you, obviously. I'm allowed to come over whenever I want." She snarked, nudging you again—but just soft enough not to hurt, only to wobble you a little.
You giggled a bit, to make up for the fluttery feeling in your stomach. If you didn't giggle at least a little, you might squeal in giddiness. Even looking at her made you want to take a large bite out of her.
"I didn't say you couldn't, and also, you'd break in anyway. But seriously, bothering me? Is that all?" 'Did you come over because you wanted to see me? Am I on your mind like you're on my mind? Do you love me? Tell me you do. I wish I was your girl.'
She shrugged casually again, leaning back and kicking off her shoes to lean against the wall. "That and see if you had any snacks I could eat. I'm on dessert ban again." She lied smoothly, to not give away the fact you were on her mind all day and she was sure she was going to punch someone if she didn't see you soon.
Your heart sank a little because you couldn't get a single read from her just by those two boring sentences. Snacks? Really? Fuck, you wished she'd just kiss you. Your lipgloss is sweet like candy.
But you didn't say that, of course. Instead, you just pulled out your candy jar from under the bed and passed it over. She grinned, unscrewing it to grab all her favorites—that you only had for her anyway. You knew she knew this part at least, because she always took all of them, and usually she'd spare some food for you.
The next day came quick. Clarisse was busy with punishments for the rest of that evening, so it all ended pretty fast, despite neither of you truly wanting to part. At least you were able to finish your diary entry, which took up about two pages, front and back. There was a lot of freaking out in there.
The morning was quick too, and so was the evening. It felt quick because you were with Clarisse the entire day, yapping off each other's ears while the passerby's stared at you both like you each grew two heads, because no one got that close to Clarisse unless they wanted to lose a body part.
Now, it was around time to settle down for the night. Clarisse had other plans though. She really didn't want to leave you. She loved you a lot. She spent the entire day trying to subtle stare at you like you rose the sun and the moon, memorizing the shape of your nose and the glaze of your lips. She never wanted to forget it.
But the sappy shit wasn't her thing. It was yours. So whenever you almost caught her, her eyes snapped away like looking at you burned her pupils. It made you a little sad, because you were too busy trying not to stare at her for you to notice she was staring at you.
Now you chatted mindlessly in her cabin, in the separate room that was for cabin counselors. You sat on her bed, and she was punching at a dummy to keep her antsy tendencies under control.
Somehow, the topic of crushes came up. Oh boy.
Both of you were tense. Her punches were harder, you were gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise.
"Having a crush is like being fuckin' hypnotized and your mind forcing you into thinking about them all the time. It's so stupid." She said bitterly, throwing a particularly hard punch. She was just lying to herself and you, she didn't mean it. You weren't stupid. You just took up a lot of her mind space, and all demigods already had ADHD.
You swallowed the sad feeling in your stomach. You never thought of crushes as stupid, love was never stupid to you. But you knew Clarisse, and how she could get about certain stuff, so you told yourself not to take it too seriously.
"That's a funny way to think about it, but yeah, kinda. I don't think it's stupid though." You shrugged, making her pause for a moment. She tried to keep her facial expressions in control, but her lips twitched a bit as a fluttery feeling twisted into her gut.
"You say that like you have a crush." She teased, backing up from the dummy to take a water break. She took her water bottle from her nightstand and sat down next to you, noticing your tense shoulders. She furrows her eyebrows. Fuck.
"You have a crush." She said. It wasn't a question.
You said nothing, instead following your fight or flight. You shot up from the bed, snatching your open bag up from the floor and snagging it over your shoulder—and just then, your diary fell out. Unlocked.
Clarisse was just about to stop you from walking away, but the book instantly caught her attention. As you gasped, she knew it was important, shooting down to grab it from the floor before you could.
You nearly screamed, dropping your bag and hurriedly crawling onto the bed to snatch it back. "Give it back!" You said, your hand coming out to grab it before it was swatted away.
"Fuck no, let me see!" She groaned, her face strangely upset compared to the moment before. Her gut told her this notebook said something about your crush, and she was jealous. Very jealous.
She grabbed your wrist, tugging on you and flipping you onto your stomach to sit on your back and read it. Not out loud, so at least she wasn't publicly shaming you. You were already dying.
"Clarisse, please! Don't read it!" You pleaded, trying to get her off of you, though it wasn't no use because she was a hunk of muscle. You couldn't help but admit to yourself you liked the weight of her on you. She always ran hot, too. She was hot.
Which you admitted in your diary, that she was ignoring you so she could read—there was only so much she could get right with Dyslexia. Her silence terrified you, because she was never silent. You immediately gave up, bracing yourself for Tartarus on earth.
Instead, she laughed.
"Oh wow.." She whistled. "I know you're a daughter of Aphrodite.. but fuck. A little pervy, huh?" She laughed, so she wouldn't crash from relief. She flipped all the way to the first page you started talking about your crush on her to check the date. "Shit.. three years." She muttered, mostly to herself.
Three years was almost the same amount of time for her too. Except, it was two years for her. A very torturous two years, because Ares kids didn't do love. You were used to waiting, she wasn't.
You fell first, she fell harder.
She dropped the diary onto the floor, letting you go and flipping you over. You were trembling, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. She tugged you up by the collar of your shirt, holding you there for a moment just to look at you.
You were the prettiest thing she had ever seen.
She couldn't take it anymore, tugging you into her lap, grabbing a handful of your hair and pressing your lips together. All your tension went away just like that. At least the tension in your body. The tension between you two skyrocketed. Then you just had to whimper, and that was enough to set her off.
She slapped at your thigh for you to kiss back, and you jolted before you did, wrapping your arms around her neck as tears prickled in your eyes. You had always been the sensitive type, always so against the player stereotype of your cabin. You were all love and glitter. That's what made her fall in love.
When you finally pulled away, you sniffled, and she gave a small laugh. A little nervous, a little smug.
"You taste like candy." She teased. You wiped your eyes and giggled, nuzzling into her neck and hugging her tight. You yearned for this for years, so you had to savor this.
"It's my lipgloss.." You finally said, speaking after the long few minutes of shocked silence.
"I think it's your perfume bleeding into my nose and tastebuds." She said mockingly.
You huffed, before sinking your teeth into her shoulder for payback. She tensed, grunting before pulling your head back by the hair she had grabbed. You whined again, and she loosened her grip in reponse.
"That's a girlfriend privilege, little shit." She growled.
"So are you gonna ask me?" You asked sassily, earning another smack to the thigh that made you jolt.
"Fine. Will you—" "Yes!"
A quick silence fell, before you giggled giddily and dug your face into her neck again. Now it was her turn to be silent. She couldn't believe she finally had someone that actually loved her for her and understood her.
Also.. you don't have to spend your time wishing to be her girl anymore.
𝓐aaahhh!! My first fanfic posted, I'm so scared!! I hope whoever you are likes it! Please follow and interact so other people can see my future work! ! ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১
paring: clarisse la rue x daughter of athena!reader
description: being a daughter of athena had never been so dangerous, nor so exhilarating, as dating clarisse la rue. tall, muscular, and imposing, clarisse is the definitive big girl. she carries you in her arms without effort, takes down enemies with a single blow, and best of all, uses all that brute strength to make you feel small, safe, and absurdly desired.
warnings: clarisse being a big girl; english isn't my first language, sorry in advance!
a/c: i just saw a clarisse edit with big boy - sza, and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since. #iwantthiswoman
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Of all the experiences you had to go through as a daughter of Athena in Camp Half-Blood, the most unusual one was definitely dating Clarisse La Rue. Yes, that Clarisse, the daughter of Ares who hated everyone and had an obvious stance that screamed "don't mess with me".
She was the camp bully, always leading brutal training sessions in the arena, where the sand floor ended up marked with footprints and sweat drops, and intimidating newbies with a single glance. Definitely not the type to open her heart to soft things like a relationship. But the two of you followed that cliché script of "the only exception".
You could even say that everything started a few months ago, because it was true, it was recent, so recent that it still hadn't fully sunk in for you, but the reality was that Clarisse had had her eyes on you for much longer than that.
It was during a joint mission two months ago, when you were both sent to put an end to some monsters lurking around the barrier, that the first kiss happened. It wasn't gentle, much less romantic; it was as if Clarisse was desperate to quench a thirst of years, and in the end, you discovered that it really was. A few more kisses were enough for her to claim you as her girlfriend.
There was no asking, just: "You're my girlfriend now."
The relationship wasn't exactly a secret in camp. Gossip spread fast, like the wind blowing through the grassy hills around the lake. It wasn't as if you wanted to hide it either. But it only took someone seeing you exchanging glances during meals in the dining pavilion, or Clarisse going easier on you during training, for the news to spread.
It didn't take much for people to suspect something like that. Especially because that would never be normal behavior for a daughter of Ares. Even more so if that daughter was La Rue.
But Clarisse had a reputation to protect: the tough one, the ruthless leader of the Ares cabin, with red walls and weapons hung like trophies. Publicly, she was reserved about your relationship, but possessive in the smallest details. Sometimes a casual arm around your shoulders, or pinkies linked during a walk along the gravel path leading to the beach, even a sharp look at anyone who got too close to you.
"Hey, idiot, back off," she growled at a son of Apollo who dared to flirt with you once, her deep voice echoing in the circle of logs around the fire.
But it was behind closed doors that she let herself melt in your arms.
You remember a recent afternoon: You escaped to a hidden clearing, where sunlight filtered through green leaves, creating light patterns on the soft moss-covered ground. The air smelled of pine and fresh earth, and the distant sound of birds chirping broke the silence. Clarisse, who minutes earlier had been arguing with a camper in the arena, now leaned against you, her head in your lap while you sat with your back against a thick tree.
"Why do you have to be so annoying?" she murmured, but without any venom in her voice, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm that rested over her stomach.
You laughed, running the fingers of your free hand through her hair, feeling the soft curls between them.
"Annoying? Me? You're the one who keeps fighting with everyone," you shot back, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I just told you to relax a little."
She grumbled something unintelligible, but leaned into your touch, something no one would ever imagine from the bully Clarisse La Rue. Her strong body relaxed against yours, and for a few minutes, the bravado disappeared.
"I only relax with you." She murmured, sighing in satisfaction at the feeling of your soft lips pressing against hers. "Don't tell anyone, or I'll throw you in the lake."
It was the phrase you heard most often in her voice.
You stayed there for an hour, talking about nonsense: how she hated the "cowardly" strategies of Athena kids, but admitted yours was brilliant, or how you watched her training alone at dawn, the sun rising behind her while she wielded the spear with lethal precision.
But there was one thing about Clarisse that was too much for you to handle: she was a fucking big girl.
In the most literal sense possible. Because of her notable height, she forced you to stand on tiptoes every time you wanted to really kiss her, and that happened way too often, because Clarisse wasn't the type to ask permission. She simply leaned down, or pulled you by the waist with one hand, as if you weighed less than the spear she carried during training.
Her muscles were defined in a way that made anyone stop and stare: broad shoulders, arms that looked carved from stone after years of carrying heavy shields and wielding weapons most campers could barely lift. The marked abs always showed when she took off her shirt to train in the summer heat, sweat droplets running down lines that looked drawn with pencil. And the legs...
God, you wouldn't have the sanity to describe her legs right now.
You hated it just as much as you loved how it made you feel small next to her. It wasn't just height, it was presence. When Clarisse entered a room, the air changed. Conversations dropped in volume, eyes looked away, and she didn't even need to say anything. But with you it was different. With you, she used all that strength to protect you, hold you, carry you as if it were nothing.
The first experience you had was a few weeks before you became anything.
You could swear it was the hottest day of the entire summer. The air was heavy, humid, the kind that stuck to your skin and made every breath feel like effort. The sun beat down hard on camp, reflecting off the lake like a mirror of fire, and the smell of burnt grass mixed with sweat hung everywhere. Even the Apollo kids, who normally loved soaking up every ray, were complaining.
You heard one of them, a blond boy with messy hair, grumbling as he passed carrying his bow: "I was born for this, but today it feels like punishment." No one could stay still for long without wanting to dive into the water or throw themselves into the shade.
You were exhausted. After hours of nonstop training in the arena, running, dodging, trying to hit moving targets while sweat ran into your eyes and blurred everything, your body simply gave up. You dragged yourself to the nearest shade you found: a large tree near the lake shore, with exposed roots forming an improvised bench.
The ground there was cool, covered in dry leaves that crunched under your sneakers. You threw yourself down sitting, leaning your back against the trunk, and let your head fall back, closing your eyes for a second. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, and your shirt clung to your back like a second skin.
Annabeth was already there, sitting cross-legged, a book open in her lap, but clearly not reading anything. She raised her eyes when you collapsed beside her and gave a half-smile, the kind that mixed pity and amusement.
"If you're going to faint, warn me first," she said, without taking her eyes off the book. "I don't want to have to carry you to the infirmary."
You rolled your eyes, but didn't even have energy to reply properly.
"Gods, it's so hot... I feel feverish. I think my head's going to explode."
"Did you drink water? Because if not, you're going to turn into a walking raisin." Annabeth closed the book with a snap and looked at you sideways.
"I drank. Like five liters. Didn't help at all." You wiped your face, clearing sweat from your forehead. "I swear if I stay in the sun five more minutes, I'll turn to dust."
Annabeth looked like she was about to reply, but suddenly raised an eyebrow and looked toward the lake, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Chiron will kill her if he sees this."
"Who?" You followed her gaze, curious.
And then you saw.
Clarisse coming out of the lake.
She emerged slowly, water running in streams down her entire body. She was wearing only dark green cargo shorts and a black sports top clinging to her skin. No usual camp shirt. The water glistened on her broad shoulders, ran down her defined arms, dripped from the marked abs that looked sculpted by years of brutal training.
Her dark curls stuck to her neck and back, and when she ran her hand through her hair to throw it back, the muscles in her arm flexed in a way that tied your stomach in knots. The scene played in slow motion in your head: every drop falling, the sun hitting wet skin and creating reflections, the way she walked across the sand, heavy and confident steps, as if the whole world belonged to her.
You stood frozen, mouth slightly open, not blinking. Annabeth nudged your arm with her elbow.
"Hey. You're drooling."
You brought your hand to your mouth by reflex, as if you had actually drooled, and wiped the corner of your lips. Nothing. But the gesture had already snapped you out of the trance.
"Jesus Christ, what is that..." you murmured, almost in a moan, voice too low for anyone else to hear.
Annabeth let out a short laugh, looking from you to Clarisse and back to her book. "Jesus Christ indeed." She shook her head, admitting it shamelessly.
You still couldn't look away. Clarisse stopped at the shore, shaking her arms to get rid of excess water, and the movement made the muscles in her back shift under her skin. Then she bent down to pick up the spear she had left leaning against a rock, and then... God, the back, the shoulders, everything.
"Has she always been like that?" you asked, voice coming out rougher than you intended.
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Like what? Hot?" You nodded, not even trying to hide it.
She laughed again, louder this time.
"Well... She was definitely hiding gold." Annabeth leaned forward a little, as if evaluating. "I always knew she had a good training body, but... damn."
"I never noticed." You swallowed hard.
"Of course not. You were too busy trying to avoid getting beaten up by her in the arena." Annabeth patted your knee. "Welcome to the club of people who just noticed."
Clarisse, oblivious to everything, threw the spear over her shoulder and picked up her shirt from the ground, starting to walk toward the cabins, leaving wet footprints in the sand. The shorts clung to her thighs, and water still dripped from her legs. You felt heat rising up your neck, and it wasn't just the sun.
"Holy shit," you murmured. "I think I got turned on by Clarisse."
"No way!" Annabeth shot back, as if that hadn't been exactly news.
The second time something like that happened was during an obstacle course competition at camp, and barely a week had passed since you two had "officialized" the relationship, if you could even call it that.
Clarisse had simply pulled you into a corner after a training session, kissed you with that intensity that made your legs buckle, and declared that you were hers. No flowers, no romantic dinner in the pavilion. Just her, sweaty and with the smell of curl cream and lance metal still in the air, looking at you as if daring the entire world to disagree.
The circuit was one of the annual competitions Chiron organized to keep everyone sharp. It was basically an obstacle course set up around the camp: runs across the soft beach sand that sank under your feet, climbs on irregular wooden walls full of knots and splinters, and jumps over fallen logs in the woods where exposed roots could trip you at any moment.
The air was dry that day, with a hot wind blowing from the hills, carrying the smell of pine trees and dry earth. The sun beat down hard, but not as much as on the lake day, thank the gods. Still, sweat ran down everyone's backs, and the ground of the main arena, where the start took place, was marked with footprints and puddles of churned sand.
The cabins competed in separate rounds to avoid too many fights, the children of Ares always trying to "accidentally" sabotage the others. At that moment, it was the Athena cabin's turn against Hermes and Apollo. You were on the team, obviously, because your siblings had put you in charge of strategy: you planned the route, marking weak points in the obstacles and assigning roles based on each person's strengths. Annabeth was leading, shouting orders.
"Stay together on the climb, use the ropes for support!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the arena packed with campers watching from the makeshift bleachers of logs and stones.
Clarisse wasn't competing yet, the Ares cabin's round was next. She was leaning against one of the wooden fences that bordered the track, arms crossed over her chest, wearing the orange camp t-shirt stretched across her broad shoulders and the worn cargo pants that hid her muscular legs. Her dark curls were tied back in a practical boxer braid, and she was chewing gum, looking at the track with that bored expression she used to hide that she was paying attention.
You knew she was there because of you, she had given you a quick nod before you positioned yourself at the starting line, but nothing more. Public was public, and Clarisse wasn't the type to show affection in front of everyone.
The whistle blew, a sharp sound cutting through the air, and you took off. Your sneakers sank into the sand as you ran toward the first obstacle: a series of wooden barriers that required precise jumps. You cleared the first one without issue, feeling the impact in your knees, but on the second, your foot slipped in a puddle of damp sand someone must have left from a previous training. Your ankle twisted with a dry snap, a sharp pain shooting up your leg as if someone had stabbed a knife there.
You stumbled forward, falling to your knees in the coarse sand, the impact sending a cloud of dust into the air. The world spun for a second, and you bit your lip to keep from screaming, your hands gripping the ground while you tried to get up. The other campers kept running, it was a competition after all, and stopping meant losing points for the cabin. Annabeth shouted something like "Get up, come on!", but when you tried to put weight on your foot you collapsed again, the pain throbbing like a hammer hitting bone.
"Shit," you muttered, cold sweat mixing with the hot on your forehead.
You could feel your ankle already swelling under your sock, and every movement sent waves of nausea through your body. That's when you heard heavy footsteps approaching, the sound of boots kicking sand. Before you could register it, Clarisse was there, crouching beside you with an expression that mixed irritation and something deeper. The campers around murmured, gossip already starting, of course, but she ignored them, her dark eyes fixed on your ankle.
"What the hell are you doing?" she grumbled, her voice low and hoarse, as always, but with that cold tone she used to mask concern. She reached out, lightly touching the swollen area, and you hissed in pain. "You should be more careful, you idiot. Look at this, you twisted it bad."
"I know, Clarisse, you don't have to insult me," you shot back, trying to sound firm, but your voice came out weak, your face flushed not just from the pain but from her closeness.
The other campers were still running in the background, shouts and cheers echoing, but right there in the middle of the track, it was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you. She huffed, shaking her head, but her fingers were gentle as she moved your hand away from your leg.
"It's not an insult, it's a fact. You plan everything perfectly for everyone else, but when it's time to jump a barrier, you fall like a klutz. If you get hurt like this again I'm personally dragging you to training until you learn how to fall properly." Her tone was cold, almost like she was scolding a newbie, but you saw the way her eyes softened, her furrowed brows not just from anger but from real worry.
She glanced around quickly, as if checking if anyone was too close, and murmured lower.
"Does it hurt a lot, baby? Can you put weight on it?"
"I tried. I can't walk," you admitted, hating how vulnerable you sounded, but it was the truth. Your ankle throbbed, and involuntary tears pricked your eyes. Clarisse didn't hesitate.
"Alright then. Come here." Without warning, she slid one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, lifting you off the ground bridal-style as if you were made of paper.
The movement was fluid, effortless, her arm muscles flexing against your skin as she held you steady. Years of lifting weights that would make most campers cry had turned those arms into something solid, unshakable. You felt the heat of her body through her t-shirt, the smell of clean sweat and something metallic, and instinctively wrapped your arms around her neck to balance yourself, your fingers brushing the back of her neck.
Your face burned instantly, a blush rising to your cheeks that you couldn't control. It was all so recent, barely a week of dating, and there she was, carrying you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You weren't used to this kind of closeness from her, the care mixed with raw strength.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and all you could think about was how she held you as if you weighed nothing, her strong arms enveloping you in a way that made you feel small, protected, but also absurdly attracted. It was too much, that feeling of being lifted without effort, her chest rising and falling against your side as she started walking toward the infirmary, each step firm in the sand.
"Clarisse, you don't have to carry me, I think I can limp," you murmured, your voice low, but without conviction, your face buried in her shoulder to hide the blush.
"Shut up. You'll make it worse if you try to walk on that," she shot back, her tone still cold, but now with a softness around the edges, as if she couldn't hide the worry anymore. She adjusted her grip, pulling you closer, and you felt the muscles in her shoulders move under your hand. "I already told you, be more careful. I don't want to see you limping around because you decided to jump like a maniac. If you get hurt like this again, I'm going to lose it, you hear me?"
You nodded, biting your lip to keep from smiling despite the pain. The campers watched as she carried you down the gravel path to the infirmary, the sound of pebbles crunching under her boots. The infirmary building was simple, light wood with open windows to let the air circulate, smelling of medicinal herbs and antiseptic.
Clarisse pushed the door open with her shoulder, setting you down carefully on one of the beds, the mattress creaking slightly under your weight. A son of Apollo, the on-duty healer, came running, adjusting his glasses on his nose.
"What happened? Ankle?"
"Yeah, twisted on the track. Take care of her properly," Clarisse ordered, crossing her arms again, but staying there, leaning against the wall, her eyes fixed on you while the boy examined the swelling.
He confirmed it was just a mild sprain, nothing broken, ice, rest for a few days, and a potion to speed up healing.
"You'll be fine, just avoid putting weight on it today."
Clarisse visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping a bit. But before leaving, she approached the bed, leaning over you to give you one final lecture.
"You heard? Rest. No playing hero and running around. Be more careful next time, or I'll tie you to the bed myself." Her tone was serious, but her eyes softened when she leaned in closer, planting a chaste kiss on your lips, quick but enough to make your heart race again. "I'll come back later to check on you. Behave."
And with that, she left, leaving you there blushing, your mind still spinning with the sensation of those arms holding you like you were a feather, something light and precious in her world.
A few days after the obstacle course incident, when your ankle finally stopped throbbing and you could return to light training, Chiron assigned Clarisse an urgent mission: track down and eliminate a group of cyclopes that had been spotted in the forests north of camp, near the mountains that separated the mortal world from the mythical.
The monsters were causing trouble, attacking innocent hikers and leaving trails of smoke and charred bones that could attract unwanted attention from the gods or, worse, mortal authorities. Clarisse, of course, chose you as her partner, "You think, I smash," she said with an indifferent grunt, as if it were obvious.
When asked about bringing someone else, Percy Jackson offered, insisting his experience with cyclopes would be useful. Clarisse huffed, grumbling that the two of you could handle it alone, but she reluctantly gave in, probably to avoid an argument with Chiron in front of the whole pavilion.
The mission took you beyond the magical borders of Camp Half-Blood, through dense forests where ancient trees, with trunks as thick as Greek temple columns, intertwined in a canopy that filtered the sunlight into golden and shadowed beams. The air smelled of pine resin and damp earth, mixed with the occasional sulfur stench of monsters, a constant reminder that the veil between the mortal world and Olympus was thin there.
The sun was already setting on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple like the tunics of ancient oracles, when you reached the edge of a steep ravine. The cliff rose like an open wound in the earth, about fifteen meters high, not a deadly abyss for trained demigods, but enough to make your stomach turn.
Down below, the ground was a mix of irregular rocks, hanging vines like sleeping serpents, and a narrow stream that gurgled softly, reflecting the last light of day. Clarisse stopped at the edge, assessing the descent with an indifferent look, as if it were just another step on a staircase. Her dark curls swayed lightly in the breeze, and she adjusted the electric spear strapped to her back, the weapon gleaming with a metallic shine that reminded you of Hephaestus's forges.
"Let's go down. The one-eyed idiots are right down there." Clarisse didn't hesitate. She crouched at the edge, her leg muscles flexing under the worn cargo pants, and started descending as if the ravine were a climbing wall at camp, something trivial, a morning workout.
Her strong hands gripped the irregular rocks, fingers digging into the stone with a strength that would make any child of Hephaestus jealous, while her feet found holds on twisted vines that creaked under her weight. Every movement was a display of raw power: her broad shoulders contracting as she hung, her back arching slightly to balance the spear's weight.
To her, it was nothing, years of brutal arena training, carrying heavy shields and facing bigger monsters, had turned her into a force of nature. She reached the bottom in less than a minute, landing with a soft thud on the soft earth, and looked up, her dark eyes fixed on you.
"Your turn." Her voice echoed through the ravine, cold and impatient, with that commanding tone she used to lead her cabin.
You felt your heart tighten in your chest. The ravine looked taller now that it was your turn, the wind howling like the camp harpies, and the ground below spun in your peripheral vision. Fear of heights, a stupid weakness for a daughter of Athena, who was supposed to calculate risks and plan everything. But there at the edge, with loose rocks crunching under your sneakers and the abyss opening like Cerberus's jaws, your legs locked.
You tried to move, reaching for a vine, but your stomach flipped, and you stepped back, cold sweat running down your back despite the cool air.
“I... I can’t,” you murmured, your voice low, but loud enough to echo down to them. Percy frowned at your side, confused, but Clarisse crossed her arms, the muscles of her forearms standing out as she tilted her head up.
“What? Just get down already, damn it! This isn’t the time for nonsense, sweetheart. You plan entire missions, but you can’t get down a slope? Move it!”
Her tone was a contained outburst of anger, cold as the steel of her spear, eyes narrowed in irritation. She hated delays, hated weaknesses that put the group at risk, especially on a mission where monsters could appear at any second.
“Jackson, if she doesn’t get down in ten seconds, you can push her,” she shouted to the boy.
“Hey, Clarisse, take it easy. Maybe she needs help,” Percy laughed nervously, trying to calm things down.
“Shut up, Jackson. She can get down on her own.”
But then Clarisse looked at you more closely, and something changed. Her eyes met yours, and she saw it. Not hesitation, but real, raw fear, in your wide eyes, in your hands trembling slightly at the edge. The anger on her face softened for a fraction of a second, fake indifference giving way to something deeper, though she quickly masked it with a snort.
“Alright, alright. You don’t need to climb down. Jump. I’ll catch you.”
You blinked, thinking you had heard wrong. The wind howled louder now, shaking the leaves of the trees around you, and the stream below gurgled as if mocking you.
“What? Are you crazy? I’m not jumping!”
Clarisse planted her feet firmly on the ground, arms open in an unshakable stance, as if she were ready to face a minotaur.
“I said jump. I’ll catch you. It’s not that high, and I’m strong enough. Trust me, or do you want the cyclopes to come get you up there like an offering?”
You shook your head, panic mixing with the Athenian logic that had always saved you.
“No, Clarisse, listen. This doesn’t make sense. Basic physics. I have mass, you have mass, gravity will accelerate me at about 9.8 meters per second squared. If I jump from fifteen meters, I’ll hit you with a force that’ll crush us both into the ground. It’s impulse, momentum! My weight times velocity. It’ll be like an anvil falling on you. It’s not just brute strength, it’s science!”
She rolled her eyes, indifference returning like a mask, though edged with angry impatience.
“Science? Daughter of Athena and her nonsense. I don’t care about your calculations, I care about results. I lift heavier weights than you every day in training. Jump already, or I’ll climb up there, drag you down, and give you a lecture that’ll make you wish the cyclopes had gotten you first. You hear me? Jump, or I tell the entire camp that you froze because of a tiny little slope. It’ll be humiliating as hell.”
The blackmail hit deep. Your reputation as a daughter of Athena, always the strategist, the brave one in mental battles, couldn’t be stained by something like that. Percy looked at you, trying not to laugh, but keeping his distance, knowing that interfering would only make it worse. The sun was already touching the horizon, long shadows stretching over the slope like Hades’ fingers, and a distant growl echoed from the caves, reminding you that time was running out.
You took a deep breath, your heart pounding like Pegasus’ hooves.
“Alright... alright, I’ll jump. But if we die, it’s your fault.”
“Jump already, you coward,” Clarisse smirked, a cold smile with a glint of confidence in her eyes, the kind she saved for battles she knew she would win.
You closed your eyes for a second, silently invoking Athena, and jumped.
The air rushed around you, your stomach rising into your throat as you fell, the wind howling in your ears. It felt like an eternity, but it was only seconds, and then, impact. Not against hard ground, but against arms solid as marble columns.
Clarisse caught you midair, the muscles in her arms and shoulders flexing with the effort, absorbing the momentum as if it were nothing. Her feet barely shifted on the ground, just a slight step back to cushion the fall, her body firm and unshakable against yours.
You felt her warmth, her chest rising and falling with controlled breathing, her arms wrapping around you with a strength that made you feel light, protected, as if the entire world couldn’t touch you while she held you.
She set you down slowly, but didn’t let go right away, dark eyes locked on yours with a mix of triumph and something softer, almost possessive.
“See? I told you I’d catch you.”
You were still staring at her, incredulous and trembling, and all that came out of your throat was a brief mutter of, “This is completely against physics.”
Percy, still at the edge above, let out a low, impressed whistle and leaned forward a little.
Clarisse lifted her gaze to him, frowning.
“What are you waiting for, idiot? Want me to hold you too?”
Percy laughed, that cocky, characteristic laugh of his, rubbing the back of his neck as he prepared to climb down.
“A little help wouldn’t be bad, you know?”
Clarisse snorted loudly, crossing her arms again, the muscles standing out beneath the camp’s orange T-shirt.
“These arms here are only for my girl. Figure it out yourself, Jackson.”
You couldn’t help it. Your eyes softened immediately, a sweet warmth rising in your chest as you looked at her. Clarisse noticed your look and frowned, confused.
“What?” she asked, indifferent, but with a tone that already betrayed that she knew exactly what was coming.
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you slowly lifted your hands and held her face between them, your palms feeling the warmth of her cheeks, your thumbs lightly brushing her jawline. You rose onto your toes, stretching as much as you could, and planted a soft little kiss on her lips.
“My heroine.”
Clarisse melted.
It was subtle, but you saw it. Her brows relaxed, her dark eyes blinked quickly, and a faint blush, almost imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know her, crept up her neck and cheeks. She didn’t say anything, just gently pulled your head to her, making you rest your face against her chest. Her heart beat strong beneath the fabric, a steady, powerful rhythm that calmed you more than any words ever could.
With her chin resting on the top of your head, she looked up at Percy, who was now clumsily climbing down using vines and rocks.
“Hurry it up, Jackson!” she shouted, her voice returning to its usual cold, authoritative tone.
From above, Percy grumbled as he slipped a little and grabbed on tighter.
“I’m trying!”
You laughed softly, the sound muffled against her chest, vibrating through the fabric of her shirt. Clarisse squeezed you a little tighter for a second, as if she wanted to protect you from the entire world. Then she let out a long sigh, pretending irritation, but still not letting you go.
“Let’s go before those cyclopes come get us. And you,” she murmured just for you, her voice low and rough near your ear, “don’t do things like that in front of Jackson. Or I lose my image.”
You smiled against her chest, feeling her warmth, her strength, the familiar scent of clean sweat, metal, and something that was uniquely hers.
“I promise nothing, heroine.”
She grumbled something unintelligible, but didn’t let you go until Percy finally reached the bottom, panting and wearing a small grin. Only then did she release you, grabbing her spear again in one fluid motion.
“Let’s hunt those monsters. And no more drama, got it?”
But as she walked ahead, you caught the corner of her mouth lifting in the smallest smile that no one else would notice.
And that was enough to make your heart race faster than any jump down a slope ever could.
And all of that brings you to the current situation.
The summer afternoon sun hung high in the sky, pouring relentless rays over the arena of Camp Half-Blood. You had finished all your tasks for the day earlier than expected, an entire morning dedicated to organizing piles of yellowed scrolls and books so old they were practically falling apart, followed by an hour helping newcomers handle swords without cutting off their own fingers.
Now, with relaxed shoulders and a sense of duty fulfilled warming your chest, you settled into the upper bleachers of the training arena, legs stretched out in front of you on the cracked wooden step, elbows propped back against the rough beam that served as a backrest. The hot wind blew occasionally, stirring loose strands of your hair and bringing momentary relief from the oppressive heat.
Annabeth sat to your left, legs crossed in a position that looked uncomfortable for anyone who wasn’t her. Percy, to your right, lounged lazily, tossing a golden drachma coin into the air and catching it with distracted skill, the sun reflecting off the metal and creating flashes of light that blinked like daytime stars.
“I swear by the gods, if I have to face another new school, I’m going to completely lose it,” Percy muttered, his voice heavy with exaggerated exhaustion as the coin spun in the air. “It’s like the hundredth time, seriously. Every time I start getting used to it, boom. Expelled for ‘inappropriate behavior.’ Like, what do I even do?”
Annabeth raised an eyebrow without taking her eyes off the arena.
“You’ll survive. As for me, it’ll just be me, my books, and maybe an occasional visit to an architecture museum. It sounds boring, but after an entire summer here, boring sounds like paradise.”
Percy laughed, catching the coin midair and rolling it between his fingers before tossing it again.
“I bet in a week you’ll be building a scale model of Atlantis in your dad’s backyard.”
Then he turned to you, blue eyes bright with genuine curiosity.
“But what about you? What are you going to do when summer ends? College? mortal friends?”
You heard Annabeth grumble a “Shut up, you forgot she stays at camp?” but you didn’t mind. It was as if their voices came from far away, muffled by the intense focus your eyes kept on the arena below.
They went back to talking, but your attention was completely captured by her.
Clarisse.
Down in the arena, under the merciless sun, Clarisse spun her electric spear with a mastery that bordered on divine. Sweat ran down her forehead, tracing paths across her focused face, dripping from her chin and soaking into the orange camp shirt stretched tight over her broad shoulders. Every movement revealed muscles honed by years of brutal training.
Chris Rodriguez, son of Hermes, was a formidable opponent, taller than her, with shoulders like barn doors and arms thick as tree trunks, the result of years fighting dirty. He wielded a short, curved sword with brute strength, his blows coming down like hammer strikes, trying to corner her against the wall of shields hanging at the edge of the arena, where metal groaned and echoed with every near impact.
The fight was serious, without the usual joking of light training sessions. It was a real clash, with grunts echoing and sand being churned into deep grooves beneath their feet.
You watched with your heart in your throat, a mix of genuine concern and an ecstasy that warmed your entire body. Concerned because Chris was big, strong, definitely larger than Clarisse, and he fought well. He dodged a spear strike with surprising agility for his size, counterattacking with a wide arc of his sword that nearly grazed her arm.
“Easy there, La Rue, no need to kill me today!” Chris shouted through clenched teeth, his voice breathless as he stepped back.
Clarisse laughed, a rough, challenging sound that echoed through the arena like distant thunder.
“I’m just warming up.”
She spun the spear once more, the movement fluid and lethal, forcing him to jump back as the electric tip crackled through the air, leaving a trail of ozone you swore you could smell.
Ecstatic because, gods, watching her like this was hypnotizing. The way she anticipated his every move, dark eyes focused like a predator’s, her entire body moving in perfect harmony, strength and grace mixed in a deadly dance. Every block, every counterattack, made your stomach flip in the best way, heat rising up your neck as you imagined those same muscles flexing in far less public contexts.
Then came the final blow, drawn out in a sequence that felt like it lasted forever.
Chris charged with everything he had, the sword coming down in a powerful arc that would have split anyone in two. Clarisse feinted left, her body spinning with impressive speed, her feet sinking into the sand as she used the momentum to counterattack.
“Missed, big guy!” she taunted, her voice low and triumphant.
Chris fell for it, overextending, exposing his flank. She rotated her hips with brutal power, the muscles of her back visibly contracting beneath her shirt, and struck the base of the spear straight into his temple, not with the electric tip, but with calculated force that rang out like a cracked bell across the entire arena.
Chris staggered, eyes glassy and blinking in confusion, legs buckling as if the ground had turned to water. He murmured something incoherent, “Hey, that hurt...”, before collapsing face-first into the sand with a dull thud, his body going still as a cloud of golden dust rose around him like a crown of defeat.
A stunned silence hung for half a second, broken by murmurs and nervous laughter from the campers in the stands, some clapping, others shaking their heads in disbelief.
Clarisse planted the spear into the ground beside his body with a firm gesture, tilted her head slightly, and looked around with that indifferent expression that was her trademark, as if she had only knocked over a teacup by accident.
“It was an accident!” she shouted, her rough voice echoing off the wooden walls of the arena, loaded with a fake innocence that no one bought.
She shrugged, broad shoulders rising and falling casually, as if knocking out her opponent was just another normal day.
It was never an accident. It was always calculated, always a lesson disguised as a mistake.
“Holy shit, she knocked out Chris,” Percy let out a long, impressed whistle, eyes wide as he leaned forward, the coin forgotten in his hand.
You didn’t even blink, your eyes still fixed on her, heart pounding in your chest as heat spread through your entire body, settling into a familiar, intense buzz.
“And that was hot as hell,” you murmured, your voice coming out lower and rougher than you intended, almost a whisper heavy with admiration and desire.
Annabeth made a loud, exaggerated sound of disgust, as if she had swallowed something rotten, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head dramatically.
“Ew, seriously? In front of us? You two are going to make me throw up my lunch. Save that for your room, please.”
Percy mimicked her grimace, twisting his face into an expression of pure, fake disgust, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
You didn’t care about their teasing, laughter bubbling in your chest as you lifted your hand and waved directly at her, a simple, affectionate gesture, your fingers trembling slightly with leftover adrenaline from the fight.
Clarisse, still poking Chris with the tip of her spear, gently of course, because “waking him up” was part of the tradition, though with insistent taps that made his body twitch slightly, lifted her dark eyes and swept the stands until she found you.
Her face softened for a moment, lips curving into a crooked, almost shy smile she reserved only for moments like this. She waved back with her free hand, the muscles of her arm flexing casually as she raised it.
“Did you see that, sweetheart?” she shouted from the arena, making your face heat up at hearing her use nicknames for you in public for the first time.
“Yes, I saw it! Congratulations, my love!” you shouted back, watching her proud smile widen before she returned to her mission of trying to wake Chris, still unconscious on the ground.
You sighed, long and lovestruck, resting your chin in your hand as you stared at her, the world around you blurring into an irrelevant background.
Annabeth slowly shook her head, but her tone came out softer than usual, with a trace of genuine reluctance in her voice.
“I hate to admit it... but you two are cute. I mean, in a way that makes me question my sanity for thinking that, but yeah. Cute.”
“Gross but cute,” Percy snorted, tossing the coin once more and catching it without looking, laughter escaping despite his grimace.
You laughed softly, the sound carried off by the hot wind that now blew harder, stirring the leaves of the trees around the arena and bringing with it the fresh scent of cut grass.
Clarisse gave Chris one last poke, who finally groaned softly, rolling onto his side in the sand with a muttered “Ow, my head...”, and then slung the spear over her shoulder as if the deadly weapon weighed no more than a feather.
She began walking toward the stands, firm, confident steps leaving deep footprints in the sand, her entire body radiating an aura of victory that made the other campers respectfully move aside.
You watched Clarisse approach, each step sending small vibrations through the compacted sand of the arena, as if the ground itself respected her presence. The afternoon sun now tilted further west, stretching the shadows of the stands and bathing everything in a softer, almost romantic golden hue that contrasted with the brutality of the fight that had just taken place.
Without thinking twice, you stood up from the bleachers, ignoring Percy’s lazy “Hey, where are you going?” and Annabeth’s resigned sigh. Your feet descended the cracked wooden steps quickly, each one creaking under your weight, while the hot wind messed up your hair and stuck the orange camp shirt to your damp skin.
The campers around the arena began to disperse, some still whispering about the fight. “Man, she hit him right in the head,” or “Chris is going to wake up with a killer headache,” but you barely registered the voices. Your eyes were fixed on Clarisse, who now stopped at the base of the stands, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, the spear still balanced on her shoulder like a natural extension of her body.
When you reached the last step, jumping the rest to land in the soft sand with a quiet thump, she lifted her gaze to you. Her dark eyes, still carrying the intensity of battle, softened a little more, and a subtle smile curved her full lips, marked by a small scar at the lower corner that you loved to trace with your fingers in private moments.
“Hey, you,” she said, her voice low and rough, still breathless from exertion, but with an affection that made your heart race.
She planted the base of the spear in the sand, leaning slightly against it as the muscles in her arms and shoulders visibly relaxed now that the adrenaline was beginning to fade. Sweat still glistened on her bronze skin, tracing irregular lines down her neck and collarbone, and you had to fight the urge to reach out and touch.
“Hey, champion,” you replied, stopping a few steps away, the heat of the sun at your back making the moment even more intense.
Up close, she looked even more imposing. Tall, strong, with that posture that screamed unshakable confidence.
Chris, still on the ground a few meters away, groaned again and rolled to the side, but no one was paying him much attention now. A healer from Apollo’s cabin was already approaching.
Clarisse let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she looked around the now mostly empty arena, where the shields hanging on the walls still lightly echoed with the wind.
“Champion? Please. That was easy. Chris is good, but... gods, I swear no one here at camp makes me really sweat. Like, I barely had to try to take him down. If I wanted a real challenge, I’d have to fight a minotaur again or something. It’s always the same. They come in with brute force, thinking size matters, but in the end—”
Her words flowed with that familiar complaint, the tone mixing frustration and pride, her eyes shining as she gestured with her free hand, the spear lightly swaying on her shoulder.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The way she talked, the confidence overflowing, her body still vibrating with the energy of victory, all of it ignited something primal inside you.
Without thinking, you stepped forward, rising onto your toes to make up for the height difference, and reached up to pull her down by the nape of her neck, bringing her face to yours in a quick, impulsive motion.
Your lips met in a soft, brief kiss, just a light, affectionate touch that lasted a second or two, enough to feel her warmth, the salty taste of sweat mixed with the familiar woody scent that always clung to her.
It was like a quick, electric strike, sending tingles through your entire body.
You pulled back almost immediately, your heart now racing not just from the fight you had watched, but from the sudden fear of her reaction. Clarisse hated public displays of affection. She was a daughter of Ares, after all, hard as iron, always keeping that facade of indifference.
Her eyes widened slightly, and you felt panic rise in your throat, words spilling out in a rushed torrent, your voice trembling a little as you stepped back, hands raised defensively.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist after seeing you like that and—”
Before you could finish the sentence, something changed in her expression. Her dark eyes flared with a new intensity, not anger, but something deeper, hungrier.
Without a word, Clarisse let the spear slip from her fingers, dropping it to the ground with a metallic clang that echoed through the arena, the weapon rolling in the sand and kicking up a small cloud of dust.
Her large hands went straight to your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt with possessive firmness, pulling you back to her with a force that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Quiet,” she murmured roughly, her voice low and urgent, before tilting her head and capturing your lips in a real kiss, deep and burning.
It wasn’t gentle. It was how she fought. Intense, dominant, with a passion that consumed everything around it. Her lips moved against yours with urgency, one hand sliding up to hold the back of your neck and tilt your head to the side, deepening the contact, while the other squeezed your waist, pressing your bodies together.
Her heat seeped into you, the fresh sweat on her skin mixing with yours, and the world around you, the arena, the distant campers, the merciless sun, all dissolved into an irrelevant blur.
You moaned softly against her mouth, your hands instinctively rising to tangle in her damp, messy hair, pulling her even closer.
The kiss lasted what felt like an eternity, drawn out by ragged breaths and exploring touches, her tongue brushing against yours, sending waves of heat through your entire body, her chest rising and falling against yours in a rapid rhythm.
The wind blew again, rustling the leaves and carrying the scent of distant pines, but nothing interrupted the moment.
When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, lips swollen and eyes glazed, Clarisse didn’t let you go right away. Instead, she rested her forehead against yours, a crooked, satisfied smile curving her lips as she murmured, her voice still rough.
“Don’t apologize for that. Ever.”
Her fingers traced lazy circles on your waist, and for the first time in public, she didn’t seem to care about the curious looks from the campers still lingering around the arena, or about Percy’s distant whistle from up in the stands.
You laughed softly, the sound shaky and full of relief, resting your face against her shoulder for a moment and breathing in her familiar scent.
“Alright, I promise. But... gods, you’re incredible.”
She snorted a laugh, finally letting you go enough to pick up the spear from the ground, but keeping one hand in yours, fingers interlacing with a casualness that was new and thrilling.
“Come on. Let’s let Chris recover on his own. I deserve a better reward than this empty arena.”
And with that, she gently tugged you along by the hand, walking away from the arena under the setting sun.
And as you walked away hand in hand, the wind carrying the last echoes of the fight and the curious stares of the campers, it became clear that Clarisse no longer needed to prove her strength to anyone.
She had already won the only battle that truly mattered. Let you in.
Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader (Daughter of Aphrodite)
Synopsis: You have been in love with the daughter of Ares for a year. When you arrive back in camp for the summer to surprise her, you find that her attentions are no longer on you. Instead, it is directed towards Chris Rodriguez. To get over Clarisse, you avoid her at all costs. What happens when she finally corners you and forces you to share the guilt gnawing at your stomach?
Warnings: Not actually unrequited love, reader thinking Clarisse doesn’t love her back, the pain of being in love with a “straight” girl, miscommunication-ish, reader tries to spar Chris and it doesn’t end well, kissing in the rain. [Let me know if I missed any.]
masterlist || previous work
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Dark curls, brown eyes, a deadly stare—your best friend.
You haven’t seen Clarisse in almost a year. Whilst you left after Percy stopped the war between his father and Zeus, Clarisse stayed year-round. Camp is her home.
The burgeoning feelings for the daughter of Ares began last summer— the most specific timeline you can give. Why or how it happened, you could not divine. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. She was an Ares kid and you’re Aphrodite’s daughter. It was inevitable for one of you to fall for the other. Requited feelings, though, were not.
Wanting to surprise your friend with your return, you approach from behind.
The new camp leader, Tantalus, revived the chariot games. Your half-siblings were not inclined to participate and neither were you. There’s rough-housing involved in these activities. It would ruin your clothes, hair—everything. You intended to appear alluring, not just for yourself, but also for the pulchritudinous daughter of Ares.
Before you could reach the girl you’ve been hopelessly in love with for a year, she levels her gaze towards Chris, who was conversing with Percy beside the former’s chariot.
Clarisse pulls a lever in her own ride for spikes to appear. “Think you could jump this?” She asks him with arrogance.
“Don’t worry.” Chris replies, “You’ll never get close enough to find out.”
“You don’t think I can catch you?” Clarisse steps closer, swaying her hips as she walks towards him. “Because I can be very persistent when I mark my prey.”
Oh.
What you believed to be Clarisse being her usual haughty self was something else entirely. You may not be as well-versed in fighting as the other campers, but there was one thing you could recognize when it manifested in front of you.
Affection.
Your lungs become constricted by your ribcage, pressing into your heart. There was nothing except lancinating pain, circulating throughout your entire body without so much as a warning. You struggle to breathe, tears forming in your eyes.
“Y/n!” Annabeth calls, waving. You should be glad to see her, ask her updates on her and Percy (you know what she would reply). Instead, you clutch at your chest, desperately clawing for air. The daughter of Athena touches your arm, attempting to pull you back together. But it’s so, so wrong. Annabeth shouldn’t be touching you and Clarisse shouldn’t be looking at Chris instead of—
You recoil from Annabeth’s touch, pushing past her to escape the track.
One hour back at camp and everything was already falling apart.
-
For the next few days, you subject yourself to as much isolation as was socially acceptable.
Annabeth tries to check in on you, but you assure her that there’s nothing going on. It’s not like the girl you’re in love with turned out to be straight and has a crush on a guy! Of course—Annabeth doesn’t know that part. And she doesn’t need to. Your feelings were yours to handle.
Your siblings try to help, coaxing you out of the cabin to trade makeup products with the new campers. The most time you can get out of your bed is five minutes. Whenever Clarisse sees you outside, she makes it her mission to talk.
You never let her near, bolting out of the area before she could grab your arm and force you to speak. What was there to say? You’d confess that you’re in love with her and lose Clarisse anyway. This way, you can take as much time as you need getting over the Ares girl and come back to your friendship when you are ready.
At first, Clarisse thinks you’re just preoccupied. Monsters around the camp were increasing in numbers and you may be ill at ease. She knows how you get when you feel cornered or afraid. You curl into yourself and disappear. But after her seventh attempt of trying to reach you, she realizes you were avoiding her.
Clarisse was hurt. She thought back to the last time both of you stood face-to-face in camp. You left on good terms, kissing her cheek goodbye, saying that you’ll see her next summer. Throughout the year, you’ve written each other dozens of letters. Sometimes, when she’d successfully acquire a drachma from a weak Hermes or unclaimed kid, Clarisse uses it for an Iris message—to talk to you.
So, what did she do wrong?
Your smile, one she’d have given up everything to witness, was now subdued. You tensed around Chris Rodriguez, glaring daggers into the back of his head like he had wronged you, somehow. Annabeth, one of your closest friends, expressed her concern as well. Clarisse trusted that even though she wasn’t the one you confided in, you at least had the daughter of Athena. But you were pushing her away too.
Something was clearly wrong and Clarisse would not rest until she punched the daylights out of the demigod who wiped the radiance off your face. You were still beautiful, of course (Clarisse could not imagine ever not finding you enchanting), but you no longer beamed at imbecilic campers who you considered your friends or looked at her with those seraphic eyes, telling her that she was more than a bloodthirsty warrior.
Clarisse wanted to confess so many things—to tell you that she has ruined everything she ever touched, but she would not let any harm come to you. She was her father’s daughter. Perhaps it was in her blood to fall for a child of Aphrodite. But unlike him, she would be better. She would treat you like you deserved and vow to defend and stay by your side, so long as you allow her to.
She needed you to see that too, but you would not let her get close enough.
After a particularly grueling training session that you’d willingly subjected yourself to (much to Clarisse’s surprise), you ended up with bruises and a split lip. Your opponent, Chris Rodriguez, offered you a hand contritely, muttering about how you shouldn’t have pushed him to spar with you.
You bat his hand away, spotting Clarisse a few feet from you. Your legs move quick to get out of the arena, but your injuries slow you down. Clarisse was faster. This time, she doesn’t let you run away.
Clarisse grips your arm, forcing you to face her, “I’ve had enough. Talk. Now.”
You stare at her, dumbfounded. “What?”
“You have been ignoring me. Why?” Although she sounds angry, you could hear the tinge of hurt in her voice too. Clarisse La Rue wasn’t one for begging. She made things happen for herself. But, gods, she would do anything to have you looking at her with anything other than apathy.
“I’m not—”
“Do not lie to me, L/n.” Clarisse steps closer, loosening her grip on your arm. “Please.”
That word crumbles what’s left of your restraint. You were hurting her with the idea of saving yourself from heartbreak. Clarisse—hot-headed yet compassionate Clarisse—who prefers punching her feelings away than confronting vulnerability. That Clarisse was pleading for you to communicate.
Your throat constricts once more. It’s not Clarisse’s fault you couldn’t control your adoration. She’s being punished for your lack of abstemiousness. You take and take and take, always wanting more than you should. One touch from Clarisse and you wish for more. She trusts you, her only friend. And here you were, sullying her generosity with romantic feelings. You didn’t deserve her.
Running was at the forefront of your mind. The only thing stopping you was Clarisse’s hand on your arm. “Just let it go, Clarisse.” You ask her. If she does not, you don’t know what will happen. You’d rather have her as a friend than not at all.
“No!” Clarisse snaps, taking another step closer—enough for your pulse to quicken. “I have been trying to talk to you for days and you turned me away every time. Have I suddenly become so repulsive that you don’t want me near you?” She searches your eyes for answers you know she would find as soon as your equanimity fractures.
You meet her gaze, refusing to let her see your weakness. “No. That’s not it at all.”
“Then what is it? I’ve been trying to figure it out. I just want to talk to you, alright?!”
“We all want things we can’t have.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” You brush her off again.
The skies above you darken, sensing the turbulence below Olympus. It would rain soon and the walk back to the cabins was a long one. If it starts pouring, Clarisse would still follow. You look for other ways of escape, but none that won’t end up with you faceplanted into dirt with Clarisse holding you down.
The daughter of Ares must sense your resignation, as she lets go of your arm. Her touch leaves indelible marks on you—fervid and scorching. You dare not look up at her.
“You know, I never once thought you a coward, Y/n, but clearly, I was wrong. You’re just like the rest of them. You’re pathetic.” When Clarisse is angry, she lets it lead her heart. It doesn’t matter if she tolerates you. If she is wounded by your actions, she will strike ten times worse.
A droplet falls on your arm, reminding you of the impending downpour. You stay rooted to your spot. “I am.” You confirm with a whisper.
“What?” Clarisse anticipated your comeback yet you corroborated her theory. The rain was pelting down upon the grounds, soaking your camp uniform. You struggle to hide the shiver that threatens to manifest itself.
Keeping Clarisse at arm’s length is just as bad as confessing. Either option ends the same: you will lose her.
But you could no longer omit your feelings. In order to move forward, you must let go of the invisible weight on your shoulders.
“I love you.” You confess. The droplets of water from the skies blended with your tears. “I have loved you since…” You lose your train of thought.
You perceived your feelings for Clarisse last summer, yet looking back at your actions all the years before, it seems like you’ve been in love with her longer than you realized.
“I thought we’d have more time—that I’d still get to have you and make you smile and— gods, it was so obvious. I’m ruining our friendship by having these stupid emotions. You’re in love with someone else—with Chris—and I don’t know if I can watch you choose him over me. I hate myself for it. I hate the thought of you looking at him like he’s the one person you can’t afford to lose. I hate that I’m not the reason you’re smiling. You’re my best friend and I never wanted for any of this to happen. I thought that keeping distance would erase my feelings, but it made things worse. You’re right. I am a coward. Because no matter how much it hurts, I still love you.”
Thunder boomed across the camp, making you flinch. A part of you hopes for Zeus to strike you down before Clarisse could deny your affections. You would not be able to bear it. Confessing was one thing. Dealing with rejection was another.
Clarisse looked more bewildered than mad. She has that expression on her face that she uses whenever a demigod says something stupid. “Chris? I’m in love with Chris?” She scoffs, crossing the remaining distance between you.
“Aren’t you?”
“No, you fucking idiot! Where did that even come from?!”
“You flirted with him! Before the chariot race. Even Percy was smiling! If that wasn’t-”
“I was teasing him because I knew his mechanisms couldn’t beat my chariot!” She yells back. “I could never be in love with anyone that’s not you!”
Another crackle of lightning.
Then, “What?”
“For a child of Aphrodite, you’re so dense when it comes to love. Have you not felt that I treat you better than anyone in this godsforsaken camp? During training, I always wait for you. In capture the flag, when you foolishly joined Annabeth, who made sure my team didn’t target you? I did! Don’t you get it? I love you too.” Clarisse’s eyes were glassy, almost blue in the darkness of the arena. Was she… crying?
Pathetically, you question, “You do?”
Instead of giving you an answer, Clarisse surges forward and claims your lips on her own. The kiss tastes of salt, blood, and rainwater combined. A strange combination, but neither of you cared. Clarisse La Rue was finally kissing you.
You never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss Clarisse, even though whatever you could have concocted could not have lived up to the real thing. You return the display of affection ardently, gripping the front of her Camp Half-Blood shirt, trying to merge her body with yours.
Clarisse rests her hands on your hips awkwardly, and you release a soft breath of laughter. She smiles, pulling away, and you notice for the first time that she’s shaking. You don’t have time to ask her if she’s okay. Clarisse captures your lips once again with more confidence than the previous kiss. The tension melts away, leaving only you and your brown-eyed girl.
Lightning strikes the ground beside you, too close for your liking. You force yourselves to pull away.
“We should probably seek shelter soon.” Clarisse suggests, unable to hide the beaming smile that was only reserved for you.
“Yeah.” You allow her to drag you away, running across the arena and into the nearest shelter.
paring: clarisse la rue x daughter of apollo!reader
description: for years, you and clarisse walked a thin line between cheap taunts and open contempt. tired of being her favorite punching bag, you decided to pull away completely, you vanished from trainings, dodged every confrontation, stopped responding altogether. the silence broke her. without you there to provoke or challenge, clarisse’s rage exploded unchecked, turning the whole camp into a minefield. but during capture the flag, what started as a deadly fight between two furious souls, ended up becoming a moment of raw confession.
warnings: enemies to lovers; blood; insults; and a very hot kiss (english isn't my first language, sorry in advance!)
a/c: first of all, happy new year! and second, i've been stuck on this writing for over two weeks and only realized how long it had become when i finished, but i'm obsessed with this woman so i forgive myself for that. enjoy the reading!
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The summer afternoon at Camp Half-Blood was one of those that felt lazy and suffocating. The sun beat down hard on the lush green hills. You were sitting on the wide porch of cabin 7, leaning against one of the golden columns that gleamed as if Apollo himself had polished them. The wooden planks under your legs were warm from the sun, almost burning the skin through your worn jean shorts.
Your fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the string of a bow leaning beside you, winding and unwinding the thick cord, as if that repetitive motion could undo the tight knot you had felt in your chest for weeks. And it had a name.
Clarisse La Rue.
Just thinking the name made your heart give an annoying leap, an explosive mix of pure anger and a frustration that gnawed from within. She had been pursuing you like a stubborn shadow since the day you arrived at camp, with sharp provocations like blades, burning stares, pushes that seemed calculated to throw you off balance.
She labeled you "princess of the sun," as if being a daughter of Apollo were an unforgivable weakness, something soft and useless in a world of monsters and wars. And you always fought back. With cutting words, with constant presence in training, with a stubbornness that bordered on masochism. Because stopping would mean admitting defeat. It would mean she was right. But what gnawed at you the most was not just the anger. It was that treacherous confusion, a feeling you buried deep, but that surfaced in moments like this.
Sometimes, in the intervals between blows, you swore you saw something in her brown eyes, a gleam that was not pure contempt, an almost imperceptible hesitation before she turned her back and marched away. As if she were fighting against something she did not even understand herself. And that drove you crazy. Because you hated not understanding. You hated feeling that, deep down, those constant fights were the only thread connecting you both.
And it only got worse in that last training session.
The camp seemed swallowed by the storm. The sky was so low and gray that it gave the impression the clouds were touching the treetops, and the rain fell in thick curtains, almost solid, turning the training field into a living swamp. The tall grass had already become a slippery carpet of reddish-brown mud, and every step produced a wet, sucking sound.
The air smelled of soaked earth, wet iron, and wet pine, the classic scent of a bad day at camp. In the background, the colorful cabins looked like blurred ghosts through the water running incessantly down the roofs.
You were in the center of that chaos, sword in your right hand, the handle slippery even with the leather strip you had wrapped to improve grip. The orange camp t-shirt was stuck to your skin like a second cold layer, the fabric heavy with rain and sweat. Your hair clung to your forehead and cheeks, dripping water into your eyes with every blink. You had already lost count of how many times you wiped your face with the back of your muddied hand.
On the other side of the improvised combat circle, Clarisse seemed untouched by the rain. Water ran down the reinforced bronze armor, down the muscular arms, down the curly brown hair she wore tied in a tight ponytail, but even so not losing its volume. The electric spear hummed low, a sound almost inaudible under the drumming of the rain, as if the weapon were eager.
She held the shaft with the naturalness of someone born with it in her hands. There was no tension in her shoulders, no hurry in her feet. Just that predator posture waiting for the right moment.
"Ready for another round, princess of the sun?" her voice cut through the noise of the water, hoarse and low, loaded with a mockery that was already almost routine.
You did not answer with words. You just adjusted the grip on the sword, bent your knees to lower your center of gravity, and advanced.
This time, you were not as impulsive as in the previous weeks. You had spent the last nights training alone in the woods, repeating sequences that Luke taught you in the morning classes: high feint, low cut, wrist twist for counterattack. It was not enough to turn the tide against a daughter of Ares with a divine spear, but it was enough not to fall in the first seconds.
You faked a strong descending blow to her right shoulder. Clarisse raised the spear to block, exactly what you wanted. At the last instant, you twisted your wrist, changed the blade's trajectory to a horizontal cut at her left ribs. The movement was faster than previous times. The tip of the sword grazed the bronze of her armor, producing a hiss of metal being scraped.
Clarisse grunted, a short sound of genuine surprise. She stepped back half a pace, swung the spear in a wide arc to keep distance, and counterattacked with a low thrust, aiming at your thigh. You sidestepped, let the tip pass inches from your leg, and responded with an upward blow, targeting the forearm holding the spear.
Metal clashed. Blue sparks jumped from the point of contact, Ares's spear reacting to mortal steel. The impact traveled up your arms like a shock wave, but you held your stance, did not retreat. For the first time in weeks, you felt you were really fighting, not just surviving.
"Better," she admitted, voice neutral, almost as if commenting on the weather. But there was a new gleam in her brown eyes. It was not pity. It was interest.
You did not let the compliment go to your head. You advanced again, combining two quick cuts, one high, one low, to force her to defend in sequence. Clarisse blocked the first with the spear shaft, deflected the second with the tip, and twisted her body in a movement that seemed rehearsed. The spear shaft came like a lateral whip, aiming at your temple.
You ducked your head at the last second. The shaft whistled overhead, brushing the top of your head and pulling out some wet strands. The movement left you exposed for an instant. Clarisse did not waste it: she advanced with a direct thrust to the chest.
You crossed the sword in front of your body, blocking the spear with the flat of the blade. The impact was brutal. Your feet slid half a meter in the mud, your knees buckled, but you held. You pushed back, using leg strength to gain space, and counterattacked with a wide circular blow, targeting her shoulder.
She deflected with ease, but you saw it: the movement was a little slower than usual. She was really exerting herself now.
You circled each other for long seconds, breathing heavily, the rain hitting your faces like cold needles. The field around had gone silent, the other campers stopped pretending to train and formed a distant semicircle, watching.
You attacked again. High feint with the sword, followed by a low kick to unbalance. Clarisse jumped back, but the kick grazed her shin. It was not strong enough to hurt, but enough to make her frown.
"You've been training in secret," she said, almost like an accusation.
You did not answer. You just advanced once more, sword swinging in a descending arc that forced Clarisse to raise the spear diagonally to block. The clash was so strong you felt your teeth grind. But this time, when she tried to counter with the spear tip, you were already moving: you twisted to the side, let the thrust pass, and landed a shallow cut on her left arm, nothing deep, just enough to tear the t-shirt sleeve and leave a red scratch on the skin.
Clarisse stopped. Looked at the cut. Then at you.
For the first time in a long while, her face was not just a mask of indifference. There was something there, irritation, yes, but also a flash of reluctant respect.
You felt your chest rise and fall quickly. It was not victory. Far from it. But it was… something. Something that made the blood run hotter despite the freezing rain.
And then she attacked for real.
The spear became a blur. Quick, precise thrusts, forcing you to retreat, block, dodge. You managed to keep up longer than ever, dodged three, blocked two, counterattacked once. But Clarisse was a force of nature. In a movement you barely saw, she swung the spear shaft in a low arc, swept your legs with surgical precision.
The ground came up to meet you. You fell on your back in the mud, the air leaving your lungs in a painful whoosh. The sword slipped from your hand, sinking into the puddle a few meters away. You rolled to the side, coughing, trying to prop yourself on your elbows. Your whole body ached, ribs, shoulders, lungs, but it was not just physical pain. It was the weight of weeks accumulated, of showing up every day, of fighting back, of feeling that inexplicable pull that brought you back to her even when everything screamed to stop.
Clarisse stopped above you, spear pointed at the ground, drops running from the tip like metal tears. She did not speak right away. She just looked at you. Long. As if trying to understand something.
But you knew she had exhausted her sympathy for that day.
"Do Apollo kids get weak without sunlight or do you just fight badly?"
You lay there, in the cold mud, the rain pounding your skin as if Zeus himself were unloading his fury on the camp. The clay stuck to your back, cold and sticky, and every breath came in irregular puffs, your chest burning with exhaustion and humiliation.
Your hands trembled as they braced on the slippery ground, fingers sinking into the puddle, and you raised your gaze to Clarisse, teeth clenched so hard they hurt. Those words echoed in your head like a monster's echo in the labyrinth. As if you were just another joke, a second-class demigod who could not handle it without her father's shine to light the way.
Anger rose like bile in your throat, hot and bitter, mixing with the taste of rain and earth. You hated this, hated how she saw you, as if your affinity for bow and arrow made you useless in a real fight. Apollo kids healed, prophesied, shot from afar, but up close? In Clarisse's world, that was weakness.
And there, under the clouded sky that blocked any ray of sun, you felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the whole camp were watching your defeat. You knew the curious eyes were fixed on you both, the Ares bully and the Apollo daughter who could not defend herself.
"Do you think it's funny?" you spat the words, voice hoarse and broken as you struggled to stand.
Your knees buckled for a second, but you rose, ignoring the throbbing pain in your legs and the tingling in your arms. The sword lay a few meters away, half sunk in the mud, and you grabbed it with a quick motion, gripping the handle as if you could squeeze the frustration out.
"Using me as a damn punching bag since I got here." The frustration was noticeable in your voice. "I'm not your toy, Clarisse."
For a fleeting instant, something you almost missed in the rain blur, her brown eyes flashed with a glimpse of dissatisfaction, a subtle and imperceptible flicker, as if seeing you there, muddied, was not the trophy she expected. It was as if a shadow passed behind that armor of coldness, an echo of reluctance, as if humiliating you was not her choice, but a curse from Ares, the god who demanded victories at any cost.
She blinked, and the moment vanished, swallowed by the rain, leaving only the impassive bully as always.
"Then go back to your bow, sun daughter," she shot back, voice low and emotionless, raising the spear again to guard position. "Or keep trying. Does it make a difference?"
As you stood there, sword in hand, staring at Clarisse under the incessant rain that turned the training field into a muddy swamp, her words echoed in your mind like the clang of an anvil in Hephaestus's forge. Of course it made a difference, at least for you.
That rivalry had not arisen from nothing; it was like a wound that slowly infected, accumulating layers of resentment since the day you stepped into Camp Half-Blood. You gripped the sword handle tighter, ignoring the tremor in your arms, and for a second, old memories flooded your head, feeding the anger that kept you from retreating.
But you could not get lost in them now, not with the rain still falling and Clarisse waiting for your next move; you felt all that history weighing on your shoulders and your heart tightening.
"It does make a difference. For me, it does." Because no matter how much you did not understand the reason, you wanted it to make a difference for her too.
And then you let the sword slip through your fingers, following the flow of the rain running down your arms. Clarisse raised one eyebrow, for the first time showing a reaction different from the indifference you were used to seeing. The blade sank into the mud, and then, placing one hand over your ribs, you turned your back, starting to limp away.
But Clarisse would not let it go.
"Is that it? You're going to quit the fight like a coward?" her voice was loud, the hoarse timbre followed by a thunderous crash soon after.
You did not answer, your eyes narrowing as you struggled to stay steady in your walk. Legs weak, feet sticking in the mud as if it were there to increase your humiliation.
"Apollo daughter, I order you to come back! Pick up that sword and fight me." The shiver that ran down your spine made you stop the slow limping. You could hear the whispers of the other campers, all gathering around the commotion forming.
They must have thought you crazy for defying the orders of the Ares daughter, but you were tired. Not of Clarisse. Even against everything you believed, you would never tire of her, but you were tired of living this vicious cycle that led nowhere.
Then, turning slowly and painfully, your eyes met hers. They were sharp, disgusted, and fierce. Jaw clenched, fingers whitened around the spear from the force gripping it. It was anger.
"Find someone else, La Rue. I'm done." And with that, you left for good, bumping into some campers while hearing Clarisse's howls, the ones she shouted to the four winds about how you were a coward just like the other sun children.
You accepted the coward title she yelled at your back. Because, this time, giving up was not weakness. It was survival.
You let out a long, heavy sigh, throwing your head back against the warm column, eyes half-closed against the golden light filtering through the leaves of nearby trees. The camp was still dotted with some puddles that were slowly evaporating, and the distant sound of laughter and sword clangs in the training field echoed as a reminder that camp life went on, indifferent to your internal turmoil.
It was then that light but determined footsteps climbed the porch steps. You opened your eyes and saw Annabeth approaching, her braids tied in a practical ponytail. She carried a clipboard full of scribbled notes, strategies probably, because Annabeth never stopped planning.
Without ceremony, she sat beside you on the step, crossing her legs and observing you for a long moment with those stormy brown eyes that seemed capable of dissecting any puzzle.
You felt the air grow a little heavier. Annabeth was not the type to show up for small talk.
"You're making that face again," she said at last, voice low and direct, cutting the silence like a dagger. "Like you want to strangle someone with your bare hands. Let me guess: Clarisse?"
You snorted, a sound that came out more bitter than intended, and looked away to the distant fields, where tiny campers picked strawberries under the relentless sun.
"When do I not want to strangle her?"
Annabeth tilted her head, studying you with an intensity that made you want to fidget, but you stayed still, fingers tightening the bow string harder. There was a long pause, the kind of silence that weighs, loaded with expectation.
"But never for real." She started slowly, choosing words as if building a perfect trap. "You know, I observe people. It's what I do. Strategy, patterns, weaknesses. And there's one thing about Clarisse that I can't ignore."
Your stomach twisted. You raised an eyebrow, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out tense.
"What? That she's an unbearable bully?"
Annabeth gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, but did not answer right away. Instead, she leaned a little closer to you, lowering her voice as if the air itself could listen.
"She provokes you more than anyone here. Way more. It's not just casual bullying. It's… obsessive. She shows up out of nowhere just to poke you. Watches you when she thinks no one notices. And when you fight back?" Her eyes gleamed with something between amusement and seriousness. "She seems… alive. Like that's the highlight of her day."
You felt heat rise up your neck, hot and treacherous, and crossed your arms over your chest as if you could contain the turmoil starting to form inside you. The sun seemed more intense suddenly, burning the skin.
"That's crazy, Annabeth. She does it because I'm an easy target. Apollo daughter, bow and arrow, healing… everything Ares kids despise."
"No." The word came firm, sharp, making you turn your face to her. Annabeth did not blink. "With others, it's quick. A shove, a threat, and she moves on. With you… she prolongs it. She invents reasons to meet you in the training field. She stays after everyone leaves, just for one more round. And those looks…" She paused, letting the words hang in the hot air. "It's not just hate. It's something she doesn't know how to handle."
Your heart beat harder, an irregular drumming echoing in your ears.
"What exactly are you insinuating?" You swallowed hard, feeling your throat dry despite the air's humidity.
Annabeth raised her hands in an innocent gesture, but the smile on her lips was sly.
"I'm not insinuating anything definitive. Just saying it might be an interest she doesn't know how to express. Ares kids are raised for war, for brute conquest. More… subtle feelings? They have no tools for that. So they turn it into fight. Into provocation. Into anything that keeps the person close. Instead of asking you for a walk in the woods… she knocks you down in the mud and calls you weak. It's her way of saying 'hey, you matter.'"
The words hit like an arrow to the chest. You felt the air escape for a second, the world around blurring, the sun, the distant sound of laughter. Everything reduced to that absurd, impossible idea Annabeth had just planted. Your face burned, and you let out a dry, forced laugh that came out strangled and too loud in the porch silence.
"Impossible," you said, voice sharper than intended, shaking your head vehemently. "Out of any consideration. Clarisse doesn't like anyone besides herself and the glory of battle. She's just a bored bully seeking attention. And I… I give her rope for it. I show up, I fight back, I stay there taking hits every day. That's why she insists. If I really ignored her, she'd get tired quickly and find another toy to break. And that's what I'm doing now."
The words came out quick, defensive, as if saying them aloud could convince her, and yourself. But Annabeth just watched you for another long moment, brown eyes penetrating, as if seeing through your armor of denial.
"Skipped training today?" She asked with narrowed eyes, and you looked away to your feet. "You know what Chiron thinks about you skipping sword practice."
"I know! But I just… need some time from Clarisse, away from her." Your answer was frustrated, your hands slapping your thighs nervously. "Because I know if she calls me I'll go, and I can't do that anymore."
The silence stretched, tense and heavy, the sun beating on your back like an additional weight. Finally, she shrugged, standing with fluid grace and brushing imaginary dust from her cargo pants.
"Maybe it'll work," she said, voice neutral, but with a tone suggesting the opposite. "But it's only a matter of time until she comes looking for you, because one thing I know: nobody spends so much time and energy trying to knock down someone who means nothing."
She descended the porch steps slowly, footsteps echoing on the wooden planks, leaving you alone once more. The sun continued relentless, the strawberry scent sweeter than ever, but now everything seemed distant, muffled by the buzzing in your ears.
You tried to laugh at the idea. Tried to bury it deep, as you did with everything that destabilized you. But deep down, Annabeth's idea terrified you. You just did not know in what sense.
[...]
The sun of the following morning rose lazily over Camp Half-Blood, filtering through the leaves of the ancient trees that lined the training fields. The air still carried the damp coolness of the previous night, mixed with the smell of dew on the grass and the distant sound of birds singing.
You were on the way to the training field, your feet sinking slightly into the still soft earth, the quiver of arrows bouncing against your back with every step. You knew you could not skip training forever, so you decided to end it once and for all.
After the conversation with Annabeth, and that seed of doubt she had planted, you had decided it was time to change. To pull away. To stop feeding it. But the process was slow, as if every fiber of your body still wanted to turn and face the challenge that Clarisse represented.
You saw her from afar, as always: standing in the center of the combat circle, the electric spear spinning in her hands as if she were bored, the curly hair tied in a ponytail with tight braids that could not tame all the rebellious strands. She wore the bronze armor, marked by old scratches, and her brown eyes scanned the field like a predator waiting for prey.
When she spotted you approaching, something changed in her posture, her shoulders straightened, her mouth curved into a short smile that was half mockery, half anticipation. Clarisse did not smile, except for this kind of smile. She took a step forward, blocking your path with the naturalness of someone who commanded the ground.
"Hey, princess of the sun," her voice came out hoarse, loaded with an authoritative tone you knew well. "Didn't show up yesterday… running from me? Let's double the bet, see if you learned anything from the last beating."
You stopped a few meters from her, feeling the sun hitting your back like silent encouragement. Your heart raced, but you swallowed the impulse to retort with a barb. Instead, you shook your head slowly, your voice coming out low and different from what you were used to.
"Not today, Clarisse." There was a brief but heavy silence, like the air before a storm.
Her eyes narrowed, the remnant of that smile dying on her lips. You saw the muscle in her jaw tighten, a subtle sign of discomfort that she rarely let slip. Clarisse was not used to refusals, especially not from you, who always showed up, always bit the bait.
"What?" She tilted her head, as if she had not heard right, stopping the spear spin and resting it on her shoulder, the low electric hum echoing in the air. "You heard me. Come on. Grab the sword."
The insistence came as expected, the tone sharper now, loaded with a frustration she tried to mask with authority. You felt a tightness in your chest, part guilt, part hesitant relief.
"No. Find someone else today." Without waiting for a response, you walked around her slowly, your feet moving with a deliberation that seemed forced, as if your body wanted to stay.
You headed to the adjacent archery range, where straw targets swayed lightly in the breeze, ignoring the weight of her gaze on your back.
Clarisse stood there for a long moment, her fingers gripping the spear shaft so hard that her knuckles whitened. She hated being ignored, hated the feeling of something slipping out of her control, like a battle turning for no apparent reason. But she pretended not to care.
She huffed loud enough for you to hear, turning to a group of nearby campers and barking an order for an improvised training.
"You there! Line up. Let's see if anyone here is worth anything." Her voice came out rougher than normal, but she marched away, pretending the refusal did not bother her.
Deep down, however, it burned, a spark she did not know how to extinguish.
The afternoon dragged on hot and stuffy, the high sun turning the dining pavilion into an outdoor oven. You were sitting at the table of cabin 7, the plate of salad and cheese almost untouched, the fork spinning absentmindedly in the food while your siblings chattered about the next capture the flag.
That was when Clarisse passed by your table, flanked by two Ares siblings who were laughing at some inside joke. She stopped abruptly, leaning over the table with one arm supported, the woody smell of her soap and metal invading your space.
"What happened to you, princess of the sun?" she said, voice low and provocative, eyes fixed on yours as if waiting for the usual spark. "Tired of taking a beating and decided to hide behind the bow like a coward?"
You raised your gaze slowly, feeling the old impulse to respond with venom rise in your throat. But you swallowed it, forcing a soft tone, almost neutral, as if commenting on the weather.
"Maybe. But I'm fine like this, thanks." No barbs, no anger. Just a tame response that slipped like water.
Clarisse blinked, the mockery freezing on her face for a second. She expected the fight, needed it in a way, to feel that things were in place. But there you were, responding without biting the bait, without giving the fuel she wanted. Frustration rose like bile, but she did not externalize it: she straightened slowly, her lips curving into that same forced smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Fine. Have fun with your little arrows." She turned and marched away, steps heavier than necessary, leaving an uncomfortable silence at the table. Deep down, it gnawed at her, as if you had stolen something from her without effort.
The following days passed in agonizing slowness, and you saw the effects seep into Clarisse in subtle ways, like slow poison. At first, it was almost imperceptible: during group training, she attacked with more ferocity than normal, the spear spinning in a blur that left opponents breathless.
But then came the first real explosion, during combat with an Ares sibling, she did not hold back the blow, the spear tip tearing his skin and leaving a deep cut on his arm.
"What the hell is this, Clarisse?" the boy shouted, pressing the wound as blood ran. She just grunted.
"Even the coward Apollo kids don't whine like you," but her eyes were distant, the anger not directed at him.
The explosions multiplied over the days: yelling at campers who made silly mistakes, punches on training bags that echoed louder than necessary, and she had become quieter during meals, she who always dominated conversations with battle stories, now stayed silent, chewing food with her gaze fixed on the Apollo cabin table. Her siblings exchanged nervous glances, whispering that "she's worse than normal," but no one dared confront her.
One afternoon, the air was heavy with the buzz of insects and the distant echo of laughter from younger campers playing near the lake, but on the porch of cabin 6, where you and Annabeth were sitting, the atmosphere was quieter, almost introspective. A light breeze stirred the pages of Annabeth's notebook, which she held firmly, ink-stained fingers tracing lines and diagrams. The smell of dry earth and pine resin hung in the air, mixed with the polish you used on your bow, an oily and familiar aroma that calmed your nerves.
Annabeth was leaning forward, her brown eyes shining with that calculating intensity that made her the best strategist at camp.
"So, I talked to Luke earlier," she began, turning a page with a quick gesture. "He thinks we can turn the game in the next capture the flag if we mix the teams in an unexpected way. The Ares kids will expect a heavy defense on the eastern border, as always, but we're going to infiltrate a quick hunt through the western flank…"
She drew an arrow on the paper, the pencil scraping against the surface.
"And that's where you come in. It's time to abandon that bow a little. I'm putting you on the hunt, you're fast, precise, and can cover ground without making noise."
You were sitting on the step beside her, the bow balanced on your lap as you passed the soft cloth over the curved wood, feeling the smooth texture under your fingers. The movement was rhythmic, almost meditative, a welcome distraction from the thoughts that stubbornly returned to Clarisse. Upon hearing Annabeth's words, you could not help a low laugh, the sound escaping soft like a breeze, without raising your eyes from the bow.
"You sounded like Clarisse just now," you murmured, voice low and casual, but with a subtle note of something more, perhaps nostalgia, perhaps contained irritation. Clarisse always picked on your bow, calling it a "coward's weapon," as if only close combat was worthwhile.
Annabeth stopped writing at the same instant, the pencil freezing in the air. She raised her gaze slowly, analyzing you as if you were a puzzle to be solved, shoulders slightly tense, the way your fingers gripped the cloth for a second longer than necessary. The expression on your face had changed: the corners of your mouth curving downward almost imperceptibly, eyes shifting to the horizon instead of meeting hers.
"Speaking of Clarisse…" Annabeth said, tone neutral, but with sharp curiosity behind it. She closed the notebook slowly, crossing her arms over it as if preparing for a deeper conversation. "I heard a Hermes kid say earlier that he saw her punching trees last night after curfew. Those near the forest edge. He said she seemed… possessed. With a lot of anger."
You felt a tightness in your stomach, as if an invisible arrow had hit dead center. Your expressions changed before you could control them, eyebrows furrowing for an instant, lips pressing into a thin line. You swallowed hard, the sound audible in the silence that followed, and shrugged, forcing your shoulders to relax as you returned to polishing the bow with more deliberate movements.
"Oh, really?" The words came out casual, but you kept your eyes fixed on the bow, as if the polishing required all your attention. "Clarisse angry doesn't seem like news to me."
Annabeth narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly to the side, like an owl assessing prey. She knew you too well to let it pass.
"You're worried," she said, voice low but firm, no beating around the bush. It was a statement, not a question, loaded with that sharp perception that made her annoyingly accurate.
You laughed again, but this time the sound came out forced, as if laughing at something ridiculous, an inside joke that was not funny. You shook your head, still without looking at her, the cloth sliding faster over the wood.
"Holy shit, you are!" Annabeth shot back, eyes widening a little in genuine surprise, mixed with a trace of amusement. She leaned closer, the notebook now forgotten on her lap, as if the conversation had taken a more interesting turn than any capture the flag tactic. "I mean, I already imagined you were but seeing it happen right in front of me is another thing."
You paused for a second, fingers freezing on the cloth, but soon resumed the movement, slower now.
"I don't care what Clarisse does or doesn't do," you said, voice distant, as if talking about something trivial, like the weather or the dinner menu. "She can punch whatever she wants. Trees, people, whatever. It's not my problem." You shifted your gaze to the distant field, where campers trained with swords, the metal clang echoing like a distant reminder.
Annabeth huffed softly, a sound that was half frustration, half affection. She leaned back against the porch pillar, crossing her legs and watching you with that calculated patience.
"You know, I said maybe your idea of pulling away would work. Maybe. And maybe isn't certainty. Look at what's happening, she's exploding all over the place, you're here pretending not to notice… pretending very badly by the way. But it might be that ignoring doesn't put out the fire like you think it will, but actually just makes it burn slower. Or worse, spread."
You felt her words seep in like a seed planted in the fertile soil of your mind, but you shook your head again, forcing a smile that did not reach your eyes.
"Annabeth, seriously. Let's get back to the tactics?" You changed the subject with trained naturalness, returning to polish the bow with more vigor, as if the words could be erased by the repetitive motion.
She hesitated for a moment, eyes still fixed on you, as if deciding whether to insist or not.
"Okay, okay. But can I say one last thing?" She leaned toward you, trying to meet your eyes, and when she did, she continued. "Pretending you don't feel won't make the feelings go away."
You did not answer, blinking slowly and taking time to shift your eyes from Annabeth, pretending to return attention to your bow. She sighed, giving up, opened the notebook again, and turning the pages with a sharp gesture, continued her line of reasoning.
"Fine, Luke told me about a new route that…"
But as she continued, talking about positions and traps, you felt that seed germinating deep in your chest, an uncomfortable doubt, a worry you did not want to name.
The conversation repeating in your head like a persistent echo. Annabeth had planted it there, and no matter how much you denied it, you knew it would not disappear so easily. The sun continued to descend, lengthening the shadows across the porch, and the camp followed its rhythm, oblivious to the quiet turmoil forming inside you.
What was the daughter of Ares doing to you?
[...]
The day of capture the flag dawned with the rising sun tinting the treetops orange and pink, filtering through the branches in beams that danced on the dew-wet ground. The air was charged with anticipation, the smell of pine mixed with the sharp metal of weapons being prepared and the nervous sweat of the campers. The teams gathered at the edges of the forest: the blue team, led by Annabeth and Luke, and the red team, by Clarisse.
You felt the weight of the light armor on your shoulders, the sheathed sword at your side, missing the weight of the bow on your back, a reluctant commitment to Annabeth's plan to put you on the hunt, far from safe arrows.
"Blue team, positions!" Luke shouted, the plumed helmet swaying as he adjusted his shield.
You waved to him from afar, taking command of the hunting group on the front line: a handful of agile campers, including Hermes kids and some younger ones from Apollo and Athena, all with eyes shining with excitement.
The Camp Half-Blood forest swallowed them as if it were a living and hungry entity, the ancient twisted trunks of oaks and pines forming natural corridors of deep shadow, where the midday sunlight barely pierced the thick canopy of leaves.
The ground was covered by an uneven carpet of dry leaves and broken branches that creaked treacherously under boots, betraying every step. Further ahead, the stream that divided the territory into two sides murmured low, like a constant warning: crossing the water meant enemy territory, and whoever carried the opposing flag back to their own side won. Traps were scattered everywhere.
"Advance slowly, cover the flanks," you ordered, voice low but firm, cutting the tense silence like a celestial bronze blade.
The knot in your stomach tightened with every second, it was not exactly fear, but the sharp awareness that, in that moment, everyone there was both hunter and prey. The enemy flag was hidden somewhere in the depths, protected by traps, sentinels, and probably Clarisse and her Ares squad thirsty for blood.
Your mission was simple and brutal: distract, delay, wear down the opposing team for as long as possible, give your side a chance to advance.
You nodded to your group. They did not hesitate: they nodded back, spreading out in a fan formation, silent as shadows. Camp training did that to you: it turned teenagers into something lethal, almost instinctive.
You went alone eastward, moving like one of Artemis's hunters, light feet, controlled breathing, every muscle alert. The heart beat in a steady rhythm, synchronized with the distant echoes of battle: the muffled clang of swords clashing, short cries of surprise, the occasional snap of a trap being triggered.
A sudden rustle to your right made you freeze in place. Your hand flew to the sword hilt, fingers closing tightly on the worn leather grip. You held your breath, ears attuned to the slightest noise. The leaves moved again, slowly, deliberate, as if something (or someone) was testing the ground. The air seemed heavier, the pine smell now mixed with sweat and metal.
You approached centimeter by centimeter, body low, back brushing the rough bark of a tree. Your pulse thundered in your ears. One more movement in the foliage, and you leaped to the side, sword unsheathed in a fluid arc, ready to cut whoever it was.
But from the middle of the bushes emerged Percy Jackson, also in combat stance, Riptide already extended in his right hand, the celestial bronze blade gleaming with a cold, almost watery shine, as if capturing nonexistent light. His sea-blue eyes, always so expressive even in chaos, widened for a fraction of a second before recognition hit. You both lowered your weapons almost at the same time, metal scraping lightly against the air.
"Oh, it's you," you both said in unison, the words coming out in a relieved breath that turned into a low, nervous laugh. Your chest still rose and fell quickly, adrenaline running through your veins.
Percy ran his free hand through his messy blond hair, sweaty and disheveled as always, and gave a crooked smile, one of those that made the whole camp seem less dangerous for a moment.
"Almost cut you in half, dude. Thought it was one of those Ares brutes coming to hunt me again." He capped Riptide back into pen form with a familiar click, but kept his eyes alert, scanning the forest around. "Listen… Clarisse is loose out there alone. Really alone. She dismissed her platoon. She's got a look that… I don't know, like she wants to destroy anything that moves. Be careful, okay? She's fiercer than normal, and that's saying something."
You felt a shiver run down your spine. Clarisse La Rue alone? That did not add up. She was the type who led by shouting orders, wielding the electric spear like an extension of her own arm, always with half a dozen Ares siblings behind her. But the rumors of Clarisse's bad mood had been piling up for weeks, so for some reason you were not surprised. You shook your head, pushing the worry to the back of your mind.
"Thanks for the warning, Percy." You gave a half smile, trying to sound confident, but he knew you too well. He tilted his head, blue eyes studying you for a second longer, as if he could see through the facade.
"Hey," he said, even lower, taking a step closer. "If you need backup, yell. Or whistle that ridiculous way you do. I'll find you." He gave a light punch to your shoulder, the casual and familiar gesture that always reminded you why you had survived so many things together, monsters, prophecies, sleepless nights. "And don't go playing the lone hero, okay? We've done that before and almost turned into hydra barbecue."
You laughed low, the sound muffled by the forest.
"You don't go throwing yourself at everyone like last time, Seaweed Brain. Someone has to pull you out of the water when you overdo it."
He rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed, genuine and warm amid the tension.
"Deal." He waved once, already turning to the shadows. "Good hunting."
And then he vanished among the trees, as silent as he had arrived. A shadow of blond strands blending into the forest green.
You took a deep breath, adjusted the sword in your hand, and advanced again, deeper still. Percy's warning echoed in your head like an unspoken prophecy, but you pushed it all to the corner of your mind. Focus on the mission. The enemy flag was waiting. And Clarisse, wherever she was, probably too.
The forest closed around you again, alive, watchful, and you pressed on.
It did not take long for another noise to alert you: a muffled shout, followed by the clang of metal and a fierce grunt. You ran toward it, branches whipping your face, heart racing. Bursting into a small clearing, the scene hit you full force.
Clarisse, with the electric spear humming in the air, facing a younger camper, a blue team boy barely out of childhood, with eyes wide in terror. He was one of the distractions in Annabeth's strategy, a harmless bait to draw enemies into traps. But Clarisse was not playing fair. Her brown eyes burned with blind rage, face twisted in a snarl, and she advanced like a bull, spear raised for a blow that was no joke.
"Clarisse, stop!" you shouted, but it was too late, she lunged, the spear cutting the air with an electric hiss.
Without thinking, you threw yourself forward, stepping in front of the child like a living shield. Your sword rose in a quick arc, colliding with her spear in a crash that echoed through the clearing, sparks flying where metal met metal. The impact reverberated through your arms, muscles protesting against her brute force.
The child blinked, stunned, and you barked an order without taking your eyes off Clarisse.
"Run! Go to Annabeth, now!" The boy did not hesitate, stumbling away as he vanished into the forest.
Clarisse stepped back one pace, arm muscles flexed under the armor, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her eyes fixed on yours, a mix of surprise and bitterness gleaming in them.
"Oh, so now you want to fight?" she spat, voice hoarse and bitter, as if the words were accumulated poison. "Tired of running?"
You kept the sword raised, feet planted firmly on the soft ground, feeling the vibration of the impact still running through your arms.
"What is happening to you?" you shot back, voice firm but loaded with a concern you could not fully hide. "He's just a kid!"
"What is happening to you!" Clarisse growled back, lunging with brutal force, the spear spinning in a skillful arc that forced you to retreat, blocking the blow with a clang that reverberated through the trees.
She was a force of nature: every movement precise, fueled by a rage that seemed to come from within, broad shoulders moving with lethal grace despite the fury. You counterattacked, your sword cutting the air in an attempt to disarm her, but she deflected with ease, the electric hum of the spear increasing like a warning.
The fight intensified, the clearing ground turning into a chaos of stirred leaves and foot marks. Clarisse attacked without mercy, her thrusts strong enough to make your arms ache with every block, she spun the spear like an extension of her own body, alternating between high and low strikes, forcing you to dance in circles to avoid the electric contact.
Her curly hair escaped the tight braid, sticking to her sweaty face, and you noticed her hands. They were wrapped in white bandages stained with dirt and dried blood. It was not just rumors about her punching trees.
"He doesn't deserve your fury!" you shouted between one block and another, trying to penetrate her wall, spinning to the side and counterattacking with a lateral blow that she parried with an animalistic grunt.
She huffed, eyes narrowed into slits of pure rage, lunging again with a series of quick strikes that made you retreat to the trees.
"Shut up! You don't know anything!" The words poured out like venom, cold and cutting, without a hint of explanation, just raw rage, as if every syllable was another weapon. Another spear spin, and you felt the air crackle near your shoulder, the ozone smell mixing with sweat and earth.
You tried to press, not just with the sword, but with words.
"What is making you like this?" But she remained cold, an impenetrable wall, responding only with more thrusts, more growls.
"It's none of your business! Just fight or get out of the way!" The fight continued, the sun filtering in intermittent rays over you, the sound of metal against metal echoing like a personal duel amid the greater chaos of capture the flag.
Deep down, you knew this went beyond the game; it was something that had been fermenting for days, a spark Annabeth had predicted, but that now burned uncontrolled between you two.
The fight intensified with every breath, the clearing air charged with the metallic smell of sweat and ozone from Clarisse's electric spear. She attacked with growing fury, the blows coming faster, heavier, as if each thrust was an attempt to crush not just your defense, but something deeper within herself.
"You think you can judge me?" she snarled, hoarse voice echoing among the trees, spinning the spear in a wide arc that forced you to jump aside, your sword blade scraping against hers in a high-pitched hiss. "After hiding like a coward behind a stupid bow and arrow?"
Her brown eyes were dark, almost black with rage, teeth clenched in an expression of pure contained hatred, but you saw beyond, saw the cracks in that emotional armor she wore like a second skin.
You blocked another blow, feeling the impact reverberate through your arms, and shot back with sharp words, using her rage as an opening.
"Judge? I'm trying to understand, Clarisse!" Your voice came out firm, provocative, knowing she was not the type to sit and talk about feelings. "You're destroying yourself out there, punching trees, hurting campers who don't deserve it."
She huffed, the muscles in her bandaged hands gripping the spear shaft so hard you heard the leather creak. Clarisse hated vulnerability; rage was her native language, and you would use it to pull something from her, even if in pieces.
"Shut that mouth! You know nothing about me!" Another blow came, brutal, the spear cutting the air with an electric hum that made the surrounding leaves tremble.
She was angrier now, movements losing some of their usual precision, replaced by brute force that made the ground shake with every step. You dodged by inches, counterattacking with a lateral blow that she parried with an animalistic grunt, eyes blazing.
"You disappear like a coward and now want to play therapist? Go to hell!"
The fight became increasingly wild, the rhythm accelerating like an uncontrolled heart. Clarisse lunged without pause, her breathing heavy and irregular, sweat running down her face and mixing with the curly strands. You felt exhaustion starting to weigh, but persisted, blocking and retaliating, words coming out between the metal clangs.
"So that's it? Rage because I got tired of being your punching bag? Or are you going to keep pretending you're just a bad-tempered Ares daughter?" She did not really answer, just more coldness, more closure, lips curling in a sneer of disdain as she attacked again, the spear spinning in a blur that forced you back against a tree.
And then came the blow that changed everything. Clarisse, blinded by a fresh wave of fury, perhaps from your words poking too deep, spun the spear with demonic speed, the tip grazing. The impact knocked your helmet off, which flew aside with a crash, rolling through the damp grass.
A sharp pain burned your cheek, a superficial cut you felt immediately, warm blood slowly trickling down your skin. You froze for an instant, hand flying to your face, fingers coming away stained red. The world seemed to pause, the forest sound muffled, heart pounding in your ears.
Clarisse stopped too, eyes widening for fractions of a second, spear still raised in the air. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, face pale under the layer of sweat and dirt, as if the blood on your face had pulled her from the rage fog. She blinked, jaw locked, but said nothing, just a cold, loaded silence, as if fighting against something internal threatening to escape.
It was not visible remorse, not yet; it was a hesitation, a crack in the wall she built.
You raised your gaze slowly, eyes burning with a mix of pain and determination, the cut throbbing like a living reminder. With a deep sigh, you brushed away the strands of hair falling on your face in a majestic way, the gesture slow and deliberate, like a goddess recomposing herself after battle. The sun filtered through the treetops, illuminating the blood on your skin like a war mark.
"Fine," you murmured, voice low and resolute, echoing in the tense silence. "It'll be your way then."
Without hesitating, you threw the sword to the ground with a dull clang, the blade sinking into the soft earth. Clarisse blinked again, surprise freezing her expression for a moment, her eyes narrowing in confusion, the spear still in a defensive position, as if she could not believe what she was seeing. She was a statue of contained fury, muscles tense but motionless, waiting for the next move.
And you did not make her wait. You lunged at her with bare hands, feet propelling you forward in a fierce leap. Clarisse raised the spear instinctively, the electric hum increasing like a warning, but you were faster, grabbed the shaft with both hands, feeling the vibration run through your arms, and used the momentum to push her back.
The impact unbalanced her, her feet slipping on the damp grass, and she fell on her back with a heavy thud, the air escaping her lungs in a surprised grunt.
You straddled her body in an instant, legs locking hers to the ground, hands still gripping the spear and pressing it against Clarisse's neck. The pressure was firm, not lethal, but enough to immobilize her, the cold metal brushing her skin. She struggled for a second, eyes blazing with renewed rage, but you held her in place, the weight of your body and the determination in your eyes anchoring her.
Clarisse grunted again, teeth clenched, bandaged hands pushing back with brute force, but she remained closed off, cold as ice, without uttering a word about why, just more rage pouring out in stares and silent growls, as if admitting anything would be a greater defeat than the fight itself. The clearing seemed smaller now, the world reduced to the two of you, trapped in that clash that went beyond swords and spears.
Clarisse began to thrash beneath you with renewed strength, arm muscles tensed to the maximum, bandaged hands pushing the spear shaft away from her neck. Her body writhed like a cornered animal, legs trying to free themselves from yours, chest rising and falling in heavy gasps.
A low growl escaped her throat, pure fighting instinct, eyes still burning with that endless cold rage. The spear vibrated between you, the electric hum crackling like a threat, but you maintained the pressure, forearms trembling from the effort.
"Clarisse, stop!" Your voice came out louder than intended, trembling in the middle.
She continued for another second, teeth clenched, face red from effort, but then something changed. Her eyes, those brown eyes that always seemed to challenge the entire world, caught the wet gleam in yours. Tears. Not many, just enough to blur your vision, to run hot down the cut on your cheek and mix with the blood.
You had not even realized they were there until that moment.
"Please, just stop!" Your voice broke on the last words against your will.
Clarisse faltered. The strength in her arms diminished suddenly, as if someone had cut the strings keeping her tense. The spear slipped a few centimeters to the side, its weight now inert against the ground. She stopped thrashing. Stopped fighting. Lay there, on her back in the damp earth of the clearing, chest still panting, eyes fixed on yours, but now without the wall of ice, just raw confusion, almost frightened, that she tried to hide behind controlled breathing.
"Since you won't talk, I'll talk." You said, voice hoarse and intense, the cut on your cheek still bleeding, drops falling onto the bronze of her armor.
You let out a shaky sigh, slowly easing the pressure on the spear, but without getting off her. You could not. Not yet. The words came then, as if they had been waiting for that exact moment of silence to escape, one after another, without filter, without long pauses.
"I saw you, Clarisse. I always saw you. You, in the center of the training circle, spinning that spear as if the world were too small for you. I hated it, hated how you looked at me as if I were just easy prey, as if I were worthless beyond arrows and safe distance. We fought, we provoked each other, we hated each other… or at least that's what I thought it was. All that rivalry, that fire that ignited every time you opened your mouth to call me princess of the sun or coward. I came back. Always came back. Even knowing I'd take a beating, even knowing you'd laugh in my face. I came back for you."
Your voice lowered, almost a whisper, but the words kept coming, heavy, inevitable.
"I didn't know what it was about you that pulled me back. It wasn't just anger, not just wounded pride. It was… more. I needed to be on your radar, Clarisse. Needed you to see me, to challenge me, to not let me go unnoticed like you do with the others, those newbie campers who arrive, try to impress, and then become just another face in the crowd for you. I didn't want to be forgotten. Not by you. No matter how much it hurt to take hits, no matter how much you made me feel small… I came back because deep down I couldn't stand the idea of you erasing me from your mind."
You swallowed hard, feeling another tear escape, but did not wipe your face. Let it fall.
"You can think I'm a fool. You can think I'm masochistic, crazy, whatever. I don't care. But I found out that, in the end, I just… care about you. Really care. Seeing you destroying yourself like this, exploding at everyone, letting that rage eat you alive inside, it hurts me too. Hurts me more than any blow you've ever given me in training. Because I know there's something inside you that's not just fury. I know there is. And I can't pretend anymore that I don't see it."
The silence that followed was dense, almost palpable. The forest around seemed to hold its breath, no birds, no wind, just the distant and muffled sound of capture the flag continuing without you. Clarisse remained motionless beneath you, eyes still fixed on yours, jaw locked, but now without strength, without defense. She said nothing. Did not deny, did not confirm, did not explode. Just breathed, lips parted as if the words were there, stuck, but unable to come out.
You waited. Waited for her to say anything, an insult, a growl, a "get off me." But she just looked, and for the first time since you had known her, Clarisse La Rue seemed completely, painfully, without armor.
Clarisse continued lying under you, body still tense like a drawn string, but no longer fighting. The spear lay loose between you, the electric hum reduced to a low murmur, almost inaudible. Her chest rose and fell in short, irregular breaths, as if each inhalation hurt.
The brown eyes, always so sharp and challenging, now stared into yours, widened in a way you had never seen before: it was not anger, not mockery. It was something rawer, more exposed. Fear, perhaps. Or the panic of someone who had just been truly disarmed.
She blinked once. Twice. The locked jaw trembled slightly, a muscle pulsing at the corner of her mouth. You felt the heat of her body through the armor, the sweat sticking the fabric to her skin, her heart beating so fast it seemed to want to break through her ribs. Clarisse swallowed hard, the sound loud in the clearing silence, and looked away for a second, as if facing you was too much. But soon returned, because running away was never her style.
The bandaged hands, which before pushed with brute force, now lay motionless at her sides, fingers slightly curved as if wanting to grasp something that did not exist. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened again. No sound came out. Her throat worked visibly, as if the words were there, jammed, burning.
You saw the exact moment her tears threatened to come. Her eyes grew brighter, the inner corners reddening subtly. But Clarisse La Rue did not cry. Never. Instead, she pressed her lips so hard they turned white, nose wrinkling in a grimace of pure effort to stay whole. A low sound, almost a muffled groan, escaped from deep in her throat, not from physical pain, but from something much deeper, something she had buried under layers and layers of anger, pride, and fear.
"You…" The voice came out hoarse, broken, as if unused to saying such things for years, perhaps never.
She stopped immediately, clenching her teeth as if she had betrayed herself. Her eyes scanned your face: the cut on your cheek, the dried blood mixed with tears, the strands of hair stuck to your skin. Something in her expression broke a little more. Guilt, perhaps. Or recognition.
Clarisse turned her face to the side, looking at the trees as if they could offer an escape. Her breathing trembled now, more shallow.
"Damn…" she murmured, so low you almost did not hear. It was the most vulnerable voice you had ever heard from her, without armor, without mockery, without shield. Just Clarisse. Raw. Scared.
She looked back at you, and this time did not look away. Her eyes were wet, but the tears did not fall, she would not allow it. Because Clarisse does not cry.
"You can't… just say those things," she whispered, voice failing in the middle. "You can't come here, knock me down, make me…" She stopped again, fists clenching at her sides, nails digging into palms even through the bandages. "It's not how it works."
But she did not push you away. Did not thrash. Did not yell. Just lay there, pinned under you, breathing the same heavy air, her eyes saying everything her mouth refused to release: that you had hit the mark, that she felt the same emptiness when you pulled away, that the rage of the last days had been her trying to fill the hole you left. That she also did not want to be forgotten. That, in some twisted and brutal way, you were too important to her.
A muffled sigh escaped your lips, not quite knowing if it was from surprise, from exhaustion after the near-deadly fight minutes before, or from relief. Your hands were trembling, still hesitant as you slowly moved the spear away from Clarisse, your posture straightening over the daughter of Ares, sitting on her stomach. The weapon slipped from your fingers to the side of your bodies, falling to the grass- and dry-leaf-covered ground.
Both too absorbed to care about the intimate position. Clarisse breathed deeply, chest trembling. Slowly, you began to move, hands bracing on the ground beside her to stand, as if giving space was the next logical step, the inevitable end to that exposed vulnerability.
"Fine," you murmured, voice soft, almost resigned.
But before you could fully rise, her hands acted. Hesitant, as if she herself did not know if she could, or should, do that. The bandaged fingers closed around your waist, firm enough to stop you from going, but without the usual brutality. It was not the confident grip with which she handled the spear, which seemed a natural extension of her body, a weapon forged to destroy.
It was something new, trembling: palms brushing the bronze armor, before lowering to your hips uncovered by the protection, thumbs pressing lightly against the fabric of your clothes, as if testing the ground of an unknown world. You felt their heat for the first time like this, without anger, without provocation, and a shiver ran up your spine.
Unlike what Clarisse might think, that you would stiffen, fight back, or flee, you relaxed into the touch. Your muscles, tense from the fight, softened like wax in the sun. The gaze, which burned with determination moments before, softened into something warmer, more open. A sigh escaped your lips, and you stopped resisting, letting your body weight settle again.
As if instinct took over, without her needing to think, Clarisse raised her torso slowly. The abdominal muscles contracted under you, and she sat up, the movement fluid despite the hesitation in her eyes. Your body slid naturally, from her stomach to her lap, fitting perfectly there, as if it had always belonged.
Your thighs adjusted around hers, faces now dangerously close: breaths mixing, the smell of sweat, earth, and something sweeter, her woody soap, invading your senses. The rebellious curly strands brushed your forehead, and your eyes locked, inches apart, the clearing world reducing to that point.
Still hesitant, as if everything were unexplored territory, she, who did not know how to be gentle, who only knew the world through punches and spears, raised her hand slowly. The trembling fingers hovered in the air for a second, as if asking silent permission, before touching your face. The palm marked by bandages dirty with dried blood brushed the injured cheek with a delicacy that seemed impossible coming from her.
"All I know is how to fight…" she murmured, voice hoarse and low, eyes fixed on the superficial cut she herself had caused.
Her thumb, trembling and hesitant, passed slowly below the wound, tracing around the red line with a lightness that contrasted with all the previous brutality. The pain throbbed, sharp but bearable, and you closed your eyes instinctively, a subtle grimace crossing your face. Clarisse pulled back a little, startled, fingers freezing in the air as if she had burned you on purpose. Her eyes widened, panic returning in a fresh wave.
She had never known how to be gentle, and perhaps she would not learn now.
"And hurt people." She completed, voice failing at the end, as if admitting that was the final blow she did not know how to dodge. "I don't deserve you caring about me."
Clarisse pulled her hand away from your face as if the touch burned her inside, the bandaged fingers moving away slowly, hesitant but decided. The thumb still hovered in the air for an instant, trembling, before falling to the side, as if she feared prolonged contact could worsen the damage she had already done. Her brown eyes, so intense moments before, now avoided yours, fixing on the superficial cut on your cheek.
Before her hand could fully withdraw, you acted on instinct, fingers closing around her wrist, a firm but gentle touch, nothing like the brutality of the previous fight. Her skin was rough under the bandages, hot and pulsing, and you felt her accelerated pulse against your palm, as if her heart was trying to escape.
After so many years on Clarisse's tail, you knew better than anyone that the daughter of Ares had a certain issue with touches. She hated being touched, always yelling around "don't touch me, idiot" or "get your hands off me before I rip them off you." So it was a risk you were taking when, with a smooth motion, you guided her hand back to your face, pressing it lightly against your cheek, ignoring the sting of pain that came with the contact.
"It's not your fault," you murmured, voice low and comforting, like a balm on an open wound. "I should have paid more attention to my rear guard… that's what you always say, isn't it?"
The words came loaded with a sincerity you did not even know you held, eyes fixed on hers, trying to convey that the cut on the skin was nothing compared to what was fermenting in both your chests. You felt her muscles relax a little under your touch, as if that simple gesture had defused a bomb about to explode.
"Clarisse?" you called when no response came from her. "It's not your fault."
This was no longer about the blow that gave you a cut on the cheek, it was about everything. Her angry nature, her drive for victory, her craving for war… and Clarisse felt it.
A strange atmosphere settled then, confused and electric, like the air before a storm you do not know if it will bring rain or sun. Your faces were too close, noses almost touching, breaths intertwining in warm puffs that made loose hair strands dance.
Clarisse's eyes wandered slowly over your face, almost reverent: from the eyebrows furrowed by recent pain, past the lashes wet with unshed tears, to the parted lips, soft and inviting under the filtered forest light.
She swallowed hard, throat working visibly, and for a moment, everything she wanted to say bubbled inside her, how beautiful you were, there, with the sun gilding your skin, eyes shining with a vulnerability that left her breathless. She wanted to say how beautiful you were the first time she laid eyes on you, when she was sure something was wrong with her.
When she decided hating was easier than desiring.
You were beautiful like a sun goddess she always teased, whom she had always seen as something beyond a rival: someone who truly saw her, behind the armor of rage. But the words did not come. Clarisse did not know how to vocalize that without sounding stupid, without turning the moment into something weak or ridiculous. She did not know how to say she was sure Aphrodite's blessing had fallen on you the moment you were claimed.
"You are…" she began, but stopped, lips moving without sound, heart pounding like a war drum that did not know how to pause.
You drew closer slowly, almost without noticing, an invisible magnet pulling your bodies, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw, awkward, as if she did not know how to do this, lips tilting toward each other in agonizing slowness. The world around dissolved: the rustle of leaves in the light wind, the distant song of a bird, the smell of resin and earth, everything reduced to the growing heat between you, to the tingling on the skin where her hands touched.
Your eyes closed instinctively, heart racing as if about to leap from your chest, and you felt her breath brush your lips, hot and hesitant, a whisper of possibility.
But then, the sound echoed through the forest like distant thunder: the summoning horn, deep and prolonged, announcing the end of capture the flag. A victory, for some team, it did not matter which in that instant. The air vibrated with the echo, and at the same time, celebratory voices erupted not far away, cutting the clearing silence like sharp blades.
Hoarse laughter, triumphant shouts: "We got it! Victory for the reds!, and Clarisse immediately recognized them: her cabin siblings, children of Ares, with their rough voices full of warrior pride, approaching quickly through the trees, heavy steps crushing leaves and branches along the way.
Panic flashed across Clarisse's eyes like lightning. She acted fast, instinctive, like the warrior she was: the hands on your waist suddenly tightened, and with a skillful twist, using her own body weight as leverage, she reversed the positions.
You felt the world spin for a second, the soft ground receiving your back with a dull thud, and suddenly she was on top, thighs locking yours, the electric spear fallen to the side, but her body simulating a fighting position: one arm braced beside your head, the other pretending to press as if immobilizing you.
Her curly hair fell like a curtain around your faces, but her eyes, oh, her eyes still burned with that confused fire, a mix of interrupted desire and forced relief.
Just in time, the campers burst into the clearing, a group of sweaty and euphoric Ares children, the blue flag, the enemy team's flag, your team's flag, waving in one of their hands like a conquered trophy.
"Clarisse! We got the flag from those Athena nerds!" one shouted, his broad face splitting into a fierce grin, while the others slapped each other's backs, the air filled with the smell of victory and sweat.
They paused for a second upon seeing you both, but laughed loudly, interpreting the scene as what it appeared: a common fight, Clarisse dominating yet another opponent.
"Hey, look at the boss beating up the Apollo little girl! Good one, Clarisse!"
Clarisse raised her gaze to them, forcing a smile that did not reach her eyes, a sneer of mockery she mastered so well. But before getting up, she looked at you one last time: the brown eyes lingering on yours for an eternal second, full of everything unsaid, of interrupted promises and feelings still boiling beneath the surface. There was a silent plea there, "later," mixed with a vulnerability only you saw.
Then, she rose, accepting the outstretched hands of her siblings, who dragged her into the celebration, slapping her shoulders with strong pats and guttural laughter. You managed to hear a "don't touch me" amid the commotion.
"Come on, Clarisse! Time to rub it in those losers' faces!" They pulled her away, the group moving like a victorious pack, voices echoing farther and farther through the forest.
You lay there, on the damp earth, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. A long sigh escaped your lips, loaded with a mix of frustration, relief, and something sweeter, a timid hope taking root in your chest. You rested your head on the soft ground, feeling leaves stick to your sweaty hair, and closed your eyes slowly, letting the exhaustion from the fight and emotions settle like a fog.
You still felt the tingling on your skin where her hands had touched, the almost-kiss hanging in the air like a persistent perfume, mixed with the smell of sweat and crushed pine. The cut on your cheek throbbed lightly, a sharp reminder of the chaos that had turned into something inexplicable.
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the silence, echoing out of nowhere like a whisper from the wind.
"Well, that was... intense." You knew that voice, clear and sarcastic, but without a body to accompany it, as if the air itself was speaking.
You sat up in immediate alert, body rising in an instinctive leap, eyes scanning the empty clearing around: ancient trees with mossy bark, bushes swaying lightly in the breeze, but nothing beyond shadows and leaves. Your heart raced again, a wave of paranoia climbing your spine. Was it a trick? A monster? Until the air in front of you rippled subtly, and Annabeth materialized there, inches from your face, removing the invisibility cap with a casual gesture.
Her brown eyes shone with a mix of amusement and sharp analysis, skin glistening under the filtered sun, long and intricate braids falling over her shoulders like a cascade of precisely woven ropes. She wore the light armor of the blue team, marked by forest dirt, and a crooked smile curved her lips, as if all that was just another piece in a puzzle she had already solved.
You blinked, incredulous, relief mixing with irritation as you processed her closeness, close enough to smell the ancient books and ink that always accompanied her. You rolled your eyes, the exaggerated gesture echoing your frustration.
"Were you there the whole time?" you asked, voice coming out higher than intended, loaded with disbelief.
Annabeth nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest with a naturalness only she had, as if invisibility were something banal like tying shoelaces.
"Yes." Simple as that.
You huffed, feeling heat rise up your neck, part anger, part embarrassment at imagining how much she had seen.
"And you didn't think to help me? She could have killed me!" The words came out in an accusing tone, eyes narrowing as you remembered the spear humming too close, Clarisse's blind fury that could have escalated to something worse.
Annabeth raised an eyebrow, smile widening into an air of intellectual superiority that was typically hers.
"Based on my theories and given the result of my plan, she wouldn't do that. Not with you at least. And I knew you could handle it. Only you could tame the incessant fury of an Ares daughter with A LOT of anger." She emphasized the last words with a dramatic tone, as if narrating a Greek epic, gray eyes dancing with a hint of malice.
You narrowed your eyes, suspicion crystallizing like an arrow on target. The air around seemed heavier now, wind whispering through leaves as if mocking your naivety. With a quick motion, you stood from the damp ground, feeling earth stick to your clothes and hair, body still sore from the fight.
"I knew it! You put me on the hunt because you knew I'd run into Clarisse!" you accused, pointing a finger at her, tone mixing indignation and a hint of betrayal.
Annabeth shrugged, the gesture too casual to be innocent, lips curving into an enigmatic smile.
"Maybe?" She tilted her head, braids swaying lightly, as if evaluating your reaction as part of an experiment. "Or maybe it was just a solid tactic. But, hey, it worked, didn't it?"
The clearing seemed smaller now, with the sun descending a bit more, lengthening tree shadows like accusing fingers. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, but Annabeth did not stop there, she took a step closer, eyes fixed on yours with that sharp perception that made her irritating and brilliant at the same time.
"So, tell me: how did it feel to have Clarisse La Rue, the camp bully, daughter of the powerful God of war, melting in your arms?" she asked, voice theatrical, exaggerating each word as if performing a Shakespearean play, hands gesturing dramatically to emphasize, eyes shining with malicious amusement.
It was clearly to irritate you, to poke the fresh wound. You rolled your eyes again, crossing your arms defensively, but the heat on your face betrayed the embarrassment.
"It wasn't exactly like that," you shot back, voice coming out lower than intended, avoiding her gaze as you remembered Clarisse's hesitant touch, her body fitting against yours. The wind stirred the leaves around, as if the forest was chuckling softly.
Annabeth huffed, leaning closer with eyebrows arched in challenge.
"You were about to kiss," she said, straight to the point, tone casual but loaded with certainty, as if declaring a historical fact.
"What? No!" you shouted, eyes widening in shock, blush intensifying until your ears burned.
Shyness invaded you like a wave, stomach churning at realizing Annabeth had seen everything. You looked away to the ground, feeling the cut on your cheek throb like an uncomfortable reminder.
Annabeth watched you in silence for a second, eyebrows raised, lips pressed to contain a smile. She did not press immediately, giving space for the moment to settle, the air between you charged with friendly tension, the distant sound of camp beginning to filter through the forest: muffled laughter, the clang of armor being stored.
You sighed deeply, the sound echoing like a partial surrender, and walked to where your helmet and sword lay on the ground, the blade still shining under the sun, marked by fresh scratches. You picked them up slowly, turning your back to Annabeth as you wiped earth from the grip and then checked the helmet, thoughts spinning like lost arrows.
"Well..." you murmured, turning back with a lost gaze, fixed on a distant point among the trees, where the sun tinted leaves orange. "Maybe I misread it... Clarisse would never do something like that."
The words came hesitant, loaded with doubt, heart tightening with the possibility that it had all been just an adrenaline delusion.
Annabeth approached slowly, light steps on the damp grass, stopping an arm's length away, reaching to take the helmet you held, as if removing the weight from your hands could remove it from your mind. Her eyes softened a bit, losing the provocative tone for a moment of genuine empathy.
"I know what I saw, and you do too," she said, voice low and firm, as if unraveling a puzzle. "You're just scared because it was all a mess... Years thinking you hated each other. You can afford to be confused."
You looked away, eyes lost in the lengthening shadows of the clearing, thinking about her words. Years of provocations, fights, loaded glances that perhaps had never been just hate. The cut on your cheek throbbed again, and you touched it absentmindedly, feeling dried blood under your fingers. Annabeth noticed, and her expression softened even more.
"Hey," she called, voice cutting the thoughtful silence, "let's get back to camp and let your siblings fix that up, you don't want a scar on that pretty face when you go on a date with La Rue." She pointed to the cut on your face with a casual gesture.
"We don't have a date!" You shot back, but Annabeth was already steps ahead.
"But you will!"
You grumbled silently, sheathing the sword at your waist with a dull click, its weight a familiar comfort amid the internal turmoil. You took a step forward to follow Annabeth, who was already turning toward the trail. But something crunched under your boot, a muffled metallic sound from the soft earth, different from the usual snap of dry branches. You stopped immediately, camper instinct alerting to anything out of place in the forest. You lowered your gaze and crouched slowly, fingers brushing damp grass until finding the object: cold, heavy, familiar.
Clarisse's electric spear.
The long shaft was still warm from use, internal mechanism silent now, but with fresh marks of earth and stuck leaves, as if abandoned in haste in the heat of the moment. Probably, in the confusion of reversing positions and the sudden arrival of her cabin siblings, she had completely forgotten it there.
You lifted it slowly, feeling the balanced weight in your hands, a weapon made for destruction, but that now seemed almost vulnerable. The metal reflected the golden light of the sun, and a shiver ran up your spine as you remembered Clarisse's hands gripping that same shaft minutes before, with brute force and, later, with hesitation.
Annabeth, who was a few steps ahead, turned with an impatient expression on her lips, ready to tell you to hurry, something like "Come on, lunch won't wait," but stopped upon seeing what you held.
Her brown eyes widened for a second, immediately recognizing the iconic spear, before a sly smile spread slowly across her face. She crossed her arms, tilting her head with blatant malice.
"I think you have a very good excuse to meet up with the hothead," she said, voice low and provocative, braids swaying lightly as she raised an eyebrow, as if savoring the victory of her own strategy.
The blush rose instantly to your cheeks, hot and treacherous, spreading to your ears. You gripped the spear between your fingers harder than necessary, its weight now a palpable reminder of everything that had happened, and what almost had.
"Shut up, Annabeth," you murmured, without real conviction, eyes shifting to the ground for an instant before standing, the weapon balanced at your side as if it belonged there.
Annabeth laughed softly, a satisfied sound that echoed through the clearing, but did not press further, at least for now. She turned again to the trail, smile still on her lips, and you began walking toward camp. The spear weighed in your hands, a perfect pretext, or a trap, and in your chest, confusion still danced, now mixed with a timid expectation you did not dare name.
The way back seemed longer, each step echoing promises of future conversations, exchanged glances, and perhaps something that would finally stop being almost.
Meanwhile, Clarisse La Rue marched back to camp alongside her cabin siblings, feet stomping hard on the forest floor opening to the wide valley of Camp Half-Blood. The sun was high in the sky, a relentless golden disk bathing everything in clear, warm light, the kind of day perfect for training or games, but that now only irritated her, as if Apollo himself was mocking her from above.
The air smelled of pine and distant smoke from Hephaestus's forge, and celebration sounds already echoed through the fields: victory shouts, hoarse laughter, and the clang of weapons beaten on shields. Her siblings, a pack of tall Ares children full of fresh bruises, carried the captured blue flag like a war trophy, waving it in the air while exchanging playful punches and affectionate insults.
"That was close, but we crushed those blue nerds again!" bellowed one, a boy named Sherman, face marked by a recent cut on his eyebrow. He raised the flag higher, and the group exploded in laughter, the guttural and triumphant sound filling the air like a battle hymn.
Clarisse forced a nod, lips curving into a smile that looked more like a snarl. She tried to join in, really tried, but it was as if her body was there, but her mind... her mind was stuck in that damned clearing, replaying every second like a cursed prophecy.
The cut on the cheek, blood mixed with tears, the words coming from the girl's mouth like poisoned arrows: "I saw you, Clarisse. Always saw you... I needed you to see me... I care about you." How the hell could someone like her, who had spent years provoking you, knocking you down in training, calling you "princess of the sun" with all possible venom, say something like that? And worse: why did it not sound like a lie?
A strong slap hit her back, snapping her from thoughts. It was Mark, another sibling, with a wide, idiotic grin on his face.
"Hey, boss! You must have given that Apollo little girl one hell of a beating, huh? Bet she's crying still!" Clarisse spun on her heels, eyes blazing with instinctive rage.
"Don't touch me, idiot!" she spat, voice hoarse and sharp as her spear tip.
She shoved his arm away harder than necessary, feeling bile rise in her throat. She hated touches, always had, especially in moments like this, when her skin already felt too thin, too sensitive, as if any contact could crack the armor she barely kept in place.
"Hey, relax, Clarisse. It was just a joke. Victory, right?" Mark stepped back, laughing nervously, hands raised in surrender.
The others exchanged glances, but no one pressed. They knew how she was: a ticking bomb with a short fuse, especially after a fight. They continued marching, their excitement like irritating background noise, while Clarisse followed a bit behind, fists clenched at her sides. Were her siblings out of orbit? No, it was her. Completely out of orbit. The sun beat hard on her armor, making sweat run down her back, but the real heat was inside her, a boiling confusion she could not ignore.
It was only when they reached the camp edge, with the Great Pavilion rising ahead and the smell of pre-lunch food floating in the air, that she noticed. Her right hand flew instinctively to her back, where the electric spear should be strapped. Nothing. Empty holster. Shit. She had left it in the clearing, fallen beside you both during... that. Panic rose fast, but she turned it into something useful, rational. A perfect excuse.
"Hey," she shouted to the group, stopping in place. "Go ahead. Forgot my spear in the forest. Gonna get it before some Hermes idiot grabs it."
"Want us to come along? Might be some blue losers left out there." Sherman turned, frowning.
"No," she shot back, tone cold and cutting, no room for discussion. "I'll handle it alone. Go celebrate, you wimps. I'll be right there."
They shrugged and moved on, their laughter echoing as they joined the crowd forming at the pavilion. Clarisse waited until they were far enough, then turned and headed the opposite way: not back to the clearing, but to an isolated corner of camp, where trees closed into a small private grove, far from the bustle.
The sun filtered through leaves in warm rays, but there, in the shade, the air was cooler, almost suffocating in its quietude. She leaned against a thick trunk, arms crossed over her chest as if protecting herself from herself, and slid to the ground, back scraping rough bark.
Her mind was chaos. Voices shouted inside, not monsters or gods, but her own, accusing, confused. How could you let yourself be vulnerable like that? In front of her? You, Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares, who takes down titans and monsters without blinking, lying on the ground like an idiot, letting her see everything? The wet eyes, failing voice, hesitant touch... Damn, you almost cried. Almost.
But she was not regretful. That was the worst: no regret, just a confusion burning like poorly digested ambrosia.
Her words looped in her head like a cursed cycle: "I came back for you... Needed you to see me... I care about you." How? Why? Clarisse huffed low, digging nails into bandaged palms, feeling the familiar pain of recent wounds. She had been horrible to you for years, provocations, training beatings, contemptuous looks that cut deeper than blades.
All to keep distance, to not let anyone close enough to see the cracks. And now? Now you said you cared? That you came back because you needed her? It made no sense. No one truly cared about Clarisse. Not like that. She was the brute, the fierce leader, the one who solved problems with fists and spears. She did not deserve that. Did not deserve someone like you, with those eyes that saw beyond rage, that insisted on poking until finding something human inside.
Part of her wanted to run. Stand up, really get the spear, return to the pavilion and drown it all in celebration: laugh with siblings, beat someone in afternoon training, pretend nothing changed. Feelings? Nonsense. Weaknesses, distractions that killed heroes. Ares had taught her that: fight or die. No room for... whatever that was.
A tingling in her chest, heat rising every time she remembered your face close, lips almost touching. Running was rational. Safe. She could ignore it, wait for it to pass, like a wound healing alone.
But another part, that stubborn, irritating voice, poked back. What if you face it? Seek her now, before lunch, while camp still vibrates with victory.
But say what? Admit feeling the same? That those years of rivalry were just a twisted way to keep you close, because erasing you from her mind was impossible? That the emptiness of recent days, when you pulled away, hurt more than any punch? No. That was irrational. Weak. But... what if it wasn't? What if ignoring only worsened it, like an infected wound you pretend does not exist until it takes you down?
Clarisse closed her eyes, head against the trunk, sun dancing in warm patterns over her skin. The lunch horn would sound soon, forcing her to decide. Run or face. Rational or not, the choice burned inside her like a battle she did not know if she wanted to win.
[...]
When you and Annabeth finally emerged from the winding forest trail, Camp Half-Blood revealed itself in all its chaotic post-capture-the-flag glory. The midday sun beat down hard, turning the air into a wave of humid heat that stuck to sweaty skin. The cabins gleamed under the golden light, their wooden and bronze structures shining as if the gods had given them an extra layer of polish just for the day.
The red team still dominated the center of camp, clustered around the main campfire that crackled lazily even in daylight. Ares children, in red armor marked by dirt and scratches, banged shields against each other in improvised victory rhythms, hoarse voices echoing in provocations and exaggerated battle retellings.
You paused for a moment at the edge of the main field, eyes scanning the celebratory group with an urgency Annabeth noticed but did not comment on. You searched for her instinctively: the tight braid with rebellious curly strands escaping, the wide and imposing posture that overshadowed everyone around, the authoritative gleam in brown eyes that always seemed to hunt for something to challenge.
But nothing. No sign of Clarisse La Rue amid the red pack. Her siblings, tall, muscular, with fresh war marks on their arms, laughed and drank nectar from improvised mugs, but her absence was like a hole in the center of the mess, a leadership missing to turn chaos into brutal order.
Your stomach tied in a slight knot, a subtle doubt seeping in like dew on grass, was she avoiding you? After everything in the clearing? Annabeth nudged your arm.
"Infirmary first. Freak out later."
The cut on your cheek throbbed little now, but still a thin red line that drew curious glances from younger campers passing by. With Clarisse's spear balanced uncomfortably on your shoulder, you headed to the infirmary, an airy cabin nestled near the Big House, its open windows letting in the breeze that stirred fine gauze curtains.
The interior smelled of sweet nectar, caramelized ambrosia, and ground healing herbs, lavender, chamomile, and something citrusy that always reminded you of your father. Polished wooden shelves overflowed with glass jars of glistening ointments, rolled bandages, and elixir vials glowing like liquid gold.
Will Solace was on duty, as usual, leaning over a cluttered table full of scrolls and a mythological anatomy book open to a page on drakon wounds. Your closest sibling, with the same easy smile and eyes echoing Apollo's legacy, looked up as you entered, eyebrows arching in amused surprise.
"Wow, princess of the sun in person, bringing war trophies?" He gestured to a clean stretcher covered by an immaculate white sheet, already grabbing a damp cloth and a bowl of warm water.
You sat with a sigh, feeling the day's weight on sore shoulders, as he cleaned the cut with precise, gentle touches, the cool cloth immediately relieving the sting.
"A little sunlight and Dad does the rest," he teased, tilting his head with a mischievous smile, white teeth contrasting his lightly tanned skin from constant training.
You rolled your eyes, the familiar gesture bringing momentary comfort amid bubbling anxiety.
"Stop joking, Will. I'm not a plant that needs photosynthesis."
"I'm serious," he insisted, laughing low as he applied a thick ointment smelling of wild honey and fresh aloe vera, the cream tingling pleasantly on the skin like internal sun rays. "It'll speed healing in hours instead of days and prevent a scar. Apollo supports sun exposure."
He covered the cut with a light, almost translucent bandage that pulsed with a subtle glow, as if capturing the sun's essence.
That was when his gaze dropped, stopping on the spear leaning against the stretcher, the long black shaft, the sharp tip with familiar electric marks, unmistakable to anyone who trained in the combat circle.
"That's… Clarisse's spear?" he asked, voice lowering a tone, genuine curiosity mixing with a hint of disbelief as he straightened, wiping his hands on a cloth.
You sighed deeply, the sound loaded with something you did not want to name, fingers drumming on the stretcher edge.
"Found it in the forest. She must have forgotten in the game rush." You paused, feigning a casualness you did not feel, heart racing. It was not exactly a lie. "Has she… been here today? Like, to get patched up or something?"
Will shook his head slowly, returning to organize vials on shelves with methodical movements, glass clinking echoing in the quiet space.
"Clarisse never comes to us, you know. Ares daughter ego bigger than Olympus. She thinks she can handle it alone. Stitches cuts with dental floss, uses vodka as antiseptic, or just ignores until it scabs thick."
"Yeah, I know," you murmured, voice low and resigned, echoing the bitter truth the whole camp knew.
Clarisse La Rue was a solitary force: She patched herself in the privacy of cabin 5 with stolen supplies, or did not bother, walked with purple bruises and open cuts like honor medals, refusing any sign of weakness. Asking for help was admitting defeat, and she did not lose. Never.
You picked up the spear again, its weight now an uncomfortable reminder, and left the infirmary with a quick wave to Will, who shouted a "Come back tomorrow for check-up!" before diving back into the book.
The day dragged under the relentless sun. You decided lunch would be the perfect moment: packed pavilion, tables full of steaming grilled meat plates, fresh salads, and golden breads, air filled with conversation buzz and cutlery clinks. You imagined the scene a dozen times while walking there later, trying to rehearse how to approach her. You could not just walk up and say: "Hey, forgot this in the forest after we almost kissed. Want it back?"
Definitely not.
But upon arriving, the pavilion pulsed with life: campers laughing in groups, Chiron supervising from afar with his equine torso gleaming, barbecue smell mixing with ripe fruits and hydromel. The red table was noisy, Ares siblings devouring triple portions as victory reward, but the central chair, Clarisse's informal throne, remained empty, like a screaming void amid chaos.
No heavy steps echoing on grass, no hoarse growl cutting laughter, no pair of brown eyes scanning space like a predator. Your stomach tightened more, anxiety coiling like poisonous ivy, fork spinning absentmindedly in untouched salad while your cabin 7 siblings chattered about the game.
The following hours were a fog of distraction: archery training where arrows flew crooked, hitting target edges instead of centers; superficial conversations with friends who noticed your mental absence but attributed it to game fatigue.
All hopes, fragile and stubborn like spider webs, clung to dinner, the sacred ritual where Chiron took attendance. The sun set slowly, tinting the sky flaming orange and deep purple, pavilion fires lit with cheerful crackles, cool night air bringing toasted marshmallow smell and fireside stories.
But when tables filled again, plates of hot stew, soft breads, and melted ambrosia desserts, her chair remained empty. No sign. The stomach tightness turned suffocating knot, appetite evaporating as thoughts spiraled: she is avoiding me. Regretted the hesitant touch, exposed vulnerability, almost-kiss now seeming unforgivable weakness. Everything in the clearing had been just post-fight adrenaline, a lapse she now buried under layers of anger and denial.
Clarisse La Rue did not do that, not with feelings, not with gentleness, not with you.
When night fell fully, stars dotting the sky like frozen arrows, you returned to the cabin with heavy steps. The cabin smelled of laurel incense and post-training lotions, your siblings settling into bunks with yawns and whispers about the day. You dragged to the bunk below Will's, mattress creaking under weight, top bunk seeming more oppressive than ever.
The spear leaned against the wall within reach, its dark silhouette a silent ghost in the dark. You lacked courage to leave it at the Big House or arsenal, as if returning it without confrontation was admitting defeat.
You lay on your back, eyes fixed on the top mattress, soft sibling snores and distant cricket song filling silence. Doubt weight crushed your chest like ill-fitted armor, what if she hated you now for seeing her without masks? What if the almost was all there would be? Tears threatened, but you blinked them away, turning sideways.
Sleep finally began pulling you down, heavy and irregular, when something changed in the air around you. A subtle weight on the mattress, an almost imperceptible bunk shift, as if the world had tilted a degree. Your eyes snapped open, heart racing before you even understood why.
The cabin was immersed in soft night darkness, broken only by silvery moonlight filtering through high windows, painting bluish stripes on polished wooden floor. Distant low snores and rhythmic sibling breaths filled silence, a comforting reminder you were not alone, until you felt the presence beside you.
Before any sound could escape your throat, a warm, firm hand covered your mouth, fingers pressing carefully but decidedly. Your eyes widened in the dark, panic rising like a cold wave, body tensing to react, to scream, to fight.
"Hey, it's me," came the hoarse whisper, low and urgent, so close to your ear you felt warm breath brush skin.
Recognition was instant, like lightning cutting fear fog. The heart, threatening to explode, slowed a bit, but not completely. It was her. Clarisse. Leaning over your bunk in the middle of the night, invading the Apollo cabin like a shadow, while everyone slept deeply around. She removed her hand slowly, cautiously, as if fearing you would scream anyway, fingers lightly brushing your lips before retracting.
You breathed deeply, cool night air filling lungs, and words came in whispered impulse, loaded with relief, irritation, and disbelief.
"And that is supposed to make me calmer how?"
Clarisse rolled her eyes, you saw the movement even in dim light, that familiar gesture always accompanying her provocations, and responded with a low grumble.
"Shut up, princess."
Only then did you fully realize what was happening. Your stomach flipped violently, butterflies mixed with vertigo, when you noticed how close she was: leaning over you, body braced on one arm beside your head, dark curls loose falling like a curtain around her face, some strands brushing your forehead.
Bluish moonlight filtered through nearby window, illuminating half her face in silvery tones, brown eyes softer than ever, jaw less locked, mouth parted as if words were stuck. She smelled of fresh shower, woody soap mixed with something clean, fresh, as if she had scrubbed off the entire day before coming there.
No trace of training sweat or forest dirt, just Clarisse, vulnerable in a way you never imagined.
Heat rose to your cheeks in immediate blush, burning to ears. Clearing memories returned like a flash. Her body under yours, hesitant touch, interrupted almost-kiss. And worse: you realized, with delayed shock, what you were wearing.
Just short summer pajamas, thin shorts and an old tank top, rumpled from restless sleep, hair probably a total mess, sheets tangled around legs. You felt exposed, small under her gaze, and instinctively pulled the blanket a little higher, even if too late.
"What are you doing here?" you whispered, voice coming weaker than intended, eyes fixed on hers seeking some answer that made sense.
Clarisse's expressions changed almost imperceptibly, but you caught them all, because for the first time, you were truly looking. Her gaze shifted sideways, fixing on some dark cabin spot, lips pressing into a thin line. She seemed… nervous. Hands now braced on mattress beside you trembled lightly, shoulders, usually so straight and challenging, slightly hunched forward.
It was the first time you saw her like this. Were you dreaming? Your heart pounded so loud you feared she heard.
What felt like eternity passed, long, dense seconds filled only by distant outdoor cricket and her breathing, a bit faster than normal. Then, finally, she whispered, voice so low you almost asked to repeat.
"Come with me."
Without waiting for response, Clarisse rose slowly, movements silent and fluid like someone used to moving unnoticed, even if normally the loudest in camp. You noticed then she was barefoot, bare feet in white socks reaching just above ankles. She slid off the bunk without a creak, cast one last quick, almost shy glance at you, and left the cabin as silently as she entered, door closing with a soft click behind her.
You lay there for a few seconds, heart still racing, staring at the top bunk as if it could offer logical explanation. Cabin air seemed heavier now, charged with the presence she left behind, subtle soap smell, residual mattress warmth.
Part of you wanted to turn sideways and pretend nothing happened, return to previous restless sleep. But the larger, more stubborn part was already moving. You sat slowly, feet touching cold wooden floor, without even thinking to grab a hoodie. Just in socks too, like her.
Upon opening the huge door and closing it behind with utmost care, cool night breeze hit like a slap. Air was chilly, loaded with damp pine and dewy grass smell, starry sky above cloudless blocking silvery-blue moonlight bathing entire camp. Your hairs stood immediately, skin goosebumping in waves as you hugged yourself, rubbing arms to generate some warmth.
Clarisse was sitting on the porch steps, back slightly hunched, arms braced on knees covered by worn gray sweatpants. Hands were interlaced in front, fingers fidgeting restlessly, as if not knowing where to rest. Beside her, on the lower step, was a pair of black All Stars with worn soles and frayed laces, which she had clearly removed to sneak into the cabin silently.
Her brown eyes were fixed on nothing ahead: on the dirt path leading to the dark pavilion, on the shadows of the other silent cabins, on the distant lake reflecting moonlight like a broken mirror.
She did not turn when you approached, but you saw her shoulders tense slightly, she knew you were there. The silence between you was dense, almost palpable, broken only by the whisper of wind in the trees and the occasional hoot of an owl far away. You stopped beside the steps, still hugging your own body against the cold, heart beating so hard it seemed to echo in the quiet night, waiting for her to say something, do something, anything that explained why she had crossed the entire camp in the middle of the night just to pull you from bed.
Clarisse let out a long, almost inaudible sigh, loaded with something that seemed like exhaustion mixed with resignation. Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, as if gathering courage for something small, but that for her was gigantic.
"Can you sit?" she asked, hoarse voice keeping that typical Clarisse tone, half order, half challenge, as if asking anything was a battle she was willing to lose just this once.
You rolled your eyes, an automatic gesture that helped disguise the chill climbing your spine and the blush that stubbornly refused to fade. Without saying anything, you descended the last steps and sat beside her on the cold wooden step, curling up immediately against the night breeze. The thin socks protected nothing from the icy wood, and you crossed your arms around your knees, trying to hold onto the little warmth left.
Your shoulders were inches apart, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, far enough that the space seemed like an abyss. You did not move closer. Not yet.
The silence stretched between you like a tightrope. The night was so quiet you could hear the distant lake lapping the shore, the occasional rustle of leaves in trees, the minimal crackle of a nearly extinguished campfire in the camp center. You waited. Waited for her to say anything, an insult, a provocation, even a "get out of here" would be better than nothing. But Clarisse just stared ahead, eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond the dark cabins, hands still interlaced, thumbs fidgeting restlessly against each other.
Minutes dragged. The cold began climbing your legs, and patience, never your greatest virtue, began to fray. Finally, you whispered, voice low and a bit trembling.
"Please, say something."
Clarisse turned her head suddenly, eyes blazing for a second with that familiar anger.
"I'm trying, damn it!" she shot back, tone higher than intended, immediately lowering her voice upon realizing the risk of waking someone.
The words came out rough, defensive, as if you had poked an open wound, thrusting a spear into what she hated most to admit: weakness. You raised your eyebrows, looking at her with a clear expression of "girl, seriously?". You did not need to say anything, the look spoke for itself.
Clarisse noticed. Her shoulders slumped a little, and she looked away again, curls falling like a curtain over her face. The gesture was so small, so subtle, head lowering a centimeter, fingers interlacing tighter, that it was almost a silent apology. She breathed deeply, air coming out white in the night cold, and fell quiet again.
You sighed, the soft sound lost in the wind. Your heart still beat fast, but now there was tenderness mixed with anxiety, because you understood. Understood how hard that was for her. So, with the softest voice you could manage, you asked.
"Where were you? All day?" Clarisse did not answer immediately.
You saw her jaw work, as if chewing words before releasing them. She felt the gesture in your voice, the absence of accusation, just genuine concern, and something in her posture relaxed, almost imperceptibly. She appreciated that in silence, eyes softening for an instant before looking ahead again.
"I needed to think," she murmured finally, voice now calm, almost soft, something so rare coming from her it seemed borrowed from someone else. Low enough not to wake anyone, but clear enough for you to hear every syllable.
You turned your face to her, moonlight illuminating her profile, straight nose, full lips, thin scar on her eyebrow you had never noticed up close.
"And… what did you think about?" Silence again. Long.
The wind blew stronger for a moment, stirring her curls against your cheek, and you saw her fingers start playing with the poorly tied bandage on her hands. Then, almost as if words were being pulled out, she asked, voice hesitant.
"Do you… remember the day you arrived here?" You blinked, surprised.
"How could I forget? You pushed me into the lake." A small smile, half nostalgic, half ironic, curved your lips.
Clarisse's face burned immediately, even in dim light, you saw blush rise to her cheeks, eyes widening for a second before looking away again. She murmured something incoherent, seeming truly embarrassed.
"A little before that…" she corrected, voice even lower, almost a secret.
You tilted your head, waiting. The cold forgotten for an instant, curiosity taking over. Clarisse breathed deeply, shoulders rising and falling.
"You were at the top of the hill. With Chiron. Under Thalia's tree." She paused, as if reliving the scene, tone hardening slightly, as if words were enemies she needed to subdue. "I was patrolling the outskirts, because, yeah, someone has to do the shitty dirty work while others pose as heroes. Then I saw you, all… messed up. Wide eyes like a deer in headlights, backpack slipping off your shoulder as if you did not know what to do with your own hands."
You felt your heart leap, air caught in lungs. You did not expect that. Never. Clarisse continued, voice hoarse and halting now, as if each sentence was a punch she gave herself to keep going.
"But the sun was hitting you in a way… damn, you looked like you were on fire. Hair in flames, skin all lit up, even those scared eyes seemed… I don't know, strong. As if you were made for all that. I stopped. Stopped the patrol and just stood watching, frozen like an idiot, feeling something here inside that punched me in the stomach." She brought her hand to her chest for a second, bandaged fingers digging into the thin t-shirt, before lowering it quickly, as if burned.
"That fucked me up. Scared the hell out of me. I did not understand what the hell that was, hot, tight, as if I wanted to hit something or run. So I decided I hated you. That you were just another stuck-up demigod, full of light and cuteness, who could not handle a real fight. It was easier to fight, provoke, to see you get pissed. Because if I hated you… I did not have to deal with all that shit. Did not have to admit it was something else eating me alive."
She stopped, heavy silence returning. Her eyes still fixed ahead, but now wet, gleaming under moonlight. Her breathing was irregular, chest rising and falling as if words had been a hand-to-hand fight.
"But it was not hate," she completed, voice breaking at the end, hard like rusted iron. "It never was that shit. It was… something else. Something I do not know how to name, because I was not made for that. I am made to break things, not to… feel." The last words came almost spat, as if they hurt in her throat, but she did not stop, eyes finally turning to yours for a second, vulnerable, but still with that stubborn fire that was only hers.
You were speechless for a moment, night cold forgotten, heart beating so loud it seemed to echo in camp quietude. You did not move. Did not want to move. Did not want her to stop.
Because, for the first time, Clarisse La Rue was talking. Truly, even if words came out hard, full of curses and resistance, as if fighting her own feelings to let them out.
Clarisse fell quiet for a moment that seemed eternal, night silence deepening around you like a cold blanket. She still stared ahead, brown eyes lost in the dark void of sleeping camp, jaw locked as if in an internal fight.
Then, as if words were choking her, she continued, hoarse and halting voice exploding in a raw stream, unfiltered, as if vomiting something rotten she had swallowed years ago.
"I could not stop being an idiot anymore, because I am an idiot with everyone. Jesus… I hate everyone in this camp! I..." The words came out hard, spat with self-directed anger, tone rising a bit at the end before she lowered it again, a low growl escaping her throat as if hating her own voice for betraying her. "...hate even myself."
She shook her head, curls whipping the air, fists clenching so hard you heard knuckles crack.
"Everyone is weak, everyone runs, everyone annoys me with shit, they cannot even take a proper punch. I yell, I hit, I break, that's what I do, damn it! That's what Ares taught me to be. But you…" She paused, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling under the thin gray cotton t-shirt, sticking lightly to damp post-shower skin.
"You bit back. Always. And then I got worse, because I did not want you to stop. Did not want you to become like the others, those worms who disappear after a beating." Her woody soap smell mixed with cold air, invading your senses, and you saw her jaw muscle pulse, as if biting her tongue not to explode completely.
Her eyes finally flicked to yours for a second, quick, feral, full of confusion she tried to mask with fury, before returning to nothing.
"But I was sure I had fucked everything up that day," she murmured, voice lowering to a guttural growl, referring to the last training, that combat circle where you had suddenly abandoned the fight, turning your back and deciding to ignore her from then on. "That shitty training, where you just… stopped. Vanished. I saw you walking away, and it was like I had taken a kick to the stomach.."
Clarisse huffed, a rough and self-deprecating sound, running her hand over her face as if wanting to erase the memory.
"I was not angry at you… no. It was anger at myself, anger for always doing everything wrong, anger for being afraid of something I did not understand what it was and I do not feel fear! Or at least… I should not." The words stumbled out, hard like stones thrown against a wall, full of curses and denials she used as shields.
She leaned forward, elbows dug into knees, worn All Stars beside her creaking lightly against the step as she shifted her restless foot, bumping them.
"I am Ares's daughter, damn it! Fear is for cowards, for those who skip training and cry in the cabin. But you… you left me with this bad feeling, like a hole here," she hit her chest again, harder this time, muffled sound echoing in night silence. "I punched trees to shut it up, cut campers to vent, stayed alone all day because if I saw you again, shining with that damn bow in hand, I would explode. Or worse: I would say something stupid and fuck everything up for good."
The silence that followed was dense, broken only by distant cricket song and wind stirring nearby tree leaves, as if the forest was holding its breath to listen. Clarisse did not look at you, could not, eyes fixed on the ground now, on white socks, curls falling like a barrier over her flushed face of shame and frustration.
Her whole body trembled lightly, not just from cold, but from releasing all that, feelings she did not know how to name, colliding against a lifetime's training of being tough, relentless, unbreakable. Her hands, rough and marked by old scars, opened and closed repeatedly, as if wanting to grasp the spear not there, as if fighting was easier than admitting.
You sat motionless beside her, heart pounding against ribs, thin pajamas now icy against goosebumped skin. Moonlight painted soft shadows on her face, highlighting tension lines around her mouth, wet gleam in eye corners she blinked furiously to chase away.
It was Clarisse La Rue, the same who commanded training with a growl, who took down opponents without blinking, reduced to this: a hoarse confession, full of "damn" and "idiot," trying to navigate territory she hated, that terrified her more than any monster. And yet, she was there. Invading your cabin. Waking you. Talking. For you.
The silence following Clarisse's confession was so dense it seemed to have its own weight. The entire night seemed to hold its breath: wind stopped blowing, crickets fell silent, even the distant lake seemed to stop rippling. You felt her words settle in your chest like embedded arrows, painful but true, impossible to ignore. Your heart beat irregularly, early morning cold now forgotten, replaced by heat rising in your throat threatening to overflow.
Without saying anything, you stood slowly. The step creaked softly under your socked bare feet, sound echoing like a shot in absolute silence. You did not look at her, could not. Just turned and walked back to the cabin door, steps light, almost inaudible, short pajamas swaying against goosebumped skin. The door opened with a soft click and closed behind you with the same care, leaving Clarisse alone on the porch.
Outside, Clarisse closed her eyes tightly. Her head dropped forward, dark curls covering her face like a heavy curtain. A trembling sigh escaped her lips, not of relief, but absolute defeat. She had fucked everything up. Again. The voices in her head, those always shouting louder than anything else, "weakness is death," "feelings are for the weak," "vulnerability is the fastest path to a blade in the back," now laughed hysterically.
She should have listened. Should have stayed quiet, continued with usual anger, provocations, fights. It was safer. It was what she knew.
Anger rose hot in her throat, bitter as bile. Anger at herself for coming there, for invading the cabin in the middle of the night, for opening her mouth and letting out those stupid, soft words that did not belong to an Ares daughter. Anger for showing this side, this pathetic, trembling side she buried deep every day.
Hands clenched into fists, knuckles throbbing under old, poorly tied bandages stained with dried blood. She thought of standing, leaving, returning to the Ares cabin and pretending none of this happened. Tomorrow she could be the same old Clarisse: tough, relentless, untouchable. No one needed to know.
She was almost rising, leg muscles tensed, when she felt something warm and soft envelop her hands.
Her eyes snapped open. You were there, kneeling on the step below her, facing her, knees on cold wood. Moonlight bathed your face, eyes shining with something she could not name, sleep-messed hair falling over shoulders, short pajamas exposing goosebumped skin. In your lap, you held a roll of new, clean white bandages, taken from the Apollo cabin reserve.
Clarisse blinked, confused, entire body locking. Before she could ask anything, you, with the most delicate care she had ever seen in her life, held her hands in yours. Warm, soft fingers slid under old bandages, beginning to undo them slowly, knot by knot.
"You know," your voice came choked, hoarse with emotion, as some tears you had not even noticed were there slid silently down your cheeks and dripped on the step between you, "You should start visiting the infirmary once in a while."
Clarisse felt a knot rise in her throat, so tight it hurt. Her lips trembled. She tried to speak, but only a hoarse, lost "…What?" came out, as if not recognizing her own voice.
She burned inside. Did not know what to do with that, with the soft touch of your fingers undoing dirty bandages, revealing swollen, cut, purple knuckles from so many punches on trees and training bags. Did not know what to do with the warm, careful feeling of you wrapping new, clean bandages, tightening just right, protecting without suffocating.
It was so different from everything she knew. So different from pain, impact, fight.
"What are you doing?" she asked, voice low, almost scared, eyes fixed on your hands working.
You did not answer immediately. Finished bandaging the second hand with a firm but gentle knot, then held both her hands in yours, palms against palms, fingers interlaced for a second. You leaned slowly and deposited a light, almost reverent kiss on the back of each bandaged hand. Your lips' touch was warm, soft, lingering enough for her to feel every second.
"Taking care of you, idiot," you whispered against her skin, voice choked but full of something that seemed like affection, relief, certainty.
Clarisse froze. Completely froze. As if any movement could break the moment, as if breathing too deep could make everything disappear. A tear, a single stubborn tear, formed on the waterline of her brown eyes, trembling there for long seconds, defying gravity. Clarisse La Rue did not cry. Never.
You saw how she became rigid, and panicked immediately.
"Was that too much? I'm sorry, I just…" you began babbling, voice speeding up, hands squeezing hers hard as if afraid she would leave. "I did not want to pressure you, I just saw your hands and thought that… I just…"
You stopped mid-sentence.
Because the tear had fallen.
A single drop, but saying everything Clarisse never knew how to put into words: gratitude, fear, relief, vulnerability, something too big to fit in her chest. She did not move to wipe it. Did not blink. Just let it exist, there, on her face, like silent proof that something inside her had broken, not badly, but necessarily.
Silence returned, but now it was different. Lighter. Warmer.
Clarisse released your hands slowly, as if the gesture hurt, or as if fearing that letting go would make you disappear. For a second, she just looked at the new white bandages wrapping her own fists, perfect knots you had made, as if not believing it was real.
Then, with a slowness not hers, she who always acted fast, rough, decisive, raised her hands and held your face between them.
The newly bandaged palms were warm, rough at edges where old scars never faded, but the touch was unbelievably gentle, almost reverent. Her thumbs slid over your cheeks, feeling salty wetness of tears still running, wiping them with slow, circular movements, as if wanting to memorize every inch of your skin.
The heat of her hands contrasted with night cold still clinging to your face, and Clarisse felt subtle tremor of your facial muscles under her fingers, red nose from recent crying, wet and stuck lashes, short breath coming in warm puffs against her palms. When her right thumb brushed the bandage on the cut she herself had caused hours before in the clearing, Clarisse hesitated, movement stopped, brown eyes fixing there with guilt burning in her chest like ember.
She caressed the bandage edge with fingertip, almost without pressure, feeling slightly raised texture of swollen skin underneath, as if she could erase the damage just with will, as if she could go back in time and deflect the spear.
"You could never be too much," she murmured, voice hoarse, low, almost broken, words coming as if scratching her throat, but loaded with certainty that made her chest tighten even more.
She felt her own heart pounding against ribs, blood pulsing in ears, heat rising up neck to ears.
She stayed like that for a long moment, just looking at you. Moonlight bathed her face from the side, highlighting red nose from effort not to cry more, still wet lashes, full parted lips as if breathing with difficulty. And you, kneeling there, had never seemed so beautiful to her.
Clarisse felt something inside her chest expand painfully, as if it no longer fit there: the smell of your hair mixed with the night air, the soft warmth of your breath against her face, the softness of the skin she touched with such care that it seemed impossible coming from hands that only knew how to break things.
Suddenly, as if she had taken a shock, she snapped back to reality. Quickly, with the back of her left hand, she wiped her own tear that still stubbornly lingered on her cheek, a rough, almost violent gesture, rubbing hard as if it hurt to admit it existed, completely different from the delicacy with which she had touched you. As if she herself did not deserve the same care.
She cleared her throat loudly, the dry sound echoing in the quiet night, and bent down to slip on the worn All Stars without tying the laces, just shoving her feet in hastily, feeling the worn and cold leather brush her ankles. The movement was abrupt, the shoes creaking against the wooden step, as if she wanted to regain the control she always had.
She extended her hand to you, palm up, fingers still trembling lightly.
"Come on, get up."
You obeyed, legs still shaky from the cold and emotion, accepting her help, the firm, warm touch that sent a shiver up your spine. When you stood, Clarisse immediately looked away, sniffling loudly, pretending a casualness that fooled no one, shoulders rigid, jaw locked, her heart beating so hard she feared you heard.
"It's cold out here," she said, voice firmer now, almost authoritative, but with a subtle tremor at the end. "Better you go back inside."
The words hit like a cold arrow. You felt a drop of disappointment, small but sharp, settle in your chest, like ice melting slowly. You did not know exactly what you were expecting: for her to stay, to say more, to repeat the hand-on-face gesture, that… something beyond a practical goodbye. But "go back inside" sounded like an end, as if she was hiding again.
You just nodded, murmuring an almost inaudible "okay," took a step back and turned to the door, heart tightening with that feeling of broken expectation.
Clarisse watched it all with narrowed eyes, heart pounding against her ribs like an uncontrolled war drum. She closed her eyes tightly, cursing herself silently in her mind: coward, idiot, fearful Ares daughter. An Ares daughter feared nothing. Not monsters, not war, not beautiful women who looked at her as if she was worth it, women who bandaged her hurt hands and kissed her fists as if they were something precious.
Before you could take the second step, her hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist firmly, not rough, but decided, warm fingers closing like a cuff that did not want to imprison, but hold. The pull was quick, unexpected, making you spin and let out a surprised yelp that died in the air when her lips collided with yours.
It was just a peck, brief but intense. Clarisse's lips were soft, unbelievably soft for someone so rough all the time, warm and slightly trembling against yours that were still cold from the night. She tasted the salty of your tears mixed with the natural sweet of your mouth, the warmth of your breath fusing with hers, entire body shivering when you stood on tiptoes to adjust to her height.
Her arms slid immediately to your waist, wrapping you with instinctive possessiveness, bandaged hands pressing against your back, pulling your body against hers as if afraid you would escape, feeling the heat of your thin pajamas against her t-shirt fabric, the subtle tremor of your muscles, heart beating fast against her chest.
When you pulled apart, just a few centimeters, foreheads remained pressed, both eyes closed, noses brushing casually in an accidental caress that made the air between you seem electric. Panting breaths mixed in the cold air, her soap smell still strong, now mixed with yours.
With the rest of courage she could gather, voice coming hoarse, almost breathless, chest rising and falling fast, Clarisse whispered against your mouth.
"Wanted to do it the right way, take you on a date first. But Jesus… I think I couldn't hold out anymore."
You could not hold it. A low, light laugh escaped your lips, not mocking, but pure joy, relief, finding grace in her awkward and honest way.
"You can still take me on a date," you replied, voice soft, slipping your arms around her neck, fingers tangling in soft curls and caressing her nape with a delicacy that made Clarisse shiver from head to toe, a visible tremor climbing her spine, making her shoulders tense and heat explode in her stomach, something new, unknown, that left her dizzy.
"Alright… okay, cool," she replied half groggy, clearing her throat right after, clearly not knowing what to do with her hands (still gripping your waist hard), with her body (pressed to yours), with the closeness making blood pulse in her ears.
Her eyes blinked fast, lost, as if in completely unknown territory, your body lotion smell invading her senses, your skin heat burning through thin clothes.
She dominated arenas, captured flags, decapitated monsters with sword-sized teeth. But Clarisse La Rue was a complete novice at love, and that was obvious in every inch of her tense body, in short breath, in the way fingers tightened and released your waist as if not knowing the right strength.
You held back another laugh seeing how lost she seemed, vulnerable in a way no one ever saw. But you would teach her. Teach everything about love to the war god's daughter.
"Good," she said finally, voice trying to sound firm but coming halting, "better you go sleep and… we talk about this tomorrow."
You raised your gaze slowly, eyes still wet and shining with residue of tears and that raw emotion pulsing in your chest like an exposed heart. They locked immediately on her lips, plump, slightly swollen from the quick first peck, with a pinkish tone contrasting tanned and warmed skin, so inviting they seemed to beg for more contact. Tempting too much.
You bit your own lower lip slowly, teeth sinking into soft, moist flesh, an instinctive gesture only intensifying growing need in your stomach, like butterflies turning hurricane. Your eyes half-closed in a needy, almost pleading expression, pupils dilated in porch dimness, reflecting faint moonlight filtering through distant trees.
Clarisse felt the impact of that look straight in her chest. Her own eyes widened for a fraction of second, heart pounding against ribs with force echoing in ears, too loud, uncontrolled. The whiny voice coming from you caught her off guard, like a low blow in a fight she thought she dominated.
"Okay…" you whispered, voice low, drawn out, with sweet and imploring tone making Clarisse's nape hairs stand, electric tingling descending arms. "…but give me one last kiss."
The words came like a soft purr, vibrating in cold air between you, and Clarisse swallowed hard, throat dry and tight, feeling heat rise up neck to cheeks. She nodded once, hoarse, lips parting without sound, as if words had fled her. She leaned slowly, hesitant, offering another chaste peck, controlled, safe, the kind not leaving her so vulnerable.
But you would not accept control that easily.
In the middle of the kiss, with lips still pressed to hers in a light peck, you whispered against her mouth, warm and moist breath brushing sensitive skin, making her shudder.
"No… a real kiss."
Before Clarisse could process, before she could pull back or advance, your hands rose quickly to her face. Fingers fit into her cheekbones, warm and firm against smooth and heated skin, and you pulled her to you with urgency leaving no room for doubt. Clarisse let out a surprised sound, a hoarse and muffled grunt deep in her throat, half shock, half surrender, when your lips met again, but this time nothing chaste.
You took initiative, parting her lips with yours slowly, tongue tracing lower contour with provocative slowness, moist and hot, inviting her into rhythm. Clarisse hesitated for a second, awkward, initial movements rigid, as if her body, used to precise and brutal strikes, did not know how to be gentle.
Her lips moved against yours uncertainly at first, opening and closing in mismatched fit, shampoo and woody soap smell invading your senses. She held back her own moan, heat spreading like fire through her belly.
But you guided, persistent: tongue sliding inside her mouth slowly, exploring with slow curiosity, tracing roof of mouth, brushing hers in experienced movements making air heavier, more electric. Clarisse responded gradually, lips opening more, body relaxing against yours, bandaged hands on your waist tightening firmer, fingers digging into thin pajama fabric, feeling your skin heat underneath, subtle muscle tremor.
The kiss gained depth: lips opening and closing in slow, rhythmic pace, fitting perfectly, like puzzle pieces always knowing where to go.
You bit her plump lower lip slowly, teeth sinking into soft and full flesh with light pressure, but enough to draw hoarse and surprised sound from her, muffled moan vibrating against your mouth. Clarisse's entire body reacted: hands tightened more, pulling you against her until bodies pressed, hips pressing hips, heat mixing in wave rising through her chest.
She tilted her head slightly sideways, deepening the kiss, and that was when her tongue, hesitant at first but now more confident, brushed yours in a particularly delicious way: slow and moist movement, pressing tip against yours, exploring with hot pressure sending sparks through your body.
You could not hold it, low and needy moan escaped your lips, muffled against her mouth, vibrating directly on Clarisse's tongue. The sound was soft, hoarse, like pleasure-loaded sigh, and echoed inside her like revelation. Clarisse froze for half second, eyes snapping open, wide and dilated in dimness, chest heaving, and then something inside her broke completely, like a dam bursting.
Life was not just training and spinning a spear.
It was not just metal clang against metal, sweat running down back during hours of practice, metallic blood taste in mouth after hard victory. It was that: the sound you made when she kissed you right, a moan reverberating in her chest like sweeter victory than any captured flag.
It was your mouth taste, moist and hot, way your tongue danced with hers in languid movements, sending shivers down spine making knees weak. It was heat rising in belly, tingling in bandaged hands now sliding down your back, tracing spine curve with possessive pressure, fingers tangling in nape hair to keep you pressed, anchoring to something real and soft.
Clarisse kissed you as if discovering a new world, awkward at first, but now hungry, movements gaining fluidity, entire body throbbing with sensations she never allowed herself to feel: brush of your breasts against her chest through thin clothes, thigh tremor when you pressed closer, your lotion smell mixing with hers, creating something new and intoxicating.
When you finally pulled apart, air running out in lungs, chests rising and falling in unison, foreheads pressed again, sweaty and hot, heavy breaths mixing in night cold like fog. Clarisse was trembling entirely, not from cold: swollen and red lips, glistening with kiss moisture, glassy and lost eyes, almost pleading, pupils so dilated brown seemed swallowed by black.
She opened her mouth, tried to say something, anything to break charged silence, but only hoarse and halting sigh came out, air escaping sensitive lips.
You smiled slowly, thumbs tracing her cheekbones with deliberate slowness, feeling feverish skin heat, light tremor under fingers.
"Good night, Clarisse," you whispered, voice hoarse and low, loaded with kiss residue.
You leaned again, pressing a few slow and soft pecks on her lips, one, two, three, each longer than previous: lips meeting with moist softness, brushing slowly, residual kiss taste still there.
Hands descended her arms as you pulled away gradually, fingers tracing firm and tense biceps, feeling muscles contract under touch, down forearms, to wrists, where her pulse beat fast against your skin. Finally, you released completely, fingers slipping through hers in last brush, leaving residual tingling in air.
Clarisse stood there, arms falling inert at sides, chest still heaving, eyes fixed on you as you entered the door, silhouette disappearing in cabin welcoming dimness. She brought hand to lips slowly, touching where you had bitten and kissed, feeling throbbing sensitivity, and let out low, incredulous laugh, almost hysterical, sound echoing in quiet night.
"Fuck…" she murmured to herself, pressing forehead to cold and rough porch column wood, icy contrast against hot skin anchoring her back to reality. Heart still racing, entire body throbbing with new and insistent heat, something definitely not anger or training fatigue.
For the first time in her life, Clarisse La Rue did not want to fight.
And tomorrow, when the sun rose, illuminating camp with its golden light, she would come get you.
Back in his teenage years Megumi always assumed that children just weren’t for him. He didn’t want a sticky child constantly chasing after him and draining his bank account.
When he married you Megumi realised that maybe children weren’t so bad, I mean you’re perfect in his eyes, a miniature version could only be cuter.
While you were pregnant Megumi presumed that his least favourite part of parenting would be changing dirty diapers or cleaning up vomit.
What really ended up being his least favourite—and hardest?
Having to scold his baby girl.
“I know sweetheart, I know.” Megumi’s uncharacteristically soft voice traveled through the room, soft sniffles and protests following his words.
“Papa! Papa up!” The four year old wailed, small hands grabbing at the air above her in an attempt to grasp her dad’s attention. “You were naughty princess, mama said you have to stay in time out.
Megumi avoided his daughter’s eyes, arms folded at his chest in an effort to try and at least look serious about the punishment.
But she didn’t miss the way his face twitched at her cries, how his eyes softened, his frown faltering.
Her snivelling continued on, tiny feet stomping in frustration when Megumi only turned his face further. “Just 10 minutes okay princess? I’ll keep you in the naughty corner for 10 minutes then we can play.”
He stayed looming over her, hands now twitching as he tried to stop himself from just scooping his fussy daughter into his arms.
Megumi tried to persevere, he really really did, but four little words caused his demeanour to come crashing down.
“Papa no love me!”
Within seconds she was swooped off the floor and into his arms. He cooed softly, bouncing the young girl in his arms while whispering ‘papa loves you’ over and over until her wailing ceased.
“It’s okay sweetheart, look papa will get you some juice then we can play outside on the swings. How is that? Don’t cry sweet baby, papa loves you.” She nodded eagerly, a toothy smile spreading across her face. “Just—just don’t tell mama, okay?”
“Don’t tell me what?”
The two froze, neither turning to meet your gaze as you stood in the doorway. “Megs did you take her out of timeout again? She needs to learn.”
He turned to face you, a small pout evident on his lips. “Was telling her off not enough? She’s learnt her lesson, haven’t you baby?” You daughter held a similar expression, fiercely nodding along to her father’s words while her tiny fists curled into his shirt. “If you say so.”
Megumi stretched out one arm to you, a soft smile creeping its way onto his face as he quietly beckoned you over. You rolled your eyes, catching your daughter’s sly gaze as you sulked over to the two of them.
“You are a spoiled little girl.” You teased while pinching her chubby cheek. She squealed out and wriggled further into Megumi, “Papas fault.”
“Yes, it is papa’s fault.”
darlings note 💌: sorry for not posting as much I’m currently abroad rn!! Whipped up this little post while sunbathing sorry I’m a little rusty
synopsis: your best friend's older brother finally added you on instagram. what's a little harm in flirting with him through instagram notes?
inspired by the ig notes au trend on tiktok!
part 1 part 2
a/n: pt 3 is finally done omfg. again, hope it doesn't disappoint anyone, I tried to flesh out their relationship before commitment. anyway off to make frat gojoooooo (with a hint of him being a sugar daddy) (spoiler?)
Boxer!mikasa ackerman coming up to you after winning her match ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
“Yeah, get ‘em Mikasa!” Your voice rang through the crowd, fist pumping up in the air.
More people turned and looked at you with each overly-loud scream, but you couldn’t care less. Supporting your hot, strong girlfriend was what you were all about.
With every punch Mikasa dodged, the gleam in your eyes got brighter. Sweat glistened off her muscles in the bright lighting, making Mikasa look like an absolute goddess; you were absolutely awestruck.
Clapping loudly, you stood on your tiptoes, ready to give Mikasa more support.
“That’s my girlfriend! Get her ass, Mikasa!”
She hadn’t been reacting to your loud comments, but heard every one of them. This time, after hearing you call her your girlfriend so loud and proud, a bright blush creeped up onto Mikasa’s face, making it redder than it already was.
Feeling ten times stronger, Mikasa was quick to end the match, slamming her opponent to the ground. As soon as the winning announcement was over, Mikasa ran out of the ring, going headfirst into the crowd.
She wove through the clumps of people, muttering a few “excuse me’s” in the midst of trying to get to you, eyes scanning for your face until she saw you.
Mikasa had you in a suffocatingly-tight hug faster than you could process, breathing hard against your shoulder. She was sticky with sweat, but that didn’t matter in the slightest. Returning her embrace, you wrapped your arms around her body.
“You did so well, Mika.” You gave her a squeeze, pulling away. Mikasa looked down bashfully; she was still blushing, or maybe the red was still just exhaustion.
“Thanks. I heard you the whole time, it was hard to miss. You’re the reason I did so well.”
You shake your head. “Don’t give me credit for your hours of strength training. That’s all you, babe.”
Mikasa smiles, now meeting your eyes. “But hearing you cheer for me makes me feel the need to win, in order to make you proud.
Reaching up, you brush back a damp strand of Mikasa’s hair. You were the one blushing now.
“Whatever you say, Mikasa. Do you want to go home now? I can help you wash up.”
Mikasa nods, grabbing your hand in hers. “I would like that.” She murmurs, already starting to lead you to the locker room so she could grab her bag, ready to take you home and have you all to herself.
A/N: this is so short but sweaty, strong, boxer Mikasa is just so 🤤🤤🤤
summary! your best friend satoru gojo has had a massive crush on you for years, the only issue is, he's pretty slutty. all he wants is you, god, you're the only thing he cares about these days, but he's too insecure to let himself want someone as beautiful and kind as you are.. he feels like he doesn't deserve such a loving person, so he sticks to his promiscuous lifestyle until you two can't handle pretending you're not enamoured with each other anymore. (insecure gojo, angst to comfort, gojo uses sex as an escape (no explicit mentions of said sex between others), toxicity, he's a sweetheart i promise)
satoru was off-his-fucking-face drunk.
he saw you from across the room chatting it up with shiu, a well known plug around campus, and a very attractive one at that, although he hated to admit it.
he knows he probably shouldn't of felt that stab of jelousy that just radiated through his gut, he's supposed to smile, then shrug all nonchalantly, cmon. don’t be weird. she talks to people. you talk to everyone. that’s how this shit works. he thinks.
but then he clocks the way shiu leans in closer, not to the point he's feeling all up on you, but he's close enough that it really, really pisses gojo off.
so, like any good 'best friend' who was almost blackout would do, he stalked over and threw his floppy, muscular arms around your waist with a deadly glare.
"can you fuck off shiu? no one wants you around here fucking up freshman with your fucking sketchy shit." he slurred, clinging to you like a koala.
"good cussing, satoru." shiu smiles with a new cigarette hanging from his lip.
"i hate you."
"i know, buddy..." he replies, winking at you before slipping the back of smiles into his pocket, "well uh, i'll leave you two alone then?" the obviously more mature man offers, you clench your teeth and pull one of satorus arms off of your body.
"sorry, kong. we'll chat another time?"
"no, you won't. go away shiu." satoru quipped, the black haired man just waves with a chuckle and moves on. he knew drunk gojo wasn't to be taken to heart, after all.
good riddance, he thought. everyone knew you were his, so why wasn't shiu getting that?
he sighed, but deep down he hated that part of himself. the obsessive part that wants to pull you away while knowing full well he's never once made any sort of claim on you. he doesn't get to play guard dog when he himself is the one who's taught everyone he's nothing more but a temporary play thing for others to use.
he knows it's pathetic, but still, he couldn't help but cling to you. it was just second nature to him at this point.
once shiu's gone, you exhale curtly. this always happened. despite your and satoru's relationship being nothing more than a tight friendship, he always got disgustingly possessive when you gave your attention to others, especially men, and especially at parties.
you sigh, then pry his other lanky arm off you with a big huff, fuck, he was heavy.
“you’re being ridiculous, satoru,” you groan, yelling over the music even though he's loud enough for the both of you, “i was only asking him how his studies were going.”
“don’t care,” satoru mumbles with his cheek pressed to your smaller shoulder. “don’t like him.”
“you don’t like anyone who talks to me.”
“mhm.”
you groan softly, this has happened so many times it’s become expected at these kinds of things. you reach for his collar and tug it, steering him away from the kitchen before he can latch back on to shiu who was now talking to maki.
“come on,” you roll your eyes. “you’re piss faced.”
he laughs boisterously, a stark change from the pout he was wearing a few seconds ago. “only a bit.”
“you’re literally swaying.”
“and? i sway when i'm sober.”
you can be bothered arguing with this meat head. instead, you turn toward the stairs and brace for impact because right on cue, his hand slides into yours and he pulls you up them.
“satoru,” you hiss, but he’s already halfway up, pulling you along behind him.
“i want to go to my room,” he says bluntly. “it's too fucking loud down there.”
he keeps a tight hold of your hand all the way up the spiral stairs with his thumb brushing your knuckles over and over, a nervous little tic he did when he got overwhelmed.
people smile and shout at the both of you as you walk pass, you think you can make out sukuna yelling his name, but he ignores all of them with a scoff like the dismissive drunk he is.
the moment you’re inside his room he shuts the door with his foot and leans back against it, still holding your hand.
this is always the part that makes your heart go all soft.
satoru looked so much gentler when he was inebriated like this. physically he’s still got that massive muscular upper body, still takes up all of your personal space and all, but he seems so fragile. like he’s set down the flashy go getter version of himself everyone else sees and picked up the one he only lets you have.
“sit,” he says dragging you toward his bed.
you smile at his slightly slurred speech and sit, he drops down beside you with his long lanky knees bumping yours. he immediately scoots closer until his leg presses against your own. his hand itch's until it's touching yours, your wrist, then your fingers, lacing them together.
he was always a little touchy when drunk.
“you okay?” you ask.
“yeah,” he says with a smile, then, “you’re really good.”
you laugh and lean back on your free hand. “that wasn’t the question, silly.”
he shrugs, flopping back onto the mattress and dragging you with him so you’re both propped up against his bashed up and faded wooden headboard. he loops his strong arm under your back and around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. okay, maybe a lot touchy.
you and satoru had a special kind of thing going on.
in freshman he spotted you from across the way at a mixer, he clocked you from the other side of the room and decided, for reasons he never really explained, that you were his person now.
he stole your cup, replaced it with a fresh one, and talked your ear off until you forgot what being nervous actually felt like, he seemed like a suave man on the outside, but this guy poured straight chronically online brainrot humour into your brain for like, two hours straight?.
by the end of the night you were sitting on the curb together, sharing fries he'd door dashed to the frat laughing like you’d known each other forever.
from then on, it was just a thing. you studied together, even though he never actually studied and mostly complained. you slept over, even though you both had comfy beds of your own.
you knew his school schedule, his little moods, the signs that meant he needed to leave a party early and unwind somewhere else. he knew when you were lying about being fine and when you needed him to just sit there and not try to fix anything.
people joked about you two all the time.
geto once asked why you didn’t just date already. satoru laughed far too loud and said that’d 'ruin absolutely everything'. you giggled too, telling yourself it was better like this, that you liked having him without the risk of romantic intimacy.
but like everything, the truth always came out.
one night where the both of you were almost blackout drunk, he took you upstairs after throwing his guts up into the toilet. you laughed at him and he flipped you off back, cleaning up then pulling you into his room like a rag doll.
he held you in the middle of the floor after you'd both toppled over, and he admitted everything to you through very crappy, slurred speech.
he told you how much he loved you, how badly he wanted you all to himself, how no one else could do it for him. you admitted the same, you told him how much you needed him in your life and how you felt more loved with him that anyone else.
you kissed, it was gross and quick but it happened. your feelings were out in the open.
for that night, at least.
morning came and the previous confession felt like small tiny fragments in both of your minds, you just couldn't remember any of it fully.
you went about your little friendship like nothing had changed. from what was left in your brains, you had a semi-clear thought on it all.
oh shit, maybe she/he likes me back?
sometimes, late at night, you’d lie next to him while he talked about nothing, sometimes you thought you caught drawls of that night in how he went quiet when you mentioned another guy, or when his hand squeezed yours that little bit tighter. but then he’d joke it away, or pull back, or remind you with a grin that you were his best friend.
so you stayed quiet, and so did he.
because being close to him like this felt better than not having him at all, loving him quietly was safer than risking losing him.
you didn’t know he was doing the exact same thing, from the other side of that line, telling himself over and over that you deserved better than him and that wanting you meant destroying his favourite thing in the world, your friendship.
now, your eyes drag over his pretty face as he stares up at the celling, letting out a long sigh that smelt like hard solo.
then he starts talking.
“god, this theme sucked actual nut sacks." he announces. “it was so bad, y/n. tell them to never do it again.”
you snort. “hm? weren't you the one hyping it up last week.”
“can you be quiet? i was lying. why are you lying to me?" he was making no sense.
“i feel like that's not... a proper answer?” you shake your head like you yourself were letting it go, he wasn't sober enough to be answering things correctly.
“rude.” he turns his head to look at you. “everyone looks stupid.”
“you’re wearing bright red board shorts and no shirt."
“yeah,” he says seriously. “so fucking stupid.”
you glance at the discarded lifeguard whistle on his desk, the red plastic stark against the silky oak. “you look fine, toru.”
“nah.” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “everyone’s dressed like baywatch rejects. i hate it.”
“you hate fun.”
“i love fun.” he squeezes your waist as to prove his point. “this just isn’t fun fun.”
“yeah? what’s fun fun then?”
his face turns and he's suddenly looking happier. gosh, these drunken mood swings.. “like... a onesie party.”
you laugh and sit a bit closer. “of course.”
“like animals,” he adds, gaining conversational momentum. “or dinosaurs. geto would be a gorilla. choso would be like, a wolf or some shit.”
“yeah? what would you be?”
he breathes out an answer before you can even finish your sentence. “a bunny.”
“oh wow, no you would not.”
“i absolutely would. i'd buy ears and everything.” he whines with a forlorn expression, oh we're sad now? perfect.
you picture it and bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but he notices.
“see,” he says, now smug (you seriously couldn't keep up). “way better than 'surfer sluts'.”
you look at his shorts, then back at him. “at least the name was semi-creative?”
“tch, only thing creative 'bout it.”
he rambles on, complaining about the trashy pitbull music, about how someone spilled a drink on his nice new grey decarbra's, about how the freshmen are hella annoying this year. his hands wonder as he talks, sometimes he's squeezing your fingers, sometimes drifting to your hip, sometimes tracing the line of your knee cap? he's doing it absentmindedly so you guess it was fine.
you two chat about how shitty the party was for a good half hour, circling back to old gossip and relationship dramas, laughing and spit balling for ages. you'd never tell him but you loved these moments, where he'd laugh and talk to you like you'd known him since he was born, rather than just a few years ago.
he always looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, whether you'd be out on long drives in his fancy car, or over at your dorm making really crappy cupcakes, he'd always gaze at you so lovingly. the bond between two best friends, am i right? you pushed away the thought of his lips on yours.
he sobers up a tad so the conversation is semi coherent on his end.
eventually, he circles the topic back you like he always does.
“so, you talk to shiu a lot,” he says quickly, darting his eyes back and forth from your face to gage your reaction.
“you know i talk to everyone,” you reply.
“yeah, but like.. you talk to him a lot.”
you smile at his badly hidden jealousy, “he’s in my stats class, satoru. nothing more.”
“still.”
you roll your eyes. “i asked how his studies were going. that’s it.”
he hums but it sounds very unconvinced.
“you get so weird about this,” you add. “it’s not that serious, i promise.”
he shifts closer again and his forehead drops to your shoulder. “i just don’t like when guys look at you.”
“they’re going to look at me.”
“i know.” his voice drops. “i hate it.”
you bump his knee with yours. “that’s a you problem, toru.”
“rude,” he repeats, but there’s no real malice in it.
you blurt out quickly, regretting it as soon as it pours out, "you're the only guy i'm this into, satoru, don't worry." fuck why did i say that?!
gojo's heartbeat is now thumping. she means that... in a friend way, right? of course. of course she did. no biggie...
he bites his lip as his hand goes all shake dragging up and down your arms.
you sit in silence for a bit as he and you both process, listening to the muffled frank ocean seeping through the floor boards. his thumb keeps tracing your knuckles, slower than before like he’s losing steam, getting sleepy.
to satoru, his room feels so much safer because no one’s looking at him like they want to eat him alive. not in here, with you. there's no one staring, waiting for him to be alone so they can make a move. sure, he's into it, but sometimes he jsut wants this, with you.
this is the version of him that he loves, sitting. talking. hands brushing without it being a big deal.
he wonders, not for the first time, why this version never feels like it’s allowed to want things. to want things like you.
the silence is comforting, but you make the mistake of opening your mouth. you promise you were only trying to lighten the mood, and/or distract from your almost confession earlier.
“c'mon,” you say lightly, not really thinking, “you should be thriving tonight, not sulking up here in your room. i mean, this theme was basically made for you.”
he lifts his head. “uh? what’s that supposed to mean?”
you shrug. “you know, surfer sluts. pretty fitting, no?"
you don't realise, but he goes stiff at your throw away comment, his fingers pause their ministrations on yours, his grip loosening until your fingers slide apart. he sits up straighter, and his body naturally moves away. his blue gaze dropping to the floor.
he’s heard it all before. much worse than this. louder than this. laughed off in locker rooms and kitchens and group chats.
'he's a slut.'
'a manwhore.'
'gojo’s just being gojo.'
he knows deep down he's built it, with every hook up being another brick. it was easier than being the guy who wanted one girl and didn’t know how to ask without ruining everything.
but fuck, he doesn’t want you to see him like that. that’s the fucked part. he doesn’t mind anyone else thinking it. just not you.
“oh,” he says.
you tilt your head, smiling. “oh, what?”
“nothing.”
you watch as his face turns into a distant blunt pull, you can't tell if he's still going through his drunken emotional switch ups or what.
“hey,” you say. “hey, i was joking.”
“yeah,” he mutters. “i know.”
he doesn’t look at you. oh shit.
without him pressed against you, the room suddenly inflates ten fold, when did it get so cold? the space between your bodies is small but very prominent, like a missing piece to a puzzle you'd spent hours putting together.
“toru?” you try again.
he scratches at his neck, a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times but never really questioned. “it’s fine.”
it’s clearly not, but you don’t push. you’ve learned when to stop.
he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, elbows on his knees. the chatter downstairs seeps up, laughter and shouting coming through the walls. he stares at nothing, his mouth moving like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to swallow.
“everyone thinks that,” he says eventually, “so you’re not wrong.”
you frown, then fling your own legs off of the couch and hug into his side. “hm? thinks what?”
“that i’m just… that.”
oh.. you wince to yourself and drag a hand up and down his arm for comfort, “hey.. i didn’t mean it like that.”
“i know.” he huffs a laugh lacking all the humour it usually had. “doesn’t really matter how you meant it.”
he looks down at you, “it’s true.”
you don't know how to answer, because you know it's true, too. you didn't mean to be rash, but he was a slut. this guy averaged two girls a week and bragged to almost everyone about it, why was he getting angsty now? his constant rotation was the main reason you hadn't brought up your feeling for him since that night. who sleeps with that many chicks if they really did like someone for real?
he keeps going, words pouring now that the dam’s cracked.
“i mean, look at me,” he says, gesturing at himself. “everyone here’s fucked me or wants to. it’s kind of my thing now, not that i totally mind, it's just.. not all i am.”
“i don't think that's all you are, okay? you're my bestfriend, satoru. i know you better than that.” you're trying so hard to save this sinking ship.
'bestfriend..' he echoed in his mind, a solemn smile playing at his mouth, he wanted to be so, so much more than that.
"yeah, i know you don't think that.” he shrugs, smiling softer. “you're the only opinion i really care about, anyways.”
you tap his wrist for his hand again and he lets you intertwine your fingers. his heart blips, you don't normally initiate this type of intimacy, it was always him grabbing for your hand.
"of course satoru, don't worry,” you say.
he wants to say something else but whatever it was stays lodged behind his smile, any sadness he had was long gone, he was now hyper fixated on your hand.
"i know you wanna tell me something else."
“yeah but.. forget it,” he says almost too happily.
you squeeze his hand. “c'monn, tell me.”
he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes again. “it’s stupid.”
“you’re stupid,” you say gently.
stupidly in love with you..
~
satoru stretches and lets out a deep, throaty groan. he somehow didn't have a hangover this morning, that was surprising.
he yawns and rolls over to bury his face into the pillow, his head feels packed with cotton and gravel, but it's not necessarily throbbing.
he's halfway through another groanish yawn when he realises the blankets that are pulled over his chest, when did they get there?
he stares at the ceiling, frowning. his comforter is pulled up to his chest with the corners tucked around his shoulders in a fashion he never ever does himself because he’s lazy and tall and always hangs off the bed. someone even kicked his shoes into place on his shoe rack.
you, of course it was you.
your face floats right to the front of his mind clear as day. your pretty little laugh, your hand in his, the precious way you were looking at him when he knocked out, you looked so beautiful.
he had morning wood and the thought of you was only making it pulsate harder. you were so kind to him, you'd always been there as an anchor, no matter what. he'd crash at your place when he felt like it, he'd squeeze into bed with you and hold you against his body.
shit, your body.. he presses his boner into the bed and groans, draging a heavy hand down his face.
“fuck.”
he's loved you for years, every girl he's ever fucked was a distraction. a distraction from the fact he never felt good enough to have you, all of you, all to himself. he hated it.
he catalogs the evidence like it’s a horrible case against him and his promiscuous ways. the kind words you'd always spewed, the way you can leave him without it feeling like you're really gone..
he racks his brain for every girl who’s woken up here and slipped out before he got to learn their last names. how none of them ever did this. how none of them stayed this gentle with him.
he tells himself thats gotta mean something.
then, he reminds himself that wanting something doesn’t mean he deserves it..
as he's having a deep, 'i love my bestfriend but i'm too much of a whore to deserve her, what the fuck do i do?' crisis for the fiftieth time this month, the door slams open.
“rise and shine, whore,” sukuna bellows, stepping into the room blowing a fat cloud of sweet vapor straight into the air. “get the fuck up. house looks like a dump.”
satoru squints at him. “i hate you.”
“yeah, yeah.” sukuna hits the vape again. “come clean. you threw up in the downstairs sink.”
“that wasn’t me.”
“it was absolutely you.”
satoru rolls onto his side and curls in on himself dramatically. “fuck off.”
sukuna snorts. “get up and mop you insufferable asshole.”
he waits until the door slams shut again before forcing himself to sit up. he scratches at his neck, then glances down at himself, he's still shirtless and in these ridiculous shorts. he grabs his geek bar off the side table and takes a hit, then throws it aside and sniffs.
he grabs a pair of grey sweats off the floor along with boxers from his draw, he strips, poses nakedly in the mirror for a good ten seconds, and pulls them on, not bothering with a shirt. he comes down the stairs barefoot, every step reminding him of how much of a lightweight he is. he makes it to the bottom and, holy fuck, the house was a mess.
empty cups are everywhere, bottles spilt into the carpet, peoples sweaty clothes strewn all over the place, what a palace.
choso is sweeping loads of trash into a big rubbish bag on the floor, nanami is wiping down the counters with a pissed off look, sukuna and toji are flipping the couch back over.
geto spots him before everyone else, "there he is,” he smiles, clapping a hand on satoru’s shoulder. “you okay?”
“no.”
geto grins. “heard you were real fucked up last night.”
satoru sighs. “don’t.”
he grabs a rubbish bag and starts scooping cups off the floor, his mind keep floating back to you, over and over again. he can still feel your hand in his, he can still see the way you'd hugged into his side when he got all quiet.
that’s the last thing he remembers before everything goes black is you.
he clears his throat. “hey.”
no one looks up.
“hey,” he tries again, louder. “did anyone see y/n leave last night?”
ino looks up like hes been waiting for a question like that, “why,” he asks. “you forget where you put her?”
satoru shoots him a look. “shut up.”
“i think she left kinda early,” nanami says without looking up. “before two.”
satoru’s chest loosens just a bit. “yeah?”
“yeah,” nanami continues. “she walked out with-"
toji stood up from kneeling besides the couch,
“shiu,” he says casually, cracking open a beer he had in hand. “she went home with shiu.”
the room goes quiet for exactly a second.
satoru stops and the trash bag slips from his fingers.
“what,” he says.
toji shrugs. “saw them out front walking to his car. sure looked cozy.”
he feels his heart beat thump, his head starts to throb and his eyes feel like they want to water and spill.
“that’s not-" he laughs weakly. “that’s not funny.”
toji takes a sip. “wasn’t joking.”
geto raises an eyebrow, watching satoru a little too closely. “you sure, man?”
toji nods. “yep.”
it feels like someone socked him in his mouth, his ears ring, the house feels claustrophobic, suddenly everything's very wrong.
you wouldn’t.
would you?..
he thinks about the way you held his hand, the way you tucked him in, all 6"4 of him, the way you told him he was 'the only guys you were this into.'. maybe that never happened ? maybe it indeed was just a figure of his imagination.. fuck, maybe his whorish lifestyle had finally scared you off..
he breathes in deep. if you did sleep with him, satoru doesn’t get to be hurt. he’s the guy who taught you this was normal, that this was so right and casual.
if you chose someone else, all that means is you learned the rules from watching him doing it over and over and over again.
his chest tightens and he laughs again. “ha. wow. okay.”
ino bursts out laughing. “are you deadass?”
sukuna snorts. “c'mon bro, you hook up with mad girls. don't be pressed when she does the same.”
geto covers his mouth, he wants to laugh but he knows he shouldn't. “that’s rough, but sukuna's right, satoru.”
gojo wipes a hand down his face quickly, blaming the hangover. “yeah. hilarious.”
“guess surfer sluts really was her thing,” toji adds, smirking.
that one lands.
satoru bends down and picks up the rubbish bag again with his eyes fixed to the floor, “i’m gonna go take the trash out.”
"okay, bro."
~
now, in your defence, while you did go home with shiu, you didn't sleep with him.
you couldn't, not when you were this deep under the satoru spell.
"thanks for letting me crash here, i didn't want to disturb gojo's sleep. oh, and yuki brought higuruma over last night. didn't wanna be up until 4 listening to them fuck."
you're half dressed under the covers, wiping your eyes as he come in with a cup of coffee.
"i got you, don't worry." he smiles from the door of his room, he let you take his luxurious bed while he slept on the equally as nice couch. shiu was surprisingly rich for a collage kid, maybe all that 'sketchy shit' as satoru liked to put it, was really selling.
he brings the cup down onto the table besides your bed and flicks your nose, "just remember your promise, gotta do that last section of the assignment for me, payment for my generosity."
"mm, wouldn't dream of leaving you without proper compensation." you laugh, taking the cup and sipping gently.
he looks from one of your eyes to the other like he's appreciating your presence, then quickly looks away and spins around.
"gotta make a few runs this morning, leave whenever you feel like it, yeah?" he throws over his shoulder.
you give him a thumbs up and he nods, waving while walking out.
the morning scuffles along, you eventually pull yourself out of his beautiful bed and get dressed into whatever clothing you could find that'd fit you in his draws. there were a few women's camis aswell as sweat pants in here, oh no, did he have a girlfriend?
as if being summoned by the universe, who else but shoko walks into the house, with her own key, no less.
she locks eyes with you for a second then smiles and waves like she couldn't care less.
"sh-shoko? what the fuck?"
"hey, y/n. is shiu still here?" she was so calm you just had to pry.
"why? are you two a thing? god, i promise this isn't what it looks like, i was just at a party and he offered to-"
"hush, i don't give a shit if you fucked him, girl. he's not my man."
phew... wait- not phew! you guys didn't even do anything!
you explain to her what went down, and she, in turn, told you why she was there. turns out she and shiu were hooking up on the dl, but she only felt for him physically, so you weren't a bother to her. "yeah, we fuck and he gives me drugs, pretty sweet deal. would recommend."
"yeah, i'm so good, thanks."
after that semi-akward interaction you gathered your stuff and got the hell out of there.
shiu's place was just off campus so the walk back to your own apartment wasn't far. like you did every morning after a party, you tried to give satoru a call. only, after the third ring, the line went dead.
satoru was finishing up the last little chores around the frat when he got your call, he stared at his phone as it rung on the kitchen bench, your name in cute heart emojis flashing on the screen.
he declined.
the last thing he wanted right now was to talk to you after shiu had been apparently digging in you. no way.
"yeesh, that's harsh, man." choso commented from his spot sitting at the breakfast bar.
"it's nothing, just busy right now." satoru tries his best to sound nonchalant but it's obvious he's still very much annoyed.
"oh yeah? you stop training when she calls you, man. you're never 'too busy.'" choso makes air quotes around that last part.
satoru sighs and chucks the last of the solo cups in the recycling bin, then takes off back up the stairs.
he shuts his door far harder than he needs to and falls onto his bed.
shiu.
the name keeps coming back, no matter how hard he tries to shove it away.
he tells himself he has no right to feel like this, none. he fucks around constantly, hell, it’s practically his brand. he’s built this whole thing around being easy, wanted and available. so why does the idea of you choosing someone else make his chest feel so disgusting?
you’re your own person. you always have been. he’s never tried to cage you, never tried to tell you what to do or who to see. that’s not him and he prides himself on that.
still.
you’re supposed to be his person.
not like that, he tells himself. not in a gross way he gets to possess but in the way you always end up together. the way you fall asleep next to him without it meaning anything and somehow meaning everything at the same time.
he massages the bridge of his nose with both hands.
get over it.
get over it.
get over it.
god, he just can't. instead, he unlocks his phone and stares at your pretty contact photo, the stupid nickname. his thumb taps call before he can talk himself out of it.
it barely rings twice before you're answering all giddy.
“toru!” your voice is so bright. “oh my god, i was just about to try you again. are you hung over?”
he feels pain coil up in his tummy.
“no,” he says flatly.
on your end, you're taken back by his bluntness “oh! uh, okay.”
he winces internally at your dejected response but doesn’t soften the blow. if he does, he’ll crack, and he can’t afford that right now.
“what’s up?” you ask, still trying.
“nothing,” he replies. “just busy.”
your heart clips like it'd been hooked onto a fishing hook.
“…hey, uh, are you.. are you mad at me?”
he scoffs sharply. “why would i be mad at you.”
your voice dips. “i don’t know. you’re being kinda blunt, i guess.”
he laughs curtly. “i’m allowed to be blunt.”
“not like this,” you say quietly. “you’re never like this with me.”
that hits him in his throat. he pretends to ignore it when in reality it throws his heart for a loop, "what do you want,” he asks, it's so clipped.
you go silent for a second, clearly recalibrating. “i was wondering if you wanted to hang out later? maybe get food or something. i can come over.”
normally he’d say yes without thinking. normally he’d already be planning how fast he could ditch whatever else he had lined up.
today, though, his jealousy makes the decision for him.
“can’t,” he says. “i’ve got a girl coming over.”
the line goes very quiet.
“…oh,” you say.
gosh, he can picture your face. the sweet little drop in your eyes you try to hide. the way you probably nodded even though he can’t see you.
there’s a mean, awful part of him that hopes it stings. not because he wants to hurt you, but because he wants proof that he matters the way you matter to him.
the rest of him despises that part. hates that when things feel out of control he reaches for the only thing that’s ever numbed really it.
he doesn’t want the girl coming over. he wants you. he always does. but wanting you feels so dangerously hard in a way fucking his feelings out never does.
“right,” you add. “that's okay.”
he should stop. he should backtrack and admit to what he really wants, he wants to talk to you about shiu, why you did it when you know he hated him, why you'd sleep with that fucker of all people, get some sort of closure. instead, he keeps going, so cruel and careless.
“yeah,” he says. “don’t really feel like cancelling either. kinda want good company.”
that’s a lie. he feels like shit. but he wants it to sting, shit, he hates that he wants that.
you swallow audibly. “okay. well. have fun then.”
“always do,” he replies, too fast.
the silence is horribly awkward.
“…i know you said you're fine, but really, toru, are you good?” you ask, one last attempt.
he exhales through his nose. “yeah. don’t bother coming over tonight, okay?”
there it is. the line he knows will hit you deep.
your voice wobbles a little, “i wasn’t.”
“good,” he says. “talk later.”
and before you can respond, he hangs up.
the second the call ends, regret slams into him full force.
“fuck,” he grumbles, slamming the phone onto the bed.
he presses his palms into his eyes and groans. what the hell was that? why did he do that?
you didn’t deserve that. he’s supposed to be your best friend, not... not whatever that was.
he tells himself he’s doing you some sort of fucked up a favor. that pushing you away now is kinder than letting you see how messy he actually is when he cares.
it sounds noble until he admits the truth. he ran because staying would’ve meant being honest with you.
he sits there for ages, replaying your tone over and over until it makes him feel nauseous.
he hates this. hates how jealous he feels. hates that he can’t say anything about it without blowing everything up. hates that he took it out on you because he doesn’t know how to handle it like a normal person.
his phone vibrates, instead of checking the notification he unlocks it, opens a different app, scrolls, and sends a message he knows he’ll definitely regret later.
gojo: come over
her reply is quicker than he'd thought it be.
xxx xxx xxx: omw ;)
he drops the phone and leans back, staring at the ceiling. this is what he does. when things get too much, he drowns them out. replaces one feeling with another until it’s all numb enough to ignore.
a knock sounds at his door twenty minutes later.
he doesn’t give himself time to think it over, he opens it, steps aside, and lets the girl in. she smiles at him, then she reaches for his arm like it's her god given right.
the door clicks shut behind them.
and even as he kisses her, his mind betrays him, flashing back to your voice on the phone, so sweet, so soft and hurt.
he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes it away.
anything to not feel like this.
~
now, the party a few days later is so much worse.
the theme is white out so the crowd looks like a sea of seagulls packed into this seats living room.
you're clad in a pretty little white dress with big white heels and matching accessories, pretty basic yet still jaw dropping.
you're walking past the tv when satoru comes into view, today, not only was his hair white, but his entire outfit was too.
he’s across the room near the kitchen island, leaning back against the counter with a drink in his hand and two girls pressed in real close. one of them is laughing like a hyena at something charming he said, her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans like she’s testing how far she can go. the other is touching his arm, tracing up his strong bicep.
he's too busy with them, he doesn't even spare you a fleeting glance.
you try not to look, you really, really do. but it’s just so difficult when that used to be your spot. when that used to be you next to him, stealing sips of his drink, talking shit about everyone else at the party like you were above it all together.
you frown, the conversations you and satoru had lately have been few and far between. he's dry as hell, and suddenly busy every time you ask to hang out.
you keep telling yourself it’s fine, it's all good. people grow apart all the time, it's collage! maybe he’s bored of being your friend. maybe you leaned too hard on a friendship that wasn’t meant to last.. and while you tell yourself it's fine, your chest twists and ticks and throbs with pain.
you step toward a couch where choso, shoko and geto are lounging around, all three of them clock your mood the second you flop beside them.
“hey, you good?” geto asks, passing you a drink.
you shake your head. “i’m okay.”
choso gives you a look. he's not gonna push but he'd like to. “you wanna sit here with us?”
“yeah,” you say quietly. “that’d be nice.”
you sit between them with your legs tucked up, watching the party happen around you like it’s something you’re not really part of anymore. your eyes keep flocking back to satoru like some sort of pathetic magnet.
you loved satoru's company. he was your favourite person on earth, you'd spend every second with him if you could, now he was pushing you away? you'd of at least liked a conversation about it. maybe a warning.
hes getting loud talking like he's the only person worth listening to in the entire room, patting girls on the ass and leaning in close to their necks to hear them properly.
every time he laughs or slings his arm around their shoulders, you feel your heart crack.
you miss him. god, you miss him so bad. not whatever this was.
choso nudges your knee gently. “c'mon, you don’t have to stay if it’s not fun.”
you shake your head again. “i don’t wanna be alone.”
he nods like he understands that more than you realise.
time drags on and an hour passes. then another. you try talking to other people, but it feels so wrong. your attention keeps snapping back to satoru.
he’s still backed against the kitchen island with a drink he hasn’t touched like, forty minutes, he's pretending bf to laugh at those girls terrible jokes, letting them sleaze all over him.
normally he’d lean into the gag. he'd flirt back and say something stupidly charming and let the night dissolve into a forgettable hook up.
but tonight it just feels so weird.
the girl on his left moves in with her mouth near his ear, saying something he pretends not to clock. her breath fans over his skin and his stomach churns, not with excitement but with this dull guilt that keeps scratching his lungs raw.
he looks at their faces and feels a light sense of absence.
he thinks about how easy it would be to disappear upstairs with one of them. how everyone would nod like yeah, that tracks. just gojo being gojo, and the thought makes him want to rip out of his own skin.
he didn’t want this shit tonight. he didn’t want these grabby hands all over him. he’s so tired of being wanted in the most bare minimum way.
he wanted you here.
eventually, after you'd stared holes through the back of satorus head, choso leans down to your ear. “you wanna go upstairs for a bit? i’m gonna smoke.”
you stumble over your words. “oh, i uh, i don’t smoke.”
“i know,” he says quickly. “you don’t have to. just… sit with me. i don’t really wanna be alone either.”
good, you really needed an escape right now.
“okay,” you say. “yeah. i’ll go with you.”
you stand together, weaving through the crowd toward the stairs. you can tell people are staring but you don’t look over your shoulder.
choso leads the way up, your shoulders brushing as he pulls out a pre roll with a smile.
across the room, satoru is midway through a sentence when he spots you. he wants to smile, its his reflex when he catches sight of you, but then he remembers he doesn’t get to do that right now, and the happy pull of his lips dies before it ever reaches his face.
you’re walking up the stairs with choso, close enough that your arms are touching. you’re leaning in to hear what he’s saying, head close to his mouth in a way satoru hasn’t had in days.
his put on smirk falls immediately.
“hey,” one of the girls says, pulling on his arm. “you listening?”
he pulls his wrist free without looking at her. “yeah. go get a drink or something.”
she frowns. “what?”
“look, just go,” he snaps.
both girls scatter away, muttering throw away curses but he really doesn’t care. he’s stalking over to where geto and shoko are now sitting with bottles to their lips.
“great,” he says bitterly, sitting down hard onto the couch. “first she’s fucking shiu and now my best friend? perfect.”
geto thinks for a second. “...what?”
shoko squints at him. “what are you talking about?"
satoru laughs bitterly, “don’t play dumb. i just saw them.”
geto follows his eyes to the stairs and sees you and choso disappearing around the corner. he sighs. “they’re going up to smoke.”
satoru scoffs. “yeah. sure, she doesn't smoke.”
“no,” shoko cuts in, annoyed. “actually sure. choso asked if she’d sit with him.”
satoru’s face drops into a deeper scowl, “since when does she hang out with him like that."
“since always?” geto replies. “they’re friends you just hog her, normally.”
satoru shakes his head. “this is bullshit.”
shoko sets her drink down with a dissatisfied groan. “you don’t get to act like this.”
he snaps his head toward her. “like what.”
“like you own her,” she says flatly. “you don’t.”
geto nods. “man, you’ve been pushing her away all week.”
“because she doesn’t want me,” satoru fires back. “she made that pretty clear.”
shoko raises an eyebrow. “did she now.”
“she went home with shiu.”
shoko’s face twists. “oh my god.”
geto leans forward. “that’s what this is about? you're ditching your best friend because she wanted to get her pussy ate?”
“what- no-,” satoru says. “you make it sound like-" he stop himself from spewing words he doesn't really mean. "it's just the fact she knows i hate that guy. that and everything else..."
shoko exhales sharply. “she didn’t fuck him.”
satoru freezes. “what.”
“she didn’t sleep with him,” shoko repeats. “she stayed the night because she didn’t wanna wake you up at the last function.”
the wave of relief that flows through him is euphoric, but it's followed closely by guilt. because despite everything you still chose him in the quiet ways. and he’d repaid that by pushing you as far away as possible.
geto turns to shoko. “oh, are you serious?"
“dead serious,” she says. “i walked in that morning. she was fully dressed and half asleep. they didn’t do shit.”
satoru feels like the floor drops out from under him and his heart is smudged into the wood.
“she told me herself,” shoko adds. “she was worried about you that morning, too. wanted to go over straight away and see if you were hung over.”
he's taken back by the revelation, satoru feels like he can't breathe.
geto runs a hand through his hair. “man…”
“also,” shoko continues, clearly not done, “she’s been really upset. you know that, right?”
satoru stares at the stairs. your face flashes in his mind. the way your voice sounded on the phone. so hurt.
“i'm gonna be honest, you’ve been acting like an asshole,” geto says gently. “and she’s been taking it like a champ. i'd of socked you in the jaw by now."
the music seems to disappear into the depths of his mind as he reels.
you didn’t fuck shiu.
you weren't up there sleeping with choso.
god, he thinks about the way he spoke to you. the way he brushed you off so calloused, the way he said he had a girl coming over and didn't brush her off for you, like he'd always done.
his stomach drops.
“oh fuck,” he whispers.
shoko watches him closely. “you're a real asshole, you know.”
he swallows. “fuck, i know.”
geto snorts.
satoru rubs a hand down his face, standing abruptly. “i need air.”
he takes off, on his way past he stops at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at them.
for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel angry.
he feels scared, typical gojo reading too deep into things and reacting rashly. he really needed to work on that.
~
"i don't know cho... this is the first time something like this has happened. i feel like he hates me or something... i just don't know what i did."
choso, bless his heart, had been listening to you pour your heart out about gojo for the past half an hour, blowing smoke out his open window. that last part caused his zooted brain to form a coherent thought.
"it's probably because you fucked shiu." he announces in uneven tones, he was more than a little gone.
you stare at choso like he’s just spoken another language.
“uhm?” you quiz.
his head falls to look at you from his spot by the window, he’s so relaxed he looks like gravity might forget about him any second now.
“yeah,” he nods, very sure of himself. “that’s gotta be it. gojo’s dramatic like that.”
your stomach drops, not in guilt, but in pure disbelief.
“i didn’t fuck shiu,” you say with a bitter taste in your mouth.
choso's neck rolls and he rubs his face, “…huh?”
“i didn’t sleep with him,” you repeat, “nothing happened. i crashed at his because i didn’t wanna wake satoru up and yuki had a guy over our place."
he processes this slowly with his face scrunching, the thought is buffering.
“okay,” he says after awhile, “but you went home with him.”
“yes,” you snap. “but that’s not the same thing.”
he hums, then shrugs. “dunno, sounds the same.”
you were gonna punch this loser.
“oh my god,” you mutter. “i have to go.”
“go where?” choso asks genuinely curious.
“i have to tell satoru,” you say grabbing your phone. “not because i did anything wrong, because i didn’t. but because he thinks i slept with someone he hates.”
choso sighs again. “you know you’re allowed to sleep with people.”
“i know that,” you say quickly. “this isn’t about that. it’s about him thinking i did it behind his back with someone he clearly can’t stand.”
choso nods like this makes sense to him, even though it absolutely does not. “okay.”
you pause at the door. “can you not tell anyone else?”
he raises two fingers in a salute. “your secret is safe with me.”
you don’t trust that for a second, but you’re already shutting his door.
you bolt down the stairs two at a time looking over the crowd. the stupid partys still bumping. you look for his pretty white hair, for his broad shoulders, but with everyone wearing the same color it became impossible.
you groan and head for the couch you left shoko and geto at.
“where’s satoru,” you breathe.
“uh. outside, i think.” geto responds surprised.
“yeah,” shoko adds. “went out front. needed air, apparently.”
you nod and make your way to the front door, the coolness of the night sweeps over your face and you notice a very tall man almost instantly.
he’s leaning against the lamp post across the street with his phone in one hand and his vape in the other.
he only vapes when he’s stressed.
stepping closer, you clock just how small this moment feels and how big it could blow up and become if you say the wrong thing.
“toru,” you say softly.
he looks up.
the second his eyes land on you, he feels his heart pulse.
“can we.. can we talk?” you ask.
he doesn’t answer, he gives you the most longing stare you'd ever seen. then, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.
hard.
his biceps wrap around you so tight, his scrunched up face presses into your hair, his grip is stable and you want to cry at how passionate this feels.
he breathes out a shaky, “i’m sorry.”
you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him back.
“i’m so sorry,” he repeats. “i was a dick. i shouldn’t have been so rude. i should’ve talked to you, communication and all that shit.”
you move back to look up at him. “hey. hey, it’s okay.”
he shakes his head. “no, it’s not. i acted like a stuck up cunt. i thought you slept with shiu and i just… i lost my mind.”
you sigh. “i didn’t. i swear. nothing happened. i should of told you that.”
he nods quickly. “i know. shoko told me. i just… god. i’m sorry i made you feel so shit.”
you reach up and rub your thumb under his eye. a sweet gesture you’ve done a hundred times before. “i’m sorry you got that impression.”
he leans into your touch for half a second before catching himself. “i had no right to be mad even if you had slept with someone. i know that.”
you nod. “yeah. you didn’t. but i get it's because you thought i did it behind you back, especially with someone you really hate."
a beautiful, silent moment exists between you two before you step back, forcing a small smile. “are we all good?”
he lets out a weak laugh. “yeah, you're so good.”
“that wasn't the question, silly.” you add, gently.
after that, you'd both agreed to ditch this lame party and stay at yours for the night. yuki was at higuruma's, so the place was all yours.
at your apartment, you both shower separately then change into comfy sleep clothes. his essentials hoodie ends up on you without either of you talking about it. when you come back into your room, he’s flopped onto your bed with his big arms spread, staring at the ceiling.
“c’mere,” he says, patting the space beside him.
you smile and crawl in next to him, turning onto your side so your head rests against his chest. he adjusts automatically, one arm coming around you, fingers threading through your hair in slow, relaxing strokes.
it feels like safe, blissful warmth. like coming home.
you lie there in silence for a while, listening to his breathing even out.
then he speaks again.
“hey, uhm.. sorry for blowing you off for a chick, the other day, by the way.”
you lift your head. “huh?”
he grimaces. “i lowkey didn’t even have plans. i invited her over after i hung up. just wanted a distraction.”
your chest does a confusing little blip.
“would’ve liked to see you instead,” he adds quietly.
your heart aches and swells at the same time. you press your face back into his chest, “it’s fine.” laughs at your adorably muffled voice, then sighs. “i shouldn’t have done that.”
you shrug. “you’re allowed to see people.”
he hums. “yeah.”
you hesitate, then say it anyway. “i don’t care about the girls you hook up with. doesn't really effect our friendship, right?”
the words feel so distasteful and strange, but you push through.
he smiles a forlorn smile. "right.”
he pulls you a little closer, brushing his lips against your temple in an almost kiss. he threads a piece of your hair through his fingers like a coiled ribbon, feeling the individual stand's texture against the pads of his fingers. this was his therapy, the soothing lull of you, with him.
he can feel your soft breathing slow down as you knock out, the way you always do when you know you can trust him to stay with you.
and god, that trust truly destroys the last bit of careless arrogance he carried in him.
because just hours ago he was so sure you’d replaced him. that you’d looked at someone else and chosen them.
but you no, didn’t.
you never did that.
every girl he’s ever dragged into his bed flashes through his mind in quick, ugly snapshots like those old black and white movies.
they've got faces he can't remember, voices that sounds distorted and wrong, and their bodies look like every other persons. it's surreal.
he tells himself, not for the first time, that he never meant for it to get this bad. it all started as some quick fun. then it became a boarder line addiction, one he desperately wanted to break.. he feels sick at how it turned into something people expected from him, something he leaned into because it meant no one would ever ask him for more.
no one except you.
you wriggle around adorably in your sleep, your knee hitting his thigh, and it smacks him all over again how easy it would be to lose this bliss. how close he came. how close he kinda still is.
he’s been hiding behind it for so long. the flirting. the girls. the persona. acting like he doesn’t care.
but lying here with you? knowing you didn’t do anything wrong, knowing he almost burned the best thing in his life because he couldn’t get over his own shit, something in him finally snaps into place.
he doesn’t want to be that guy anymore.
he wants to be someone you can choose without any hesitation. someone who doesn’t make you doubt where you stand. someone who doesn’t reach for distractions the second things feel too hard for him to handle alone.
i’m gonna fix this, he thinks.
he’s not stupid enough to think it’ll be easy. habits don’t disappear overnight. insecurity doesn’t vanish just because he wants it to. but he can stop hiding behind other people. he can stop pretending he’s fine with the left over crumbs when what he wants is everything.
he wants to earn you.
not with big gestures or revolting drunk confessions he can’t really back up, but by showing up differently to what hes been doing. by choosing you the way you’ve always chosen him.
he was gonna stop. he couldn't be labeled a good for nothing playboy anymore,
~
"so bro, did you figure shit out with your girl?"
"what, you mean y/n? yeah, man. that's all sorted."
gojo was back at the frat the next day after a very messy, long night of staring at your sleeping face, (and fighting to overwhelming urge to kiss your pretty nose.) he was chatting it up with toji who had heard about the drama through shoko.
"just curious, are you two like.. a friend with bennies kinda situation? or what." he asks, shaking his banana protein powder violently in it's can to break apart the clumps.
satoru starts drumming his fingers against the kitchen bench, trying to sound nonchalant. "nah, man. she's just my friend. i've got other girls for that shit." he winces at that douchey response... hm, if he wanted to stop the slut allegations he needed to work on how he talked to guys like toji.
"yeah, and she's just fine with that?"
"i dunno, bro."
toji shakes his head and chuckles, then geto interrupts from the couch.
"ever think of like, oh, i don't know. telling her you're into her?"
gojo lets out a fake groan like he's sick of the question, not like he's obsessed over that very idea for around a year now. "can you two lay off? i'll tell her eventually."
"yeah right. you're gonna waste away your life fucking hoe's you don't even like, and she's gonna get a guy hitched. like shiu." sukuna chimes in from the stairs. fuck, was everyone coming down to clock his shit?
"fuck off with the shiu shit, they didn't do anything."
"yet."
he was seriously about to throw hands.
the chaos is interrupted when nanami walks through the large front door holding a piece of paper.
"i just got the theme for the next function." he says, holding it in the air. "it's that stupid white lies thing we did last year in june, remember that?"
oh, they remembered. everyone in white or coloured shirts with sharpie on the front spelling out a little white lie about each person. so much drama came from that, it was insane.
satoru faintly remembers sukuna's shirt saying, 'i'm not cheating on my girl.' and getting his wallet set on fire not long after said girl got to the party.
"sweet, that's easy to set up." toji commented. all satoru was thinking was how you were the first person he had to invite, his hand itching for his phone.
he smiles at your response and pockets his phone, his mind reeling with what he was gonna write on his shirt, as he taps a finger to his chin, the most big brain, amazing thought pops into his head.
god, i'm so suave.
his promise to himself was about to become really real after this party, he just hoped it didn't all go downhill..
you on the other hand, you were contemplating whether or not what you had planned for your shirt was too much. the instant you'd read his text about the theme, the idea immediately popped into your head.
being brave enough to actually go through with it? that was another story..
~
11pm saturday, the frat.
okay, you're really nervous now. you stand outside for way longer than necessary, your jumper covers the secret writing on your shirt, you can't embarrass yourself, yet.
you take a deep breath and walk into the familiar house you'd crashed at so many times.
it's still early, so only the people actually in the frat are there so far. you walk through slowly and the first one you clock is sukuna.
he’s got a beer in one hand (already? smh.), his white shirt is stretched across his muscly chest with thick black letters that read, i hate milfs.
you snort before you can stop yourself.
toji’s near the tv wiring up the music, his shirt says, i’m not a felon.
these guys weren't real, what the fuck.
shoko’s leaned against the counter nearby, one of those big chunky choofs in her hand. her shirt reads, i’m not addicted to nic.
you love her.
you pull out your phone and shoot satoru a text letting him know you've made it, you barely have time to lock your screen before arms wrap around you from behind.
big, hard, comforting arms.
gojo buries his face into the side of your neck, "there you are,” he says, pleased. “you smell good.”
the blush that covers your cheeks is embarrassing. “well, hi to you too.”
he pulls off and beams down at you, although, you can't help but see a slight hint of nerves in his eyes.
“missed you,” he laughs.
before you can overthink that, you notice that his shirt is covered by a loose flannel, hanging open but covering the writing on his chest.
he notices your eyes flick down and smirks. “don’t look yet.”
you scoff. “oh, so you’re hiding yours too.”
“maybe,” he says. “what about you?”
you tug at the strings of your jumper. “mhm.”
his eyes narrow playfully. “suspicious.”
"you love it."
he grins. “yeah. i do.”
he’s tugging you along by the hand, weaving you through the house toward the kitchen the next second.
“come onn,” he says. “it’s still early. let's pregame before it gets all sweaty and gross.”
the kitchen is devoid of people, satoru hops up onto the counter, then contemplates ad corrects himself.
“wait,” he says. “no. you sit.”
before you can argue, he lifts you and plops you on the bench, your face feels hot but you blame it on the lack of air flow.. or the way he’s standing way too close.
he pours you a drink keeping in mind you’re not trying to get wrecked tonight, then puts it beside you.
“there ya go, sweets,” he says.
“perfect.”
you sip, then notice his fingers tapping against the counter like a drum, oh yeah, he's definitely nervous.
you tilt your head, flashing him that gorgeous smile that always made him weak in the knees. "so.”
he looks at you. “so.”
you smile. “what’s your shirt say?”
...
his laugh is strangled and just a little too loud. “oh, uh. straight to the point, huh.”
“you know it."
he rubs the back of his neck. “it’s stupid.”
“uh huh.”
“and you’re gonna laugh.”
“probably.”
he squints at you. “you go first.”
you shake your head. “nope.”
“c’mon,” he whines. “you’re way braver than me.”
you giggle, heart doing that annoying thing again. “mm, absolutely not.”
he rolls his eyes, then comes up with a compromise.
“okay,” he says. “same time, then.”
you pause. “uhm?.”
“we'll both reveal it at the same time,” he continues. “y'know, like one, two, three.”
you stare at him. “c'mon.”
“you're so lame, pleasee,” he plead.
you roll your eyes. “okay, okay, fine.”
he grins, wide and oh so nervous. “really?”
“yeah,” you say, with your fingers are already curling into the fabric of your jumper. “on three.”
he nods. “okay.”
the moment stretches. neither of you moves.
“you count,” he says.
you swallow and nervously laugh. “one.”
his fingers fall into the edge of his flannel.
“two.”
your hands slide to the hem of your jumper.
“three.”
both of your fabrics lift.
his flannel drops open as you tug your jumper over your head, both of you frozen for a good minute as the truth finally, finally stares back at you.
i’m not in love with my best friend.
on both shirts.
identical. same handwriting style.
you stare at his chest.
he stares at yours.
then you both lose it.
you're both toppled over laughing at how ridiculous this was.
“no fucking way,” he gasps.
you wipe your eye, “are you kidding me.”
he steps closer, closing the space until he’s right between your knees, caging you in gently. his smile softens as he looks down at your shirt.
“wow,” he murmurs.
you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with fabric.
“guess we both lied,” you say quietly.
“guess so.”
his hands caress your face ever so slowly, like he’s giving you time to slap him off but you don’t.
you stare up at him with big, wide eyes. he smiles and inches toward until your noses touch.
he leans in, “can i?” he asks, quietly.
you nod smiling harder than you ever had before. “yeah.”
then, he kisses you.
it’s soft and warm, nothing like that sloppy drunk one you both pretend you forgot.
you kiss him back deeper, your fingers drift through his hair pulling him closer, and the sound he makes against your mouth is almost whiney, wrecked.
the bliss is interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.
“about fucking time,” sukuna bellows.
you break apart laughing again, foreheads still touching. satoru groans and drops his head to your shoulder.
“i’m killing him,” he mutters.
he hops you off the counter, taking your hand. “we’re leaving.”
“where.”
“my room. like, now. these assholes are not ruining my moment.”
you follow him up the stairs both of you grinning like idiots. he's pulling you softly but quick enough the moment isn't lost.
his door closes behind you. the room is dim, only lit by the lamp on his desk, nice and moody.
he doesn’t rush you and he doesn’t pounce like he did with other women. no. he reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, “hi,” he says, dumb and fond.
you smile. “hi.”
satoru literally can't fight this urge any longer, he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms fully around your body. your cheek presses to his chest, right over his heart, and it’s beating oh so fast. one of his hands slides up to cradle the back of your head with his fingers threading through your hair, stroking slowly.
“i’ve wanted this for so long,” he says into your hair. “like, embarrassingly long.”
you laugh softly. “yeah?”
“yeah,” he says. “i just didn’t think i was, like, allowed to? if that makes sense”
you look up at him with a confused smile. “why wouldn’t you be?”
he swallows. his eyes flick away, then back. “because i’m kind of an asshole, if you couldn't tell.”
you knew what he meant. the women, his not so shiny reputation, his arrogance.
“you're not the only one, i didn’t say anything either.” you rub the side of his face.
he smiles into you hand, “why?”
you stop. then take a breath and decide to be brave. “because you sleep with everyone. and i thought if you wanted me, you would’ve... i don't know, stopped.”
ouch, but deserved.
“fuck,” he says quietly. “i hated that you saw me like that.”
“i mean,” you shrug weakly. “it’s kind of hard not to.”
he laughs. “yeah. fair.”
he presses his forehead to yours. “that shit was never about wanting other people, y/n. it was about not knowing what to do with wanting you.”
your head just went really fuzzy at his poetic expression.
“i made a promise to myself,” he continues. “after i realised i was gonna lose you if i didn’t get my shit together. i’m done with it. all of it. i don’t wanna be that guy anymore.”
you search his face, looking for the joke, but he's dead serious.
“i didn’t think i deserved you,” he admits. “so i kept proving myself right.”
for a moment, neither of you speak. then you reach for his hand and hook your pinky around his.
“okay,” you say. “then let’s just… talk. no more of this back and forth.”
“pinky promise.” he smiles and seals it, then leans in and kisses you again. he pulls back for a second then begins to pepper your face in sweet little pecks, making you giggle at the ticking movement.
“i’ve wanted to do this,” he says between kisses, grinning like he can’t stop himself. “just whenever. whenever i felt like it.”
you laugh, hands in his hair now, tugging him back down. “you’re so silly.”
you end up tangled on his bed, just talking. his legs are weaved through yours as he kisses your face occasionally. you tell him you'd been feeling for the past, what, two years? you tell him how the women always made you jealous, how you'd wish it were you he wanted. he spills his guts just as much. he tells you how they never meant anything, how he knew he had a problem and he was working on it, for you.
three hours of straight yap fly by.
he eventually goes really quiet and clears his throat out. “hey.”
“hmm?”
“would you wanna,” he hesitates, suddenly adorably shy, “go on an actual date with me? like. flowers. dinner. me trying really, really hard.”
you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “yeah. i would.”
his grin is blinding, him and his stupidly perfect teeth.
“holy shit,” he laughs, pulling you close again. “i got the girl.”
you smile, then drift off wrapped up in each other, both of you finally feeling secure in your feelings for one another.
"night, toru."
"good night, sweetheart."
A/N: i'll be writing some spicy/dating headcanons for this fic !!
Omg… I love your works I’ve been keeping up with them for a while now! How cute would it be for Levi and Hange to be childhood friends and for reader to be Levi’s little sister in a modern! I imagine reader would have a crush on Hange but not say anything until they’re all adults 😭 probably mentioning it briefly in conversation like “haha yeah i had a crush on you… anyway”
brother’s best friend, hange zoë
oh hell yeah i love this!! sorry, i made it smutty—couldn’t help myself <3 hope u enjoy anonie! i put my whole pussy into it lmao
summary: brothers best friend!hange x f!reader modern au.
warnings: 18+ minors & ageless blogs dni!! explicit sexual content. poc friendly! nb!hange x female!reader. forbidden/secret relationship, switch!hange, switch!reader, older brother!levi. lesbian activity, yearning, angst? jealousy, fwb!abby anderson x reader cameo, dirty talk, tongue piercing, fingersucking, fingering, munching, strap usage, strap licking, hange refers to the strap as their cock once, they're both whores. for eachother <3. can't think of anything else. hange is tatted n pierced cos i said so :p
wc: 12.4k words.. look idk either don't ask. proofread but there's so many words im sure there's bound to be errors with my dyslexic ass.
—
As a child, you always used to follow your older brother everywhere. I mean, that's kind of a rite of passage as a younger sibling. You looked up to him, his friend group was nice to you, much to Levi's discontent, always buying you ice cream and little snacks and ruffling your hair until it was a tangled mess on your head.
You were only two years younger than him, but he acted like you were eight years old whenever you'd ask if you could go out with him and his friends.
"No—you can come when you're taller than me." He'd say, it worked when you were still smaller, but you had a little growth spurt, making you almost the same height as him. Levi hated that, being victim to endless teasing from both your parents and his friends.
"But, I'm already almost taller than you?"
"Doesn't matter, brat."
But he'd sigh, and let you go anyway. Feeling your mother's stare on him, no words needed, a simple look that stated, 'Take her with you, and don't argue,"
It wasn't like you didn't have any friends of your own to hang out with, but his were just, so cool. So different to yours. They stayed out much later and did more fun things like going to buy milkshakes and sit around idly in parks. Stuff your friends weren't allowed to do.
Plus, one particular friend of his always caught your eye more than the others.
Hange.
With their comfy cardigans and messy hair, cheerful smile and bright demeanour. They were way taller than Levi, you always found that funny. How technically, he wasn't even tall enough to go out either by the standards he placed on you.
Looking back on it, you were a little embarrassed at how you trailed after Hange like a lost puppy. Eyeing their every move and following them as you tried to force their attention on you. Cringing at your younger self, you just really liked them. Wanted to be their friend, to hang out with them as much as you could.
Now, though, you had all grown into adulthood, you were in your first semester at college, at home for the first break of the year. The woes of young adulthood following you around like it did everyone else.
Levi and Hange remained best friends throughout, many of his other friends moving to distant colleges, whilst both of them stayed local, their friendship held strong.
You were currently reading a book on your bed as you heard the familiar laughs from Hange, and chattering from Levi through the open gap of your door.
You always admired their friendship, how close they were and the effort they made into retaining it. Many of your own friendships had come and gone, lost to time and petty arguments but theirs never did, not even once.
Sure, you had Mikasa, the closest you had to a best friend but she was bound to you by familial ties and family values. You often wondered if your friendship would've remained if you weren't cousins. You weren't ungrateful, though, Mikasa is a ride-or-die type of person. If you were friends with her, she'd die for you. Her own code of loyalty un-breaking in the face of silly things that'd rip other friendships apart. You hadn't seen her for a few days, though. She'd gone on some trip with her parents and boyfriend, and not wanting to ruin their family bonding time you opted to stay at home during the holidays.
Consequently, you were insanely bored. Out of your mind, even. You had read that book maybe five times? You weren't sure if you had it in you to finish it for the sixth.
So, rather begrudgingly, you made your way down the stairs, to where Levi and Hange were sat playing video games on the couch.
Hange's legs were spread as their elbows rested on each knee, both of them hunched over their remotes, backs bent to feel closer to the screen. Shouting incoherently as their chosen characters were beating each other up, throwing high kicks and brutal uppercuts in a 1v1.
You watched them for a while, laughing as Levi got his ass kicked by Hange's chosen character. Claiming that Hange was cheating to make himself feel better about losing.
Hange hadn't changed much, their features were the same, albeit more pronounced and mature. It was their style that changed the most, going from dorky graphic tees to tightly cropped tank tops that exposed their arms and baggy ripped jeans that hung low on their slender hips. Not to mention the new piercings and the tats that now covered their wrists and upper chest, often poking through the collar hem.
Their hair was shorter, now, too. Layered strands falling out of its tie as shorter pieces framed the structure of their face. A curved, short metallic line pierced through their right eyebrow, along with a small band hanging off their septum on a curved nose.
Hange was always attractive, for sure, but they got insanely hot. Confidence just radiated from them as they got comfortable in their own skin. You had always been drawn to them, you just got better at hiding it. The prefrontal cortex developing into self-awareness at how embarrassing it was to be so openly craving Hange's attention. Plus, they were Levi's best friend, it simply couldn't happen.
Did I mention they were also gay? You remembered when Hange first came out to Levi, nervously telling him about a crush they had on a cute barista in the city. You also especially remembered the way your chest constricted and the bitter taste that soured your tongue as Hange fawned over this cute girl they spoke to just a few times.
Levi took it well, like a good friend, besides he was gay, too— in love with Erwin. He told you about their secret kisses and conflicted feelings one night, after a bit too much to drink that he was heartbroken when Erwin moved away, and onto to better things. A disregarded potential relationship that never kicked off, he hasn't found another half since. You wished he would, he was a good person.
Hange noticed you standing behind them, head turning slightly for confirmation of your presence before turning back to try and focus on the screen. You were bent over the back of the couch, elbows resting on the cushions as you watched their game, the loose, comfy shorts exposing your thighs and a tight long-sleeved shirt with a cut down to the chest, pretty white lace rimming the hem as it sunk down. Due to your position, the grooves of your cleavage were slightly exposed, enhanced by the propping up by your elbows on the couch.
Hange suddenly started doing really bad at the game, their fumbling allowed Levi to throw them off and back them into the far edge of the screen, hit after hit until the health bar lowered fully and a low 'fatality' sounded out from the speakers.
"Fucking finally!" Levi exclaimed, shocked but happy that he won a match at long last. Hange groaned, setting the controller down, standing up to stretch their limbs, tank riding up their stomach as they did so.
"I don't even know how that happened, man."
"Needa get your head in the game!" Levi was revelling in his win, clearly it must not happen very often for him.
"Big talk for someone who lost every other match," Hange teased, taking a sip from their bottled water as they glanced up at you.
"Wanna play?" They asked, passing you the remote.
"Nah, I'm good, would rather watch you beat Levi."
"Man, screw you." Levi chuckled, knowing you weren't wrong. He had won by pure chance, and perhaps a little added distraction.
You moved around the couch to enter the kitchen for some snacks, Hange's gaze trailing after you as you walked away. Eyes falling down to subtly observe the way the hem of your shorts cut off a little too far up on your thighs, shaping around the curve of your ass as the soft fabric swished with your movements. You looked fucking good, with your hips that now filled out any pair of your jeans, smooth thighs and nice bre—
"Stop that," Levi tutted, smacking his hand hard on the back of Hange's head.
"Hey! Stop what?" Hange responded, more defensively than they'd like to admit, rubbing their head over where Levi's knuckles had collided.
"Staring at her," He whispered, not wanting you to hear from within the kitchen. He could hear you messing with plates and opening drawers, it was safe for now.
"I wasn— wasn't staring at her, man."
"Sure. It's not like I have eyes or anything," Levi rolled his eyes, "Just don't stare at my sister like that, creep."
Hange scoffed, lowering their gaze to the remote, they weren't being a creep, right? You just got really hot, it wasn't a crime to look. It's not like they were going to actually try anything. You were Levi's little sister, for crying out loud!
"Whatever, man, let's just play," Hange muttered, loading the next match up.
"Don't forget the promise." Levi murmured, eyes locked on the screen, not even looking at them as he said it.
Ugh, the promise.
The promise that Levi made his male, straight friends make to him, and then Hange, too, when they came out as a lesbian, the 'don't you dare try anything on her,' promise.
It happened one day after he caught Jean eyeing you up perversely, followed by an inappropriate comment about just how attractive you got and that he'd willingly take you out, amongst other things. Levi, being unimpressed as always, slapped him across the head, not so kindly letting him know you were strictly off-limits. That he shouldn't dare try anything, lest he face Levi's wrath.
He may have found you annoying, but you were still his sister. No matter what, he'd always want to keep you away from certain things, if he could help it. Canoodling around with Jean and ending up hurt was one of them, he didn't want another comment to be made like that in the future, so he made the others promise, too.
Hange wasn't like that, weren't a player by any means. Quite the opposite, respectful of women and monogamous, in fact, Hange had been the victim of being cheated on a few times. Never the other way around.
No, his motivations for making Hange promise were different than when he made Jean do it. Hange was his longest and most closest friend, he'd be damned if something were to happen between you, get fucked up and cost him their friendship. Didn't want the uncomfortable risk of being made to pick sides when something goes wrong and lose it all.
So that was that, you were off-limits. It was made abundantly clear. He didn't really care what you did with people he didn't know, or wasn't close with, isn't his business, frankly. But anyone in his friend group? No way. That was way too close for comfort.
"No one could forget the promise, Levi, y'never let 'em." Hange huffed, he had always been so insistent with it.
"Good."
Hange hated that promise, with a passion. I mean, it's not like they intended to break it, and hurt Levi. But, come on? A promise? It's not like they'd fuck you around. You meant way more than that.
With a plate full of little cut up fruits in your hand, you stepped back into the living room, humming a random tune to yourself. Painfully, blissfully unaware of the conversation that had just taken place between them.
Hange made sure to keep their eyes locked in on the screen, especially as you sat yourself down on the floor in front of the couch, directly in front of Hange so you wouldn't block the television. Then especially as you grabbed at the squares of cut watermelon, propping it on your tongue and even more especially when Hange caught little drops of fruit juice trickling down the corner of your mouth. Their eyes darted away quickly, frenzied button smashing as they beat Levi again.
With an annoyed groan from Levi and a loud cheer from you, Hange felt a swell of pride within their chest as you rejoiced in their win against your brother. This is bad, they thought, they need to push that shit all the way down. And quickly.
—
A few days had passed, and the conversation they had the other day was completely forgotten, at least by Levi. It was eating Hange up alive. Guilt feeding at their chest as they knew none of this wouldn't end well, one way or another. It was getting harder and harder to be around you and pretend. Pretend that they weren't having weird thoughts about their best friend's sister.
Maybe Levi would make an exception for them?
Hange grunted, head in their hands as they knew that would simply never happen. Levi had made it too big an issue of it to simply back down now.
They were dreading the barbecue your family had so kindly invited them to, Hange was pretty much an honorary member of the household. Your parents absolutely loved them. Hange would hate to ruin that. Their own family wasn't as nice, or as welcoming. Hange felt extremely grateful that they had been given a second home and been able to experience what it was actually meant to be like. That couldn't all just go down the drain.
And yet, there you were.
Amongst the members of your family and invited friends, you were sitting outside on a deck chair, huddling around the table with Mikasa and another unidentified person, some buff woman with a long, blonde braid, whispering to each other, god knows what about. Your hand was cradled around the glass of your self-made cocktail, the other gesturing to match whatever you were talking about, a bright smile on your tainted dark-red lips and long-winged eye-liner to match.
Hange couldn't help but stand there and admire you. Levi's words echoed in their head whilst they looked at how the short, white dress fit around your chest. The way it tightly hugged your waist and flowed out. Levi's words repeated over and over like a mantra all the while.
I'm so fucking screwed.
That feeling soon doubled, however. Hange was sipping on their cold beer, taking a long swig of it. Their fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle as that unnamed person next to you placed their muscled arm around your waist. Comfortably and without a care in the world. Like it was so easy for them. The twist in their chest exacerbated when you leaned into their touch, placing your head on their shoulder, as you continued speaking with Mikasa.
Hange broke their gaze away as Levi shouted them over, asking for them to grab some spare cutlery from the kitchen. Being close enough with your family, Hange was often tasked with helping out. They didn't mind, honestly they'd rather go clean the whole damn kitchen if it meant not watching the way the blonde carelessly nuzzled her nose into your neck, and the giggles that left your lips. Hange wanted it to be them.
They quickly made their way into the empty house, the guests enjoying the sunshine outside as your father singed spiced meat on the barbecue. Chattering and drinking away. All of them without a care.
Hange stood there for a few seconds, trying to regulate themselves and rationalise. That the image of that shouldn't have affected them so much. They were being a terrible friend to Levi by even allowing the discomfort, by allowing the anger to be fuelled by a sight of you cuddling up to someone else. Knowing that they could never freely do so.
Hange didn't hear you step into the kitchen, about to grab some paper towels for the drink you'd spilled all over the table outside.
"Um, are you okay?"
Your recognisable voice rang out amongst the silence, Hange's head turning towards you.
"Oh—um, yeah, yeah, I'm good." Lies.
"You sure?" You stepped closer to them, placing a hand on their bicep with concern. Hange could smell the intoxicating signature perfume you always wore, vanilla with tones of lavender, "You were just kinda stood there?" Your expression was worried, brows furrowed as you looked them over.
You had always been so caring, especially towards Hange, but right now it was just stressing them out. Too confusing. It was allowing them to think too deeply on the why.
"I just... forgot what I came here for," Another lie. Yet, the way it came out from them was way too easy, one of the perks of growing up in a house where you had to evade certain truths to avoid harsh punishment.
You bit your lip and furrowed your brows, a hint that you didn't quite believe what they were spewing, but decided not to push it.
"Alright, I just came for some napkins," Your hand left their arm, "You should join us out there, Mikasa wants to ask you stuff about her course, you both study the same thing."
Greaat. Hange wanted to throw themself on the barbecue. Of fucking course.
Hange and Levi were in their last year of college, due to graduate this year. Mikasa started studying the same course, Hange remembered you mentioning it once. Normally, they'd have no qualms about helping out, but right now? Having to sit with you all, right next to the woman they had no idea you were even seeing? And watch helplessly as she touched you in the places Hange so desperately wanted to in her stead? No, thank you.
But Hange has never been able to say no to you. So with a heavy heart, and a stiff smile they nodded.
"Would love to,"
—
Hange was not having a happy fun time. Having joined your table with Levi, in hopes that it wouldn't be so suspect if he was there, too. It was fucking difficult, trying to eat your dad's delicious cooking and your mother's famously drizzled salad, whilst you and the other girl, who they now know was called Abby, were chatting amongst yourselves.
Hange tried to focus on the questions about the course that Mikasa had. Tried to be helpful, not glaring at the muscled blonde that enjoyed touching you up at a family gathering a little too much. How could Levi not have a problem with this? How could he sit there and eat nonchalantly like his little sister wasn't getting felt up by this stranger you'd invited?
Hange would never be able to do this, not in a million years.
Mikasa had eventually ran out of questions for Hange, leaving the table with the typical silence that befalls over people enjoying a good meal. Apart from you and Levi bickering a little bit, and a few chatters between you, Mikasa and Abby, there was a lot of empty gaps.
Hange was usually someone that had a lot to say, with a lot to contribute to group outings, sometimes even too much. But right now? They could barely find a word to utter. Focusing on sipping their beer and finishing their meal. All whilst trying to ignore how Abby's hand landed at your thigh, with a squeeze so subtle that no one else batted an eye at it, except Hange.
They were hyperaware of all of the touches, and not proud to admit how it made their entire body seethe. Was this your new girlfriend? Hange didn't even know you were into women. Obviously, asking in the past would've probably made Levi question their motives, so they just always assumed you were straight, accepting they didn't have a chance. Hange's brain felt heavy, so full of thoughts that just wouldn't stop.
"Are you feeling better?"
The sweetness in your voice didn't help, neither did the cautious look in your eyes as you asked them the question, clearly still thinking about Hange's odd behaviour from earlier.
"Yeah, why?"
"You've been quieter than usual, weirdo, it's freaky." said Levi, picking his food apart with a fork.
"I'm fine." They muttered, necking the last dregs of the bottle, hating how the attention had turned to them.
Focus on the weird stranger feeling up your sister, not me!
After a while, Hange and Levi excused themselves, leaving the table and going to play video games in the living room, Hange thanked their lucky stars they could finally leave the table. Storming away would've brought too many questions they weren't ready to answer yet.
—
Night fell, the guests had left, your parents had gone to bed and all that remained was you and Abby chatting outside. Hange was nested on the couch in the dark, cozied up with a blanket. Levi didn't like sharing his bedroom very often, so Hange was sometimes exiled to the couch— it was a really comfortable couch, though, so it wasn't the worst scenario.
No, the worst scenario was right outside the backyard door, trying to creep inside quietly. Hange thought it was just you, at first, trying to drunkenly enter the house without waking your parents. They hadn't expected to see the Abby's silhouette trailing behind you, hand in hand.
It was dark, but certain lights from the outside were shining through the door, which was more a slidable window than a door. Hange wanted to sink into the couch when they heard your soft gasps as they could make out Abby pressing you up against the wall. Followed by the low smacking of lips against your neck as you let out a quiet moan, Abby quickly covered your mouth with her palm to keep you quiet, with a gentle, ssh. Clearly, neither of you noticed the other presence in the room, sat on the couch with an unfortunate view of the whole thing.
This was torture. Was this God's punishment for emotionally breaking Levi's promise? For having such thoughts about you and weird, romantic feelings towards you since you were both teens?
Hange shut their eyes, heart racing from accidentally witnessing the intimate sight, awkwardly covering their face with the blanket so they could see no more. Wishing that their torture would end. Unfortunately, they could still hear you kissing each other as you led Abby upstairs to your bedroom. They could still hear your door shut and the subsequent creaking of your bed right above their head.
They just didn't happen to hear the way you accidentally ended up moaning Hange's name into Abby's ear as she fucked you.
—
You were mortified.
So ashamed of your own actions as the sober morning awoke your thoughts. It had been a very awkward encounter between you and Abby.
Look, you weren't dating, it was a purely physical relationship. It started a few weeks ago when you needed some quick relief from someone you trusted and Abby happened to feel the same. You were both on the same page that there were no feelings involved, a simple friends with benefits agreement. A you scratch my back, I scratch yours, situation.
That doesn't mean that explaining to your college friend why you had moaned your brother's childhood best friend's name into her ear as she was knuckles deep inside you was a fun conversation to have. You didn't exactly fucking mean to, Hange had just looked so delicious all day, as they always did, you couldn't get them out of your mind. Plus, they were behaving odd yesterday, and as a concerned citizen, of course they had ended up on your mind? That was normal, right?
Abby was understanding, of course, she was, she was the sweetest. Even going as far as wishing you good luck and hoping that it ends up with the outcome you want. It didn't alleviate the embarrassment, though, finding yourself locked alone in the early morning hours as Abby vacated your house. You didn't want to face Hange, even if they didn't know what happened— you did, that was enough motivation to isolate yourself for the rest of eternity.
The sound of your stomach rumbling was the only thing that propelled you out from your bed, forcing you to go downstairs and feed yourself some breakfast. So imagine your horror as you saw Hange laying on the couch, awake, watching videos on their phone in the early hours of the morning, as they sometimes do when Levi doesn't feel like sharing his tiny bed. He was a notoriously late riser. Did they see you and Abby last night? You'd been a bit too inebriated last night to notice if they had been there whole time. That just makes you feel even worse.
Hange was the one you wanted. You had always wanted Hange, even when you were younger and didn't realise what that drive was called. As you grew up and realised what it was, you just shoved it deeply away for Levi's benefit, knowing he was uncomfortable with you dating his friends. What a shitty situation.
"Looked like you had fun last night," Hange spoke without looking at you, eyes stuck on their phone. They don't know why they even said that. They shouldn't have said anything at all. It was none of their business, and it shouldn't matter. You weren't theirs. It shouldn't bother them if you were dating someone else, it definitely shouldn't make their chest tighten a cold grip around their throat at the thought of you sleeping with someone else.
"Uh, did you see anything?" what a great job of not sounding suspicious.
"I saw enough to know you had fun," Hange muttered, rolling their eyes, lifting themself up into a seated position.
"I'm so sorry, we didn't realise anyone was here," The shame was visibly clear in your voice, the way it fumbled and stuttered, "I wouldn't have done that if I saw you were here."
"Wouldn't have slept with her or wouldn't have done it in your living room?" It was out before Hange could stop it, resenting the reeking jealousy hanging off their words. They had no right.
"I.. it's not like I slept with her right on top of you." You defended, not enjoying Hange's clear disappointment towards you, it didn't feel good in your stomach.
"Hm— it was close enough." stop it, Hange, what exactly are you doing? Their inner monologue shouted at them.
"Please, like you've never slept with anyone before." You crossed your arms over your chest, sighing, getting visibly more upset.
"I—you're right. I'm sorry, it's not my place." Hange ceded, taking a deep breath that matched yours. Finally looking in your direction to make eye contact. They didn't love the guilt that was riddled on your face, they shouldn't have made you feel bad for that. It wasn't fair on you.
You eased up at their words, uncrossing your arms as you placed yourself next to them on the couch. Dropping on the cushion beside them with a loud thump.
"Please, just don't tell Levi, okay? I don't wanna hear it."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Hange's expression was vague, a weird mix of defeat and weak despair, their teeth drawing in their lower lip. You rested your head against Hange's shoulder, it felt too tense, a frigid air haunting the room as they placed their head over yours.
"She's not my girlfriend, alright, we just sleep together sometimes." There was no reason for you explain yourself, not officially anyway. You just didn't want Hange to think that you were dating Abby.
Hange nodded, ignoring the punch of all punches that just punctured deep within their chest, "Don't worry, I won't say anything, dear." Their words were soft, a sudden contrast to the escalating conflict that was about to happen moments before. Lifting your head slightly, your eyes met, looking up at Hange, who matched the eye contact. Both of you just sat there for a few seconds, gazing at each other with terse silence. Both forced to sit with the uncomfortable tension.
Against your better judgement, your gaze sunk to Hange's lips, just before the sound of Levi's bedroom door opening upstairs split you two away from each other. Heart race sped up against your ears as the both of you jumped up into proper posture like you hadn't just been inches apart a second ago. Levi was whistling as he came down the stairs, and you prompted yourself to finally get yourself some breakfast.
Staying inside the house was too much for you today, it was a Friday night, you should go out and have fun! Forget all these weird thoughts and just let loose. You messaged Mikasa whilst your bread was toasting, asking if she was up for going out later. Once she answered with an agreement, you had eaten your toast and told Levi you had plans for the night. Your parents had left early that morning for a weekend get-away, leaving him in charge of the house.
—
On the Uber ride back home from the bar, you felt bad for the poor driver. He had to listen to you and Mikasa talk nonsense and laugh hysterically at literally nothing reasonable, you had to remember to give him a tip. He definitely deserves it. Nothing worse than dealing with stupidly drunk people when you're stone sober. You ended up drinking more than you intended, spilling your feelings to Mikasa who listened intently to your woes before trying to get your mind off things—off Hange specifically.
The Uber reached your house, and you said your goodbyes, making sure Mikasa was sharing the trip with you so that you could make sure she got home safely, too. Girl code, you know?
At your doorstep, you struggled to find your keys, lost deep in the depths of your tote bag. You don't even know why you still used them, they were bad for your posture and everything gets lost in them. You resorted to loudly knocking on the door repeatedly so Levi could let you in.
"Why are you banging on the door like you're being chased?" Hange said, why they opened the door and not your brother, you were too drunk to figure out.
"I.. can't find my keys,"
Hange sighed, chuckling as they let you in. Seemingly over the encounter you both shared that morning. You definitely weren't.
"Where's Levi?" You mumbled, tripping over your the doorstep as you attempted to make your way inside, clawing at the wall to keep yourself stable. You hoped that sober you wouldn't remember that.
"On the phone to your parents, they wanted him to take a photo of something they forgot to take," Hange grabbed your wrist, holding you up as they brought you inside, "Just how drunk are you?"
"Hella," you laughed, your eyes sparkling up at them. Drunkenness evident in your face just by your eyes.
"Great, your parents won't want to see you like this,"
"What—I'm fine! I got home okay?" You argued, before Hange shushed you so that your parents couldn't hear your drunken slurring, grabbing your phone from your pocket, "Need to check if Mikasa did,"
Catching Levi's attention, he twisted his neck around to see what was going on, muting the microphone from his phone, so he could speak to Hange.
"Is she drunk?" He sighed, unamused and definitely not impressed.
"Like a pirate." Hange responded, still holding you up by your wrist, you glanced at their bare arms. Putting your phone away as the notification that Mikasa's journey had ended.
"I'm not that drun—"
"Fucks sake, Hange, take her upstairs." Levi interrupted you, tutting, not wanting to turn the mic back on until you'd both gone upstairs.
Hange pretty much carried you up, following behind you on the staircase like a bodyguard, with an arm held out to ensure that you didn't fall over and break something. Once you reached your bedroom safely, Hange brought you to your bed, taking off your boots and jacket before making you lie down on the mattress. You just looked up at them as they helped you wordlessly, watched as they grabbed a water bottle from your bedside table and passed it to you.
"You should drink some of that before you sleep, it'll help you tomorrow."
"I don't need water, like I said, I feel fine..." You argued again, ignoring that the room was spinning too much as you finally laid horizontally. Alcohol was grim.
"Just drink it." Hange crossed their arms, not budging until you lifted the bottle to your lips, almost drinking half of it before setting it down. Hadn't realised how thirsty you actually were.
"There, happy?"
"Very, goodnight." They turned around to leave you, hand hovering over the light-switch.
"Hange, wait." You shouted, they turned back around to face you, as you continued, "Can you stay with me? The room is spinning—don't wanna throw up."
Hange's eyes widened, mouth splitting open.
"I.. don't think that's a very good idea." Levi was right downstairs, what if he thinks Hange was taking advantage of you or something?
Your persistence was almost admirable, lips curved into a slight pout as you gaze broke through theirs, reaching over to tug at Hange's shirt, "Please, Hange?"
With this, Hange was once again reminded of their inability to say no to you, sighing with defeat as they sat just an inch on your bed, their back to you as you were laid down. The awkward distance in between made it clear that they were planning on leaving again shortly, deciding to just linger around until you fell asleep, messing with their nails to pass the time. You were taking a while to drift away though, not happy with how far they were sitting from you, like you were contagious.
Whilst they were distracted with their fiddling, you drunkenly thought it was a good idea to grab the back of their shirt. Pulling at it until Hange was laying side by side to you, you ignored Hange's surprised yelp and rested your head on their chest. It felt more secure than the pillow, the room not spinning as much.
"That's better," you beamed, happy with yourself, snuggling in between Hange's arm as you sighed contently, basking in their warmth. Meanwhile, Hange was panicking, praying that Levi wouldn't walk in and think the worst. They hoped you couldn't feel their heart speed up with your proximity, or the quickened rises of their chest with your head snuggled into them as you tucked your feet underneath yourself.
Hange tried to ease their racing heartbeat by looking around your room. It was very you. Your personality all over the walls and decorations. Hange thought you had drifted off by then, until your voice broke the calming silence.
"You're so pretty, Hange."
They turn to face you, heart skipping as they see the starry admiration in your eyes, attributing that to the alcohol.
"You've clearly had too much to drink," Hange tries to shrug it off, despite the hot red splotching in their cheeks. They messed with their eyebrow piercing, spinning it around, a habit that formed quickly after it healed.
You firm it though, the many volumes of gin in your system easing your words out, "No. I always thought it, even when I wasn't legally allowed to drink," you huffed, nuzzling deeper into their chest, almost reaching the crook of Hange's neck.
Hange was freaking out, fumbling to think of a response, convincing themself that you were just drunkenly babbling—desperate to not let a little spark of hope develop into an unstoppable force. Yet, you held firm as an immovable object, wanting them to know just how serious you were. So they just scoffed, leaning their head back against your headboard in false nonchalance.
"I mean it! I had a little crush on you when we were younger."
Hange short-circuited, you had a crush on them? Wait—what do you mean by had? Did it disappear? Dissipated and lost in the wind as your network of people expanded and Hange wasn't the only person in your close proximity? They had a crush on you, too, but it never left.
Your head fell forwards, the weight of your own head too heavy to hold up any longer as it sank lower and lower, eventually resting totally on Hange.
"Always wanted you to like me back—it's embarrassing..." you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as your voice grew more drowsy, "Maybe one day."
Just Hange's luck, right? They wanted you to fall asleep that entire time and you'd refused, but as soon as you put those blasphemous words out there, sleep had already gotten its grip on you. By the time Hange worked up the courage to look down at you, you were snoozing away, regular, soft breaths escaping as you slept peacefully— unaware of the brain damage you just inflicted.
Well, shit, what now?
—
Levi was subsequently left alone downstairs the entire night. He knew he asked Hange to take you upstairs, but they'd been up there for a damn long time, now. It's not like he didn't trust Hange, he'd trust Hange with his life and yours any day. They were not a threat in any sense of the word.
But he had this itchy feeling in the back of his head, that he just had to go check out what was happening. He took himself up the stairs, waiting outside your bedroom door for a minute to sus if he could hear anything through the walls.
At the silence, he turned the doorknob and looked at the scene.
Your boots, side by side in line on the floor against your bed. Your jacket neatly folded up at the edge of the bed. And then you, cradling a half-empty bottle of water as you were cozied under Hange's arm, both fully dressed, sleeping soundly and undisturbed on their chest. Hange was gone, too. Lost the fight against sleep as their head was leaning against the headboard, not the comfiest position but he'd seen Hange sleep in way worse conditions.
You two looked.. almost sweet. Innocently sleeping on each other that it almost made Levi feel guilty about the stupid promise. Almost.
The risk was still too strong a threat. Too big a risk to chance. It's not like he was stupid, he'd clocked your attraction to each other a long time ago, he just hadn't anticipated there being emotional sweetness along with it. With a sigh, Levi closed the door and went to his own bedroom.
—
Light was beaming through your curtains, your eyes fluttered open as you awoke. Luckily, your head wasn't pounding too much, you were thankful that you got minimal level hangovers. The only thing you needed was water, throat feeling scratchy, but you just felt so comfortable. Your eyes opened properly, the strain of sleep having latched your eyes shut, a saw what you were laying on. Or rather—who.
Hange was fast asleep beside you, neck bent slightly to the side, their arm was around your back and your arm around their stomach. Your stomach sank as you noticed you had been cuddling them in their sleep, as memories of last night started popping through your mind. That's embarrassing, you thought. Looking back at Hange, you took the opportunity to admire them. Freely allowing yourself to admire their long eyelashes that casted lines of shadows on their skin, that lovely nose as it dipped into their septum piercing. Plump lips pouty as they rested. They were beautiful, breathtaking in the soft light of the morning.
Picking yourself up, you quickly made your way through to the bathroom to brush your teeth, promptly returning back to your spot on the bed.
You grabbed a water bottle, it'd been wedged underneath you during your sleep, hurting your ribs a little bit. There was half of it left, that's enough for now. Attempting to be quiet as you drank, but it was obvious that the crackles of plastic were too loud for Hange to continue sleeping, lifting their head as their gaze fell on you.
"Hi." you breathed out, a cautious greeting against the silence in the room.
"Hi." Hange rasped out, voice deeper, coated with sleep. You sat up, not wanting to make Hange feel uncomfortable by leaning yourself against them any longer.
"How you feeling?" they asked, using the free space around them to sit up straight and stretch out their back, cracking as it did.
"Fine.." you responded, "uh—thank you for helping me last night."
Hange's cheeks heated up, breaking contact as they cleared their throat. So did you remember? Did you remember the haunting words you whispered into the night as you fell asleep?
"Yeah—um, no need to thank me,"
"Well, still—thank you for staying with me."
Hange nodded, their demeanour deflating as they failed to hold eye contact with you. What could they say? That they would stay with you forever if you asked? That they would gather you in their arms and keep you comfortable any day if it meant seeing the content smile on your lips? That they wished you had meant those sacred words?
"I'm—uh—a little embarrassed," You muttered, playing with the rimmed edges on the bottlecap, "I—"
"Y'don't need to explain—I get it, you were drunk."
Gaping up at them, you let out a sigh, "That.. wasn't what I was gonna say."
Hange was slipping away from you, their usual tender sweetness towards you covered by an uncharacteristic stiffness. You had no choice but be honest with them. Hange deserves to know the truth.
"I meant it, you know? That's why I'm embarrassed."
That seemed to grab their attention, their eyes finally meeting yours. The rise and fall of their chest increasing, eyebrows quipping up, you continued.
"I've always liked you," you whispered, "I just wish it didn't come out like that, if it hadn't maybe you'd believe me."
"But, Abby—"
"Was a distraction. A bad way of keeping myself away from you," you grabbed their hand, holding it, "'cos I don't know if you've noticed, Hange, but it's always been you."
Hange's mouth split open, lips moving as they thought of a response. You took the surprise on their face and the silence on their lips as an admission that your feelings just simply weren't returned.
"I-I know it's a lot to put on you, I'm sorry— I just couldn't hold it in—"
"I feel the same way." was their direct response, cutting you off before you could take the words back. To stop them from seeping into the walls and being long forgotten.
Biting your lip, eyes staring at one another's nervously, contrasting the serenity of the bedroom's illumination. Tentatively, you reached out a hand, placing it lightly on Hange's jaw. Letting out a soft breath, Hange's eyes fell shut, deeply nudging their face closer into the caress of your hand. Eyes only opening when they felt your body budge itself on the bed, seeing how close you now were to their lips.
"Hange," you muttered, words laced with your nerves. Your stomach rippling with uncertainty, the anticipation making you shiver as you leaned closer to them, lips inches away from theirs.
"We can't," Hange whimpered, the hesitation evident, "Levi will kill me." Their voice was so quiet, scared to utter the fact that you both knew. You're off-limits. No matter how much they craved feeling your lips on theirs. That facts remained.
"I don't fucking care about Levi."
Truthfully, you've simply had enough of your older brother being an obstacle in the only relationship you wanted. Throughout the span of your life, you've yearned for Hange, there's no way you'd allow this chance to escape you.
"If we both want this," Your dangerously sweet whispers were serpentine, like a siren sinking a sailor to their certain death. Even as your heart was racing, one of your thighs moved over Hange's stomach, until eventually you were straddling over them, Hange's dainty hands trembled as they delicately hovered over your thighs, almost scared to touch you, "Why should it matter?"
Dampening your bottom lip with a quick dart of your tongue, you leaned into them again, thighs tightening around Hange's midsection as that little black dress of yours from last night rode up, exposing more of your legs. Hange gripped the skin of your plush thighs so hard, a testament to their restrained desires.
"Why should he stop you from going after what you want?"
Your lips met the skin below Hange's ear, grazing light pecks that caused goosebumps up their spine. Hange was breathing heavily beneath you, head hanging back as they bit back sighs. Their conflicting thoughts seeping in their brain, overshadowed by the skimming of your lips burning their skin.
"Fuck—"
Hange lifted their thigh, pressing it against the centre of your legs, as your teeth sunk over their neck. Sucking on the soft skin and running your tongue over. Hange couldn't hold back a little whimper at the contact, especially as your hips began rolling, rubbing your clothed centre over their propped up thigh.
"I—I want you so bad, Hange, please."
That was it. The rope of restraint snapped, the moment had reached over its boiling point as you whimpered against their neck. Hange grabbed the top of your spine, eyes meeting briefly before they melded their lips over yours.
You were whirling, hips grinding against Hange as your lips connected ardently. Feverishly slow open-mouthed kisses as you gasped into each other's touch. Years of mutually hidden cravings possessing your actions, feeling your tongues brushing desperately over into each other's mouths. Hange tugged at your ass, gripping at the skin through your clothes with a tight clasp.
Hange then separated your lips, looking up at you through their pretty eyelashes to gaze upon your state. With your eyes black with desire, they guided your hips into rhythm against their leg. Leaning their head up to kiss your neck, low, gentle pecks echoing within the room as you were trembling on top of them, chest rising and falling and your sinewy thighs trapping them underneath you. What a sight.
"Hange—"
Hearing their name slip from your lips in such a desperate manner, Hange felt like they should be locked up. The heavy sound of your low whimpers of their name causing a stir of their own burning heat to travel.
Levi was certainly going to kill them, good thing he's still asleep. Unaware of the way Hange was touching his sister in the next room. The whole thing was sinful, just reprehensible. The promise long forgotten, shoved to their back of their mind.
"You're fucking delightful, angel,"
Hange lifted themself up, back straight and chest tightly pressed to yours. Their hand rising from your ass to grip your lower back, fingers holding you in place to jut their knee against your core, their palm guiding your hips against them. Lips met again to quieten the gasps threatening to escape from within your throat. They couldn't deal with an interruption right now.
The pattern of movement in your hips faltered, grabbing Hange's wrist to place their free hand upon your clothed breast. Hange could feel your hardened nipple poking through the fabric, as their thumb rubbed over—god what they wanted to do. What they would do to see you without your layers, barren and exposed for them.
"I'm so—fuck— love seeing you like this," Your eyebrows were furrowed at their hushed words, teeth skimming over your bottom lip, it spurred them on more, "Thought about this so much, angel."
"Yeah?" You egged them on, pressing yourself harder against their knee, Hange could feel the dampness seeping through your underwear as your shaking hands reached down to unbutton Hange's jeans. They should've come off a long time ago, "I've thought about it, too—god—thought of your fingers, your mouth on me—fuck."
Unbuttoned jeans, and your dress just on as a formality, bunched up in folds around your waist. Hange lifted you up from their knee, your confession driving them over the edge. If only they knew how many times you touched yourself to the thought of them late at night.
Tugging the hem of your dress over your head, immediately catching the way your skin rippled from the chill in the air, nipples perked up and stiffened as your chest was heaving. A trail of hair leading down from your navel to your pussy, still covered by your lacy underwear, it drove Hange stupid.
"Shit— that's fucking hot," Hange rasped, words tight in their throat, desperately trying to keep their voice down.
Wasn't long before Hange was undressed, too. You made sure of that, ripping the shirt off their torso and helping to pull down their jeans. Both of you unclothed in front of each other. Your hands grazed over their breasts, admiring the tattoo beneath their collarbone, spread over the top of their chest, and their tatted forearms. Toned stomach twitching as your fingers travelled down from their chest to their abdomen.
Both of you just admired each other, before you brought your lips back together, open mouths chasing the sensation of each other's lips. You were straddling Hange again, rubbing yourself over their now bare thigh. Your dampness glistened on their skin with each roll, you felt fucking desperate.
"I'm burning for you, Hange—need your touch," You panted, losing yourself in the sight of Hange's slender barren body beneath you. Lost in the starry glaze within their eyes at you, tantalising. Hange groaned gently as they teased a finger on your slit through the fabric that was acting as the only barrier between your bodies, you twitched into their hand. Their knee wasn't enough, you craved more.
"What d'you want, angel?"
"Your mouth, fuck—please-"
The begging left you before you could help it, all you could think about was feeling Hange on you, anywhere, everywhere. Hange squeezed your thighs, laying their spine flat on the bed as they prompted you along their torso, your pussy accidentally grazing over their nipple, inches away from their mouth.
"Sit on my face, angel," Hange ordered, voice lowered and strained at the turned-on shock on your features. Hesitantly, you hovered over their waiting mouth, lacy underwear still on, trying to argue, "But I still have my—"
"ssh—just sit, baby." Hange was determined, hands rubbing over your bare skin as you shuddered on top of them. Silky thighs spread, opened just for them, like an unfurled deity, waiting patiently to be worshipped. They loved seeing you above them like this, aching for them. The slab of your stomach tensed as you tentatively placed yourself over their inviting mouth, feeling their wet tongue brush over your clothed slit.
The texture of the damp lace through their tongue pressing against your clit caused you to let out a shaky moan, a hand coming to grip the headboard, the other covering your own mouth. Hips began sliding autonomously over Hange's face as they sucked your pussy into their mouth, plump lips puckering over the fabric as their tongue swiped over in short bursts, with little pecks in between.
The top of your thighs started to burn from holding yourself up, legs shaking from the weight and the added sensation of Hange lapping underneath you, their muffled groans vibrating into your pussy. Hange's steady eyes were on you, watching. Their eyebrows pinched up as you both made contact. Their hands grabbed your hips, forcing you to rest your full weight on their face and ease the tension in your legs, you moaned into your palm as their tongue was closer to your throbbing centre. Spurred on by the intense way those amber eyes watched you whilst your mouth hung open. You ached to feel the wet muscle on you, to feel their warmth on you properly.
Hange's hand landed at your breast, kneading, your skin melted into the gaps between their fingers, the fat of your breast rolling underneath their hand. Hange's thumb teased over your nipple, spreading spurts of pleasure down your entire spine. Then Hange nipped the hem of your dampened, cotton underwear with their teeth and tugged it to the side, to expose your swollen pussy, leaking and throbbing in the cool air. A swipe of their tongue on your bare slit, lathering your sweet arousal on the tip of their tongue as they swallowed it, tasting you for the first time. They groaned out a muffled mm, into your centre, delighted by your taste. Before diving in to pleasure you properly, blissfully easing the tension that had built up in your core.
"That—hn— feels so good, Hange," your voice was muffled behind your palm, hips rocking over their face, coating their cheeks with your slick, their glasses fogging up with the honeyed arousal. You moved loose hairs from their face, fighting the wet strands as they clung to Hange's skin. "P-please don't fucking stop," you whimpered, gasping, losing control of your hips as you sat pretty on Hange's skilled tongue.
You could feel a coldness on your slit, realising Hange had a tongue piercing you never fucking noticed, the cold metal rubbing over your puffy centre. You leaned back, head hanging back at the chilled sensation, the contrast of Hange's warmth and the cold metal. Hange was struggling to breathe underneath you, clearly enjoying the light suffocation in between your thighs, eyes rolling back as their fingers harshly dug into your ass.
Your fingers travelled down Hange's stomach, reaching back behind you—feeling their abdomen twitch into your hand. Reaching Hange's centre, you rubbed your middle and index finger over their own swollen clit. Moaning as you felt how wet they were, their arousal matching yours in its desperation, Hange's legs spread out to give you better access. Aching for you as you ached for them.
Hange groaned weakly into your centre, lost in the scent, sight and taste of you as you played with their pussy above them, wanting to give them back some of the delectable pleasure they were giving you. Your perked up breasts were bouncing above them with the weight of gravity and the movement of your arm behind you, specks of sweat dripping down your stomach as you started losing rhythm in your hips, quickening up your rocking on their tongue, sometimes their nose would stroke over your clit, driving you further over the edge.
"Ah—fuck, 'm gonna cum," Your voice reached a higher pitch, you bit the back of your hand to stop yourself to shouting, "'m so fuckin' close, Han—gonna cum—fuuck."
Your hips twitched on Hange's face, they eagerly lapped up your arousal as it leaked from your throbbing hole, your release dripping down Hange's chin as they swallowed up what they could, like they were starved. Groaning happily beneath you as your fingers sped up against their clit.
You lifted your pelvis from their face, allowing them to breathe as you turned yourself over to focus on Hange. You placed yourself in between their welcoming, spread legs as they shook against your fingers.
"Fuck—angel.." Hange sighed, eyes closed as your fingers easily slipped inside them, lubricated by their own slick since you came on their tongue. They had been uncomfortably wet ages ago, but they were truly dripping now. Their own hips chased after your hand wretchedly as you curled three fingers against their cervix, rubbing over the squishy spot that had Hange throwing their head into the pillow. Hiding their face and mouth with their tatted wrist, their pelvis grinding into your hand whilst their body rocked from the repeated movements.
You didn't like their face hidden away, obscured by their wrist, so you pulled at it with your free hand, tugging it down until it was trapped on top of their stomach, held down. Hange was crying out, not having a way to cover their face from being restrained, forcing them to expose their expressions as you worked your fingers diligently inside them.
"Shi—ah—keep going, fuck, please—just like that,"
In perfect circumstances, you'd have loved to hear Hange coming undone loudly for you, but right now you needed them to be more quiet, Levi was right in the next room. So, trapping their arm with your chest, you brought your fingers up to their mouth, rubbing over their bottom lip until they split open to suck in your fingers. Their sounds enveloped by your fingers in their mouth, fuck, the sight was heavenly. Your head dropped down, weakly faltering at the scene in front of you.
Hange's arm pushed your head down, moving you forcibly until your face was in front of their heat. The corner of your lips tilted into a self-satisfied smirk as you understood what they were asking of you.
"Want my mouth on you, hm?" you teased, fingers still curling into them as Hange hummed, their head feebly nodding, mouth full of your fingers.
Chuckling, you lowered your head, swiping your tongue up their slit, revelling in the minute twitches of Hange's hips. The feeling of your tongue lewdly slurping up their arousal plus your fingers stretching their tight walls in a steady motion, Hange was close to oblivion. Breathlessly gaping down to watch you as you worked hard to please. The deity was in between their thighs, blithely moving your tongue down their pulsing centre.
Their hips faltered, Hange's face stiffening as their eyes rolled back, they were in your heavenly trap— how could they ever get out?
"G'na cum for me, Hange?" you mumbled, pussydrunk as Hange's abdomen tightened, their thighs taut against your head, dragging you impossibly closer. You whined into their core as Hange released the pressure of their climax into your mouth.
You popped your other fingers out of Hange's mouth, spreading their saliva around their jaw as they quivered, riding out their saccharine release.
"Fuuck," Hange's whimper was soft, spent, tired out from how hard they came. You sighed as you slipped your fingers out, lapping your digits dry of the droplets of their arousal.
"That's it," you soothed, tranquillising them as you brought your lips up to theirs, hands on their jaw as your naked chests rubbed against each other. Hange looked up at you, their eyes half-lidded as they caught their breath, both of you gazing at each other with unadulterated love in your eyes.
Feeling relatively rejuvenated, Hange's fingers trailed down to the curve of your ass, massaging the skin under your underwear, before ripping it down your thighs. They felt insatiable. Wanted this haze to last as long as possible. You yelped sharply, thinking they were too tired to continue, confused as Hange bent you over, your knees folded on the bed and your ass up.
Hange got into place behind you, caressing down your dimpled spine as their leg nudged you to spread your thighs apart. They ghosted kisses on your skin, hands rubbing over your lower body as they placed a knee in between your legs, teasing your entrance with two fingers.
"Oh, f-fuck," you gasped, head falling down into the mattress to silence yourself as Hange plunged two fingers inside you. There was no need for anymore teasing, you were absolutely dripping. Hange rocked their fingers deep into your cervix, fingertips reaching the back of your walls as your spine curved to let them in even further. A hand met your hip, squeezing the skin as they swung your hips to grind over their knee, stroking your clit as their pretty fingers fucked into you.
Hange thrust their own hips in rhythm with their fingers, imagining that they were fucking you with their strap as a proxy instead of their hands. Getting lost in their own imagination as the skin on your ass recoiled with each hit, you throwing your hips back to meet their thrusts.
"Shit—Hange," you whined, muffling into the blankets as you panted, feeling them move inside you as overstimulation struck. Your clit was so sensitive as it rubbed against their knee. Reaching your arm back, hand flailing for them to grab your hand, craving that extra connection. Hange's hand encompassed your own, gripping it as they didn't relent their movements, holding their chest against your back.
"Fuck, angel—I fuckin' love you," Hange muttered, losing grip on reality and the control over their mouth, not realising what they had just spoken into the universe. You clenched at Hange's words, tight walls sucking in their fingers as you trembled.
"Hange—hn, I love you, fuck,"
"Could be in this pussy forever, 's just fuckin' perfect," Hange drawled, more kisses at the back of your neck and you lost it. Mouth hanging open, you squirted all over the bed and Hange's knee, forcing out their fingers with a pop.
You stilled underneath them, catching your breath back as Hange kissed you through it. Turning your body to the side, in a daze, you met eyes. Truly fucked out.
Hange fell beside you, caressing your sides as you snuggled into their chest.
"Think we were too loud?"
"Hope not," you muttered, "He's a heavy sleeper," Hange chuckled at your answer. They hadn't quite come to the realisation that they had just fucked their best friend's sister into next week, breaking the one promise Levi ever held Hange to, not wanting to think about the consequences.
"You said you loved me," you whispered hesitantly, eyes closing against their heaving chest. A little fearful of bringing it up in case it was just a heat of the moment thing, but since they said it, you couldn't stop thinking about it.
Hange stilled, feeling embarrassed that they uttered something like that during sex, they wouldn't have been as embarrassed about it if it wasn't true.
"I mean—I.. didn't lie,"
"You love me?" You looked up, it was hard to miss the way your doe eyes lightened up, specks of hope glimmering in them. Just like that, Hange's embarrassment dissipated.
"Yes, angel, I've loved you for a while," Hange moved a strand of your hair behind your ear, placing a kiss on your forehead. Biting your lip, you tried to withhold the smile that threatened to break out, failing miserably.
"I, I love you, too, Hange."
—
A week had passed, and Levi was none the wiser to the debauchery that took place in your bedroom that morning. Good, you thought, you weren't ready to tell him yet. You and Hange were in a good place, you didn't want Levi finding out and ruining everything.
Needless to say, you guys had begun secretly seeing each other. Hurried, covert kisses between you whenever he left the room. You couldn't help it, you were addicted, taking every chance you got to feel Hange against you. It'd been years waiting for this, there was no way you could go without it now. It wasn't like you could get much time by yourselves, anyway, you had to take what you could get and be grateful for it.
Dating Hange changed pretty much everything about your relationship, you were so much more comfortable around each other. That high-strung sexual tension that hung over both of you over the last few years had subsided, leaving space for an actual relationship to form where you could talk in comfort, behaving more normally around each other. That wasn't to say you didn't still want to fuck Hange's brains out, you just hadn't had a chance since that day, Levi was always hovering. You'd say he was more suspicious than usual, but why?
If he had heard anything that day, neither of you would be alive to tell the tale. He would've walked right in and killed you both on the spot. You felt like you'd been pretty inconspicuous, too, not saying anything out of the ordinary to Hange and not being touchy in front of him. Perhaps you may have been hanging around them more than usual, but would that be so suspicious?
Surely not, right?
You were craving some more alone time with Hange, wishing Levi would fuck off somewhere and leave you to it. You'd be ready to jump their bones at any given moment.
So when Levi left to go buy groceries for tonight's Hange was supposed to fixing something that had fucked up on their console. Hange's good at fixing things, often being tasked with doing so around the house. Trying to mask your excitement, not waiting to bait yourself out— you went up to your room. Waitied until Levi had got in his car and drove off before you messaged Hange to come upstairs.
Within seconds, Hange entered your room, giggling nervously as you pushed them up against the bedroom door, locking your lips on theirs.
"Hello to you, too," Hange chuckled, their slender hands grasping the sides of your head, getting the hint, as you slipped your tongue into their mouth. Hange moaning into the kiss as you slipped their shirt off, exposing their torso so you could bend your head and pop their nipple into your mouth. Rolling your tongue over the peak as Hange tightened their grip on you.
"Don't have much time, need you—now." you ordered, grabbing a hold of Hange's belt loops and dragging your bodies to the bed. Hange straddled over you as you made out in comfort, not worrying about volume for once. Hange unbuttoned your jeans, pulling them down to your ankles as you whimpered sweetly against their lips. The kiss was fiery, both feeling pent up and looking for mutual release, craving each other so badly. No more hesitation unlike the first time.
You unbuttoned your shirt, leaving it hanging open revealing your stomach and breasts, your hands coming to massage your own nipples as Hange gaped down at you, eyes darkening.
"I have something for you," you panted, eyes lidded as you smirked impishly, a mischievous glint in your eyes that intrigued Hange. You reached down below the bed, opening a box and pulling out a long, thick strap, nibbling on your lower lip as Hange stared incredulously at the toy in your hand.
"Don't you wanna fuck me with it, Hange?" the tone of your voice was too enticing, too seductive as you rubbed your fingers over the silicone. Hange tensed up, watching you tease them with it before passing it into their clasp. Trying to ignore the deep stir swirling in their core, with illicit images of you bouncing on their strap swirling around at the forefront of their mind. Hange rushed to prop it over their legs, tightening the straps around their hips and upper thighs.
"You're gonna be the death of me, angel," Hanged sighed, hands clutching your pillowy thighs. They could feel their pulse thumping in their ears with desire, eager to use the new toy on you. Not unlike you, who'd been itching to show it to your partner as soon as you got it.
"Couldn't sleep last night, Hange, couldn't stop thinking of you fucking me with it," you whined, as Hange's fingers teased your clit with soft touches, lips tilting up at your lewd words.
"That right, angel?" you nodded, "Been touching yourself thinking about it?"
"Fuck, yes.. tried to finger myself to get off, but t'wasn't the same," you huffed, feeling yourself get drenched by your own words, "can't reach as deep as you,"
Hange groaned, sucking your nipple into their mouth as they stroked your clit. You were throbbing, the last few days of fantasising left you feeling needy as fuck. Hange slid two fingers into your slick entrance, letting out a deep moan at how wet you were, at the way your pussy just sucked them right in like they were always meant to be there.
Your eyes fell shut as Hange scissored their fingers against your squishy walls, savouring the stretch to prepare you for the strap. Raising your hand to your mouth, you licked a stripe up your palm and lowered your hand to rub the silicone as it hung from Hange's hips. Hange's head fell down, watching dumbly as you rubbed your hand over it as if it were Hange's actual flesh. You'd swear they could actually feel it, too, the way their mouth split open and their breaths grew heavy. The way it provoked them to remove their fingers and edge the silicone tip over your folds, spreading your own slick all over your pulsing pussy.
"Hange—just put it in, please," You tried to push against it, feeling how Hange was separating your folds apart to lubricate the tip, "'ve been so good,"
Hange chuckled as they saw how ruined you were without them even doing anything. Slowly, they pushed the strap through your entrance, "You have been so good, baby," they pushed up until it were completely buried inside you.
"'n you're g'na take me so well, aren't you, angel?", you were filled to the brim, tears rimming your eyes as you rutted your hips into Hange's, "G'na take every single inch of me, aren't you?"
"Fuck—fuck, yes, Hange," you cried out, not withholding the volume of your moans as Hange began to thrust the silicone deep inside you, hitting the sensitive spot at the very back, "'Y're so fucking deep, f-feels so damn good,"
Hange grabbed your hips, using it as a stabiliser to thrust the strap in and out, your breasts bouncing as your body rocked, whimpering as the familiar ball in your abdomen tightened. Hange stared down at where the silicone disappeared inside your puffed folds, their expressions contorting when it'd come out soaked, with a little white ring of your cum forming around the base.
"Look so fucking good like this, all filled up, shit—and all mine," Hange rasped, fingers left marks on your legs as they swung the silicone deeper inside you. They bent down to lick your nipple, teeth latching around the pebbled peak as your back arched into them.
"All yours—ngh—don't fucking stop," Your arms wrapped around Hange's neck, keeping them close to your body as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your legs slackened around their waist, short nails scratching at Hange's back as the pressure hitting against your cervix got overwhelming.
"W'na see you come all over my cock, fuck,"
The pressure tightened and tightened until your legs were squeezing around Hange, pulling them into you as you released, salacious whines slipping from your pretty lips. Hange moaned with you, sated that they could finally indulge in the libertine noises rolling off your tongue.
"That's it, fuckin' soak it," they muttered, "that's a good girl,"
Hange talked you through it as you came, gushing your slick all over their strap, effectively drenching your lower bodies. They pulled the silicone from your walls, the strap was lathered in your slick.
Your thighs trembled, coming down from your high, as Hange brought the strap to your lips, nudging your mouth open to lick it clean. You lapped up your own mess, Hange watching you intently whilst your tongue skimmed over the plastic. That awoke something in them, something they'd definitely mention next time, you already looked too spent.
Hange affectionally gave you kisses all over your face, praising you for being so good, that you took them so, so well.
"Y'sound divine when you come for me," they mumbled against your neck, those pretty sounds would be imprinted in their brain forever.
"Hange..." you covered your eyes, embarrassed at how loud you had been.
"No point being shy now, my love."
"Ugh," you chuckled, "We should get cleaned up,"
Hange got up and grabbed a towel from your wardrobe, drying your inner thighs off and wherever else you'd leaked your own slick on, before drying their own legs. You both re-clothed yourselves, freshening up and fixing hairstyles to look as if nothing happened. Levi shouldn't be back yet, anyway, you were in the clear for now.
Making your way downstairs, Hange trailing behind you on the stairs, you laughed amongst yourselves. However, that laughter died out immediately as you spotted Levi stood in your living room with his arms crossed, and an unreadable expression on his face.
The atmosphere very suddenly changed, the smile on your face dropped and Hange averted their eyes from their best friend, unable to look him in the eye, putting their hands into their pockets. The shamed guilt was written all over their face.
"Uh—" you tried breaking the silence, but the words got caught in your throat, Levi's glare was too haunting. There was no way in hell he didn't just hear you two fucking, and watched silently as you and Hange ignorantly made your blissful way downstairs. Your heart dropped, tears brimming your eyes as you waited for him to speak. Knowing that the peaceful bubble you and Hange had been in was about to be nastily ripped open.
"Well?" He finally spoke, eyes landing between you and Hange expectantly, "You got nothing to say?"
That last part was targeted especially towards Hange, who lifted their head to look at their best friend for the first time since both came down.
"Levi, I-I'm sorry—" Hange was trying so hard not to cry, "I didn't mean to break the promise, I'm sorry, it just—"
"Levi, stop this madness—we're both adults and I love Hange. You don't need to make them grovel and feel like shit," You bit out, sure, you felt a little bad, but this was way over the top. You weren't doing anything wrong. Neither was Hange.
"You love Hange?" He spat out, face tensing.
"Fuck's sake, yes! And for the record, the feeling is mutual, okay, we're dating— it's not like we're just fucking around for the hell of it."
"I see,"
"I know the promise means a lot to you, Lev," Hange stepped a little closer to you, and your gaze softened as they braved out a little smile at you, "But.. this is different,"
Levi stared at the both of you, almost apathetic. He looked down and sighed, tutting, "I knew this was gonna fucking happen,"
"Levi—"
"Stop, I'm... not angry." He rubbed two fingers over his nose bridge, "It's just a little weird, seeing it. Hearing it is a different matter, I'm gonna need fucking therapy for that,"
Hange cheeks burned, he could've just omitted the fact that he heard it, we all know he did, was voicing it out loud necessary?
"You're not mad?"
"I'm annoyed that you both lied to me, but I get it," he shrugged, "Just.. please be quiet from now on? And for the love of god if you have any arguments—don't come to me, I really don't wanna know."
Sypnosis: After a horrible night of going out, your friend leaves you stranded at the club. Going home, you encounter a certain white-haired man. When he gets too close and grins with those too-sharp teeth, you do the only logical thing your drunken mind can think of: throw a bag of rice at him.
Pairing: Vampire!Gojo x Human!reader
Tags/Content Warnings: MDNI/18+ only, SMUT SMUT SMUT!!! Porn with plot, a bit of fear play (c'mon, Satoru is a vampire, y'all have seen the way he was playing with those curses), compulsion (only to run away), usage of folklore, reader is lowk a dumb bitch (not bimbo like, just drunk), blood-drinking, dub-con (reader consenting to be bitten while drunk), oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex, classic 'it doesn't fit' trope, SIZE KINK SIZE KINK SIZE KINK, belly bulging, dacryphilia, permission to cum inside (hehe)
Word Count: 6.7k
A/N: Not proofread since I have a migraine, but I wanted to drop this before going to bed. Special thanks to @cactusvolumes for helping out <3 Dividers by @/pixopix & @/strangergraphic, art by @/somedeimi on x.
You’re stumbling out of the club, absolutely wasted. The world spins around you, pavement dipping to the side, despite it being flat. Your ankle rolls once, making you almost crash into a pole.
A laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it. It vibrates on your tongue, just like the bass vibrated your bones while inside the club.
Why are you laughing again?
You fumble through your purse for your phone, trying to text your friend that' you’re outside. Fingers touching different things in your purse—a lipgloss, a loose tampon, your hairbrush, a bag that crinkles when the pads of your fingers skim over it, and finally your phone, the glass smooth against your fingertips.
Then the thought slams into you, unwelcome and sharp. ‘Naoya and I are dating now,’ your friend had whispered shouted in your ear while you were on the dancefloor with her. Your entire body locking up, hips freezing in place.
Right. That’s why you drank more than you should’ve. Your friend casually admitting she’s dating your piece-of-shit ex-boyfriend.
You lean your forehead against the cold metal of the pole. Another laugh slips out. This time dry and hollow. There’s nothing funny about any of this. The entire situation is fucked up.
She left the club not soon after she admitted to you about dating your ex, not satisfied with your reaction to her ‘news’. What a fucking bitch. You close your eyes, still leaning against the pole, and everything spins, as if you’re laundry in a dryer.
Opening your eyes you push off the pole. Taking three steps, you stumble again. Stupid fucking heels. With an annoyed grunt you crouch down to yank them off, only to promptly fall onto your ass. Huffing through your nose you sit down so you can better access your heels.
Eventually you wrangle the heels off. Standing again you brush down the back of your dress with one hand while the other dangles your shoes from your fingers.
This time you start walking home—still stumbling around, but no longer rolling your ankles with it.
The Tokyo streets glow with sodium lamps and neon signs that are blinking overhead. The streets are mostly empty, aside from a few stragglers and drunks passed out along the sidewalk.
It isn’t until ten minutes into your walk that you feel it—eyes. You glance around, confused. There’s no one you can see, just a small cat on the other side of the street that isn’t even watching you, finding more interest in it’s own paw. Shrugging you keep walking.
Five minutes later you cut into a narrow alley. A shortcut home you normally take after a night out with the girls, granted they are with you—safety in numbers or something. Your drunken mind isn’t really concerned with that right now, though. Your feet are cold, small stones digging into your toes where you’re walking, and you’re lucky you haven’t encountered something sharp yet.
A little bit further into the dark alley you feel it again, that heavy sense of being watched. Whipping your head around you see someone stand at the end of the alleyway. The person’s silhouette completely black, except for the stark white hair that’s illuminated by the streetlight from above. The second thing you note is how tall they are. And the third thing you notice is the eyes—they’re glowing. Piercing blue looking over at you.
He’s just… staring at you. But when he sees you looking at him, he takes a step towards you. Then another. And another. You back up, pointing a finger at him.
“Stay there!” you bark out, finger trembling slightly. “Stay,” you repeat, firmer. The man halts, one pale eyebrow lifting in amusement.
“That’s right. Good boy.” If you were sober, you’d cringe at calling a stranger good boy, but right now all you can think of is that you’re drunk, barefoot, in an alley, and this guy is, what—seven feet tall?
His face becomes clearer now, a bit of moonlight illuminating some of the planes of his face. His skin is porcelain-like, eyes like a kaleidoscope of every blue imaginable, and a smirk is on his face, clearly enjoying this entire interaction.
Right, you’re staring. You clear your throat. “I-I’m going now. You just… stay there.”
He only crosses his arms and leans against the wall, still watching. You slowly nod your head, taking a small step back. Okay, good, he’s staying right where he is. Where you told him to stay. Turning around you nearly scream bloody murder.
He’s right there.
A gasp slips from your lips, mouth dropping open while your eyes bug out of your skull. Did the alcohol in your system fuck you up so bad you somehow turned around slow enough for him to walk in front of you without you noticing it?
You crane your neck up to look at him, stumbling back slightly with the change of your head, before you steady yourself again. He’s smiling down at you, and it’s a nice smile, honestly. It would’ve been charming, if not for the fangs. They’re long, sharp, and very obvious.
Alarm bells blare in your head, muffled slightly by the badum badum badum of your heart in your ears. Impossibly blue eyes, inhuman speed, and now fangs.
“Vampire,” you whisper, voice barely audible.
The stranger’s smile widens. “Ding, ding, ding, sweetheart.”
You swallow hard, of course this would happen to you today out of all days, after being told your friend is fucking your ex and leaving you stranded, alone, in the club.
Your hand slips into your bag, fingers fumbling, digging, trying to search for the bag you had touched earlier that night. But the more you keep fumbling, the harder your heart is starting to beat. Did you make up the fact that you had the bag with you? He notices the motion, of course he does.
“Oh? Gonna pepper spray me? Call a friend?” there’s clear amusement in his voice, “Newsflash, sweetheart, I’m way too fast for that.”
Your fingers keep searching. Come on, come on, come on— There. The pads of your fingers skim over the plastic bag, and it crinkles under the motion. Bingo.
Your heart slams against your ribcage. God, please let that dumb folklore be right. You grab the bag an dump it onto the ground, a soft thud sounds through the alley as thousands of rice grains scatter across the tiles.
The vampire’s head snaps down. He stares for a few seconds, blinks, then crouches. He mutters something under his breath and begins to count, fast—really fucking fast.
You stare at this seven-foot, hulking creature for a few more seconds. Then you take one step back, and another, and another. Then you run, feet pounding against the floor down the alley.
You risk a glance over your shoulder, just hoping he isn’t fast enough to count all of that within seconds. Big mistake. He’s still counting, luckily. But… he looks kind of cute doing it, nevermind the part where he’s a seven-foot vampire.
You slow down, feet coming to a halt, before you turn back and walk up just enough to grab your phone from where it fell onto the ground.
Click.
He doesn’t look up, but the twitch of his fingers tell you he heard it. “Cute.”
Gojo has never seen something like this before. He didn’t expect to be pelted with grains of rice by a cute drunk girl he’d set his sights on the moment she stumbled out of the club. Worse, he has the compelling urge to count them all. He isn’t sure why, all he knows is that he has to count them.
It’s something he’ll look into when he gets home.
It was a smart move on your part, clearly having read some sort of vampire lore before—unless you throw rice at every creep you encounter. However you came back, feet still bare, one of your heels lay abandoned further down the alleyway.
Then you whispered something about how cute he was, as if he isn’t a whole seven feet of vampire.
Now? Now you’re sitting across from him, feet still bare and dirty with grime and small pebbles stuck to your toes—how you haven’t noticed is beyond him—heel danling from your fingers, and your dress is riding up your thighs.
You’re mumbling incoherently about your ex and your friend, not that he’s paying attention to it, all his focus is on the stupid grains of rice.
He isn’t sure why you aren’t running. You know he’s a vampire, having seen his speed, his fangs, his eyes—hell, you even whispered it, vampire. Yet you’re still sitting here, in front of him, as if you’re keeping him company.
He knows you’re drunk, he can smell it on your breath, and if that wasn’t the dead giveaway then the stumbling and walking back to a fucking vampire would be. No one would do that shit when they’re sober.
You’re recounting a story about your ex now, gesturing wildly into the cool night-air. He’s had to restart his count a total of three times already because you keep distracting him. The first time you accidentally kicked the pile when you went to sit down, apologising to him for fucking it up.
The second time you ‘accidentally’ smacked his arm when telling him something. You’d said it was accidental because you were gesturing, but he thinks it’s because he wasn’t paying attention to your story.
He can only hope that the third time just works out for him, because he really wants to sink his fangs into your glistening skin—apart from the sweat you’d certainly built up in the club there’s something else to it, maybe a shimmer you’d applied before leaving for the club earlier today.
He only has a few hundred grains of rice left when your phone rings. And just like anything else tonight, you pick it up without any hesitation.
Gojo can hear a man on the other side of the line, saying something snarky. He isn’t tuned into the conversation, but his ears could hear everything if he wanted to, but he’s still counting, and he’d rather focus on that and finally feed himself than listen to whatever is being said by you or the man.
3124 3125 3126 3127… He’s about to count the last grain of rice when you suddenly flip the phone to him, screen illuminating his skin in a mix of blue and green. 3159 grains of rice, all counted.
He finally looks up and sees a guy filling your screen. Faux blond hair with green roots, brown eyes, and a smirk on his face that quickly morphs into something else. Then you turn your phone back to yourself, slurring out a, “See, ‘m with someone. Now leave m’ alone, asshole.”
Gojo hears the call disconnect, sees the way your screen goes dark. The only light illuminating your skin now is the pale moonlight. Then you take a deep breath and promptly fling yourself backward onto the ground.
“See what I have to deal with?” your eyes find his, a small pout formed on your face while your brows furrow. Gojo doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with those piercing blue eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and clears his throat. “I’m gonna give you a twenty-second head start, sweetheart. If I were you I’d take it.”
Your brows furrow in confusion this time, nose crinkling slightly. God, you really forgot, didn’t you?
He heaves a sigh and opens his mouth just enough to show his fangs. They glint in the moonlight, showing of just how sharp they are. You squint your eyes a bit, then they open wide again.
“Vampire,” you whisper again, voice fully trembling. But then you groan, it rumbles through your chest a bit, and kick your feet a little. “I don’ wanna runnnn.”
Gojo has to close his eyes for a second and take a deep breath. He likes the chase that comes from when people are afraid of him. Likes it even more when his prey think they can outrun him. They can’t, but he sure does like having them believe they can. Blood always tastes sweeter when there’s a hint of fear involved, after all.
He opens his eyes again and looks straight at you. Then he leans in a little, breath just shy of ghosting the shell of your ear.
“Run,” he whispers, voice sticky sweet as honey. He can see the way your eyes gloss over a bit. Then you’re scrambling upward, and dart out of the alley—your other heel clattering to the ground.
Gojo, true to his word, waits a full twenty seconds. Then he’s in front of you again, making you yelp and dash away again, stumbling over your own feet a little, crashing into the wall, scraping your hand on the rough stones.
The cat and mouse game continues for what he thinks is a full ten minutes. He can hear your heart pounding, blood rushing through your body, and your whispers of ‘Please don’t kill me, I’m way too hot’ and ‘I should’ve stayed home’ and ‘He is kinda cute, though.’
He ignores that last one.
It isn’t until you stumble up the steps of a house where he catches you. His broad chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers dipping into your sides,, while the other is planted next to your head on the door.
“Gotcha,” he whispers into your hair. You’re trembling in his grip, knees almost buckling out form under you. You’re pressed flat against the front door of your house.
You were so close, all you had to do was open it and you would’ve been fine.
You can feel the way his pecs are squished against your back. He’s hunched over you, entire frame leaning down so he can nose against your hair. His muscles are bulging out of his shirt, making you press your thighs together.
It’s a weird mixture of fear and arousal that’s shooting through you. You know he’s a vampire, know he can kill you in an instant—and maybe he will drain you of all your blood—but he’s also so tall. His entire hand splayed out over your tummy now.
He chuckles when he notices the way you’re pressing your thighs together. His cold breath fanning over your skin, almost like a night breeze caressing your face. “You gonna let me in, sweets?”
You know you shouldn’t. Know you should try to get out of his cold, undead grip as fast as you can. The door is right there, one step and you’d be free of him. One big step, you’d just have to get out of his grasp. Sure he has bulging muscles and probably inhuman strength, but you can twist your way out of this, can’t you? Just do a little shimmy and free yourself.
The big hand that’s on your stomach can’t possibly keep you right there, pressed against him, can it? Nevermind the fact that he has such thick forearms and biceps and triceps even Greek Gods would be jealous of.
Turning a bit to the left, you try to see if you have any wiggle room, only for him to chuckle once more. His fingers dig into your flesh a bit harder now, indenting the skin where he touches you. Welp, there goes your plan, straight out the window.
“Promise not to kill me?” You don’t dare to look at him, afraid his eyes will put you under a spell yet again. You know you should’ve ran the first time he told you to, but you were too out of your mind to fully grasp the situation. “Mhmm, just want some of your blood.”
That seems… reasonable enough. You fumble with your keys slightly, still trembling in your grip, the keys and keychains clinking against each other. It’s the only sound in the entire street, everyone else already being in bed—which is no surprise, considering you left the club at… three or something like that.
When you finally slot your keys into the hole, you twist it open, pushing the door open to your dark hallway.
You’re about to set a foot into your house when the guy tugs you back against his chest. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Right, he’s a vampire and not just some random hookup you dragged home. A very handsome vampire, though. If you’re going out, at least it’s by a hottie. Oh fuck, he really can just kill you. I mean, he just said he wouldn’t, but he can lie about it. Then again, he could’ve killed you ten times over already.
“What’s your name?” That seems to catch him off-guard. Blinking a few times, those baby blues looking you over in wonder a few times, and you can’t help but melt into him a bit—only for you to stand up straight again when you feel how fucking cold he is.
“Satoru,” is all he mumbles out, fangs poking out slightly. He really is cute for a terrifying creature.
Nodding your head you nudge the door open even further, extending your hand into your house with a flourish. “Come in, Satoru.”
The next second you’re picked up before he all but throws you onto your couch, your body bouncing a bit before he’s on you. A yelp leaves your lips, heart pounding out of your ribs, fingers shaking slightly, breaths heavy.
Right, he is a vampire with inhuman speed and strength. Your pupils dilate a bit, hairs standing on edge when he grins down at you with those too-sharp canines. His eyes almost seem to glow in this moment, face shadowed completely.
You’re frozen in place, reality settling in like someone poured a cold cup of water over your head to sober you up.
You just invited a vampire into your house. To drink your blood. Way to fucking go.
“Ready, sweets?” He murmurs down at you, picking up your hand where it lies limp beside you on the couch, pulse hammering in your ears. He brings your fingers up to his mouth, before wrapping his lips around the bloodied appendages, tongue laving over the wounds there. You’d honestly forgotten you even had them—too busy running away from him to notice just how scratched up your clammy palms were.
His saliva stings your skin, making you pull away, only for him to hold your wrist in place. He licks a broad stripe from your palms up to your fingers, leaving behind a red trail—blood and saliva mixed together.
When you don’t answer he grins a bit wider, lips slightly red by your blood. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
With that he surges forward, one strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from squirming while the other quickly brushes away the hairs that are falling over your shoulder. His fangs puncture your skin just above your collarbone, and it feels like your nerves are on fire.
Your mouth opens in a scream, only to have it clamped shut by a big palm. Tears spring to your eyes, fat drops falling down the apples of your cheeks before they drip from your jawline onto the couch below.
You can feel the way your blood is leaving you. Satoru is sucking on the wound hard enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your skull—not in pleasure, but in pain. Pure agony running through your veins now.
From all the vampire lore, you whished the aphrodisiac bite was at least true. But instead of pleasure surging through you, it’s pain. Pure pain. You can feel the way your body jerks from the sensation, but Satoru just tightens his hold onto you, pushing you further into the couch.
The last thing you see before the dark takes ahold of you is the blue glow emitting from his eyes, casting the two of you in a soft, blue glare, making his pale hair stand out against the darkness of the room.
You wake up surrounded by softness. Blinking a few times you register just where you are—your own bed. Your pillow is soft and fluffy under your head, and your blanket is keeping you warm. Your head is absolutely pounding, a dull thud behind your eyes making you groan.
Just how much did you have to drink last night?
Thinking back on the night before, you can remember bits and pieces. You went out with your friend to celebrate… something, only for her to leave you alone at the club later that night.
Why did she leave you alone again?
Racking your brain, you try to fill in the gaps as good as you can. You remember drinking and dancing. Hips moving to the beat—well you tried to, but you probably were off-beat if you’re going to be honest—while your friend was laughing with you.
Then she leaned forward with a smile on her face and murmured something in your ear. What the fuck did she say that she had to leave?
You furrow your brows, closing your eyes once more. Right, right, it’s coming all back to you now. She told you she was dating Naoya out of all people. Even after you’d told her every minute detail about that scumbag, she still chose to be with him, destroying your trust in the process.
Fucking bitch. And then she just up and left you there to get home by yourself.
Okay, now you know why your head is pounding—having drank waayyy too much alcohol to at least have a good night by yourself. But how did you get home?
You pat around your bed to search for your phone, twisting your neck to look to your left side, only for a hiss to leave your lips when you feel just how much your neck hurts. Your hand shoots to the spot, only to find gauze under your fingertips.
Gauze? Why is there gauze on your neck out of all places.
You rub your head with your other hand, only to feel small scabs on your fingertips. Opening your eyes you look at your hand, only to see it being scabbed over at some places.
Right, you scratched your hand on the wall when running away from that cute vampire. …Wait, what??
Sitting up you look around your room, to hopefully see said vampire, but he’s nowhere to be found. A laugh bubbles up in your chest and leaves your lips. A vampire, how stupid is that. Your drunken mind probably made all of that up.
Seeing a weird silhouette in an alleyway sure is scary, so you just began to run back home. Yeah, yeah that must be it. Your drunken mind having conjured up a whole story about a guy that doesn’t exist. Vampires aren’t real; they’re just myths made up to scare children.
So why is there gauze on your collarbone?
Your head is pounding all the same, these silly questions surely can wait until after you had some water, or coffee.
Standing up you’re about to walk downstairs when you hear someone… humming? Your shoulders immediately tense up, feet planting themselves in their place. Why is there someone in your house?
Grabbing the nearest object—a vase with fake flowers, because nowadays it’s too much to ask guys to get you some flowers—you tiptoe down the stairs, careful to not make a sound. It’s one thing if there’s someone in your house, it’s another when they know you’re there.
On the last step you hear someone call out to you. “Oh, you’re awake. That’s good!”
You nearly drop the vase in shock, fingers slipping slightly, before you tighten your grip again. Your heart hammering out of your chest, goosebumps littering your skin, and before you can even do anything, a tall, white-haired man walks into view.
And suddenly everything from last night slams back into you. No, your mind hadn’t simply made up Satoru, it’s real. The gauze on your throat a bitter reminder that there are, in fact, vampires roaming the earth.
“What the fuck are you still doing in my house?” you ask him, setting the vase down onto your kitchen counter before walking up to him. You poke your finger against his arm, testing to see if he really is real, or if you might still be drunk. “You’re real, right?”
Gojo just chuckles at you, his fangs poking through his lips at your question. His fingers wrap themselves around your wrist—ice cold to the touch, making you tremble slightly from just how cold they are—stopping you from poking him any further.
“Duh, you can’t make up a face this pretty.” He gestures to his face with a small pout on his face. Okay, conceited much. You scrunch your nose up at that, looking him dead in the eye—the same eyes that glowed last night while he was feasting on you - is that the correct term? You’re not sure, but you don’t really care, either.
“As for your question, I stayed because I might’ve drained you a bit too much. The alcohol in your system made your blood thinner, so I had a harder time gauging just how much I drank. So I stayed to be certain you wouldn’t pass awa— anyway. Alcohol makes your blood taste bitter, by the way, Certainly didn’t help you weren’t as afraid as I wanted you to be,” he mumbles that last part under his breath.
“Not as afraid as you wanted me to be? I thought my heart was gonna crawl out of my mouth— can you let go of me? You’re cold as fuck,” you try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, only for him to tighten it just slightly, slender fingers enclosing around your wrist.
Grinning he leans down slightly, back hunched just slightly as he looks you in the eye. “Why? You didn’t seem to mind me touching you last night.”
You inhale sharply, the memory of him pressed against your back flooding your mind. His strong chest pressed against your back while his hand was splayed out over your tummy making you all hot and bothered— no, you can’t think like this, fucking stop it.
“Yeah, well, that was just me being drunk,” you mumble out.
He takes a step forward, and another, while you walk backwards, until your back hits the wall. The wall scratching your back slightly, straightening your spine. His hand plants itself next to your head, leaning forward until his nose is almost brushing yours. “You sure that’s all it was? I’m hurt, sweets. You’re saying you don’t find me cute anymore?”
Gulping you press your thighs together, your panties damp under your sleeping shorts, core hot and achy. There’s no denying he’s hot—not quite cute as you called him last night—but should you really do this? He’s a vampire, hot, sure, but still a bloodsucking creature. His grin widens when his eyes flick down to your thighs.
You know you shouldn’t do this. It’s irresponsible, downright stupid, but you can’t deny to yourself that he’s making you horny by just existing.
And suddenly a thought enters your mind, like someone whispered in your ear. Your friend—now ex-friend—is dating your ex. It makes your stomach flip a few times, trying to make sense of the situation you’re in right now.
Fuck it.
Your hands find his pecs that are flexed with the way he’s standing, fabric doing little to hide them. Your finger trails down to his abdomen where you can feel the clearly built muscles. You bat your lashes at him, tilting your head just slightly. “And what if I said I thought you were hot?”
“Then I’d ask to have another taste— a different taste this time,” he murmurs down at you. That’s all you needed, fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him down to meet you. Lips crashing against each other in a messy battle of teeth and tongue.
He groans into your mouth, carefully nipping at your lower lip, puncturing it slightly. He sucks on the little droplets of blood before he claims your mouth once more. Copper filling your taste buds, making you moan out slightly.
Then he suddenly picks you up, hands under your thighs while yours find purchase at his broad shoulders, clutching onto them, nails digging into his skin just slightly. He chuckles against your mouth, “I’m not going to drop you.”
And true to his word, he doesn’t drop you, but he does bring you upstairs at speeds you’ve never dreamed of having. He carefully lays you down onto the bed, matrass groaning under both your weight just slightly.
His lips disconnect from yours, and he has to keep himself from groaning out at the sight of your bloodied, kiss-bitten lips. All swollen for him. Gojo peppers featherlight kisses down your throat, until they find the gauze just above your collarbone.
Yelping you look down at him. He’s grinning up at you, blue eyes crinkling slightly while he carefully places another kiss onto the gauze. “That hurts, dickhead.”
“Hmmm, just showing my little blood bag some appreciation,” he purrs before his lips trail further down, all the way until he’s seated onto the floor, cold breath ghosting on your thighs, leaving behind slight goosebumps. “I’m not your personal blood bag.”
He just winks up at you before pressing a kiss to the fat of your thigh. Then one a little higher, another one to the apex of your thigh, and one on your hipbone. You’re squirming out at the feeling of his lips—cold to the touch, but oh so careful.
His fingers hook around your pajama shorts, looking up at you for permission. When you nod he pulls them off you, leaving you in your panties. His pupils dilate when they see the wet spot, “You’re soaked. All this for me?”
Rolling your eyes you look down at him, leaning on your elbows. “How about you touch me instead of being such a conc— oh fuck,” your head lolls back onto your shoulderblades, eyes fluttering shut slightly. His thumb presses onto your clit.
“What was that, sweetheart?” he chuckles when you moan out at the pressure he applies through your panties, thumb circling your twitchy clit. “That’s what I thought.”
He leans down to lick a broad stripe over your panties, moaning out at the taste of you—so sweet, and oh, how he wishes you weren’t drunk last night so he could’ve had a taste of this pussy earlier—lips wrapping around your nub and sucking on it slightly.
“Shit. Fuck— Satoru, right there,” your hand finds his head, fingers threading through his silky locks, pulling on them slightly when he sucks even harder, cheeks hollowing out. Pleasure shoots right through your core, thighs threatening to snap shut. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the white-haired man under you, big palms clasping your thighs and keeping them spread riiight open for him. “Just get those panties out of the way already!”
He releases his lips with a pop, making you sigh out. Grinning up at you, one of his fingers comes up to your swollen folds, rubbing them slightly—still with that damn fabric in the way.
“Someone’s eager. You want me to get rid of these cute panties?” He tilts his head slightly before his fingers creep further upwards,, until they hook into them, making you think he’s finally going to get them off you. Instead he pulls the fabric upward, stretching it over your poor twitchy cunt, “But they look so good on you— yeahhh look at that.”
His eyes are zeroed in on where the fabric disappears between your pussy lips slightly, stretching the fabric even further until you’re pushing at his head, whining out.
“Please, please just get them off,” you whine out, tears gathering in your eyes from the way he’s just playing with you, taking his sweet time while your hole is pulsing around nothing. He chuckles once more before letting the fabric snap! against your skin, having you gasp out.
“Guess I should give this pretty pussy what she deserves, huh?” He gives a few taps to your clit, thighs twitching with each pass of his fingers, before he finally hooks a finger around the gusset and pulls it aside, revealing your cunt to the open air.
Without any preamble he dives in, tongue flat against your twitchy clit. Your back immediately arches with the swipe of his tongue—this time without any fabric between the muscle and your aching clit.
One of his slender, cold fingers plunges itself into your soppy hole. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging on it slightly, moaning out at the intrusion. “Fuck— right there.”
He thrusts his finger in and out of you before adding another one. The cold touch such a stark contrast to your hot, needy core it has you keen out. Your legs are trembling in his hold, one of them still spread open by his other hand, while your own creeps down to hold your other leg open for him.
“Such a good girl,” he mumbles out against your core, pleasure shooting through you. He curls those long digits inside of you, trying to find that one spot inside of you while he very lightly nips on your clit, your walls clamping down on his digits. His fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you, finding finding findi— you loudly moan into the air, head thrown back. Found it.
“F-fuck, Satoru, keep them there ‘m so close,” you sob out, thighs tensing up slightly while he continuously hits your g-spot with perfect precision. Your orgasm crashes over you, tiny fireworks exploding in your tummy. “Cumming— cumming.”
He stays down there, lapping up the slick that’s gushing out of you. Cold tongue dipping into your hole alongside his fingers, opening you up even further for him.
You go limp in his hold a minute later, and he finally detaches himself from your mound—lips shiny with spit and your arousal. Then he pulls his fingers from your hole, stringy juices webbing between his fingers when he spreads them, looking at them in wonder, before putting them in his mouth and moaning out at the sweet, sweet taste that’s you.
“Think you’re ready for me, baby?” He stands up already unbuckling his belt, and you have to swallow once you see his bulge. Fuck. He’s ginormous. You shouldn’t be surprised, this guy is seven-feet tall, everything about him is enormous compared to you, but still you can’t help the way your eyes are almost bulging out of your skull.
He pulls out his cock—angry, red tip swollen and glistening with pre—and wraps his fist around it, giving it a few tugs.
“That’s not gonna fit inside of me,” you blurt out, eyes transfixed on where his hand is still wrapped around his dick. He smirks at that, of course he does. He’s probably heard it a million times before, but of course you had to say it.
He leans forward, tip nudging your clit, coating himself in your arousal. “Relax, it’s gonna fit.”
Gulping you lay back slightly, opening your legs even further to accommodate him. He smiles at that, one hand clamping around your waist while the other guides his member towards your entrance. Taking a deep breath in, he pushes inside your fluttering walls.
A high-pitched moan leaves your lips, sweat breaking on your skin. The stretch is unbelievable—your walls fluttering uselessly around him, and this was just the tip. He hisses at the feeling of your walls clamping down on him—yes, actually hisses, fangs on full display. “Fuck, loosen up baby.”
His fingers come down to your sensitive clit, rubbing on it to keep you distracted from the intrusion—not that it helps. He pushes another inch inside of you, and tears are starting to spill down from your eyes, disappearing into your hairline.
Gojo looks at you, blue eyes almost completely black now. He can feel the way his dick twitches when he sees your tears. Leaning forward he balances on one forearm, tongue lapping up your tears, groaning at the salty taste of your tears.
“You’re too big,” you squeal, hand uselessly pushing against his abdomen. He merely presses a kiss to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and finally his lips claim yours, tongue tracing the seam of your sealed lips.
He stays still like that for a little while, letting you get used to the way he’s stretching you out. When he feels you loosen up slightly he pulls his hips back until just his tip remains and pushes back in again, a bit further this time.
You moan out into his mouth, legs wrapping themselves around his waist, and your hands entangle themselves in his hair. “That’s it, knew you could do it.”
With a few more thrusts he finally bottoms out, his hips meeting yours. Tears are flowing free down your face and he has to resist the urge to just bite you with how cute you looked. Fuck, what he wouldn’t do to get a taste of you again—your blood surely much sweeter now.
He looks down, only to grin. Would you look at that. “Look down, sweetheart. See how well you’re taking me?” he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and angles your head down. Blinking a few times you look down and—oh! The print of his cock fully visible, bulging your tummy where he’s buried.
“You’re so deep,” you mumble out, slight awe in your voice, only for a broken moan to leave your lips seconds later. Gojo pulls out and thrusts back in, tip smooching your cervix. Again. And again. And again.
A creamy ring starting to circle around his base, balls slapping against your ass with each harsh thrust. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving behind crescent shaped marks. You’re sobbing out into his neck, vision blurring slightly.
“Mhmm, I know.” He presses down onto your stomach where he can feel his own cock through your womb, and it has you keen out even more. Moans and groans and the lewd plap plap plap! of his hips fill the room.
Your legs begin to tremble, cock plummeting in and out of your soppy hole, the squelch it makes has your face heat up, a pretty blush forming on your face as you feel yourself near your second orgasm. After a few more thrusts, you come around him, clear liquid gushing out of you, spraying onto his abdomen, thighs and the sheets below you. Your vision whites out completely while your back arches, mouth forming an ‘o’ that you can’t seem to close.
Satoru hisses when he feels your walls clamp down onto his girth, speeding up his thrusts slightly. “Fuck, lemme cum inside, please.”
Your mind doesn’t register his request at first, too busy trembling around him. It’s only when he starts whining that you take note of his request. “Yes, yes ‘toru. ‘S okay.”
“Shit- need you to say it. Say it out loud for me, pretty,” he pleads with you, his own thighs tensing up slightly. “Y-you can cum inside, S’toru.”
That’s all it takes. He thrusts once more before stilling, his fat tip snug against your cervix while he spills inside of you. Ropes of cum keep coming, emptying his balls inside your greedy cunt completely. His forehead dropping down to yours.
The two of you lay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath—well, it’s just you who has to catch their breath, but Satoru stays there for you—and calm down slightly.
“Soooo, you need permission to cum inside too, huh?” you giggle at the seven-foot vampire. He just groans, eyes fluttering shut. “Shut up.”
Summary: For the past few weeks, Hanji has locked themselves away in their office, away from prying eyes, including your own. But your heart can clearly tell when something is wrong with your beloved.
a/n: hey everyone <3 this story is entirely based on the cover art by my amazing artist friend @kylekoraki ! please show them some love and everyone say "thank you" to kyle for drawing this! <3 here's their twitter as well <3
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: canon setting, fem!reader, non-binary!hanji zoe, no warnings really, just some heavy kissing. not really beta read, we die like men <3
ao3 | wattpad | cover by: @kylekoraki | wc: 4.2k
You knock on the door. Once, twice, thrice. No answer. A grunt escapes your lips and you roll your eyes, repeating the action. Once, twice, thrice. Nothing again. Now a frown takes the place of the smile that used to rest on your face, you know they are in there, you can hear the papers being shuffled around, the tapping of their pen, the shadow of their body as they pass by the door, even faintly the sound of the ice that clinks around their whiskey glass.
You raise your hand to knock again, but before you even have the chance, the door opens. Barely enough for any light to make it through but you see the faint silhouette of Hanji's lips pouting. "You know that when someone doesn't answer, it means they want to be left alone, right?" Their voice is low, almost as if they are making sure to remain quiet to not attract any more unnecessary attention.
"But... it's me.." you respond just as softly, a pout of your own forming, "I'm not like other people."
“y/n…” They begin, moving their glasses from the spot on their face towards the top of their head, pushing their bangs backward in the meantime. Their brown eyes stare at you for what feels like forever, their mind hiding behind an ocean of thoughts and an expression you can’t quite decipher this time around.
They want you to stay, to hold you in their arms as they sit here in the comforting silence of your presence, but instead, they shake their head, trying their best to remove any thoughts of what your warmth would do to them. A heavy sigh makes its way past their lips, the eyebags under their eyes more present than ever as they begin to talk again.
“Please, I’m fine,” they respond. What Hanji fails to realize is that their voice did a slight tremble, not noticeable to anyone else but you know them better than the palm of your own hand. They are the pure representation of your heart beating outside of your chest, so seeing them in such distress is enough to make you act against direct orders, consequences be damned.
“You are not,” you respond. Their office is a mess, their research papers scattered around with drawings and models of flying boats, new weapons, and ways to improve the Survey Corps all around. A thousand and one ideas, some connecting and some just scattered around the wind.
The whiskey bottle that until a few weeks ago rested full to the brim on their bookshelf now finds itself on its last few sips, the curtains are drawn so no amount of light other than the small candles at the edge of their table can exist in the room and you even notice a few shards of broken glass, probably meaning that they have dropped a cup or two, either from exhaustion or from not being able to see in the dark.
“When was the last time you ate anything?” You ask, gently taking the whiskey glass out of their hand. You notice a small blush creeping its way onto their cheeks as their eyes pointedly avoid yours and, by these simple reactions, you can tell it has been a while, “You’re losing weight.”
They try to reach for the glass once more but you shake your head, pulling it further away. Even though they are stronger than you and could easily take it back if they wanted to, they don't. Instead, Hanji leans against their desk, crossing their arms in front of their chest as they let out a heavy sigh. They want to lie, to tell you they are fine, and pretend like nothing is wrong, but before a single false promise about their well-being can make its way past their lips, you speak up again.
“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping,” your voice is soothing, not an ounce of frustration or anger behind it, just plain worry. You take a step closer, fully prepared for another rejection but it doesn’t come this time around, though you still don’t dare take a deep breath until the moment your fingertips brush against their left cheek, just slightly beneath their eyepatch, “you look exhausted.”
“Now that’s just rude!” An exhausted chuckle escapes their lips as they nuzzle their face into your hand, their expression contorting from anguish to a somewhat relaxed one and it causes your heart to nearly stop for a second before between at three times the usual speed, you are convinced they can hear it from where they stand. “I’ll have you know that I look awesome.”
It’s your turn to chuckle, your worries melting away for simply a second before coming back at full force, knowing way too well that redirecting attention and humor have always been Hanji’s favorite ways of avoiding a serious conversation.
“Hanji…” You start, your tone of voice sounding just as exhausted and defeated as theirs. It drags a loud sigh out of their chest, but as their mouth opens to complain, you continue, a begging tone in your voice as your eyes fill with unwashed tears, “Please, just talk to me.”
That look is enough to cause a painful bang to shoot throughout their body, their heart dropping to their stomach with the knowledge that it is their fault that you look this way. So, without even realizing it, they are already taking a couple of steps forward, hands tightly grasping at your hips as they lean their forehead against yours.
“I’ve just been so busy,” they whisper, the broken tone in their voice creates a tight knot in your throat and the sensation only grows stronger as they continue to speak, “Paperwork, meetings, and any free time I have I go to the lab, trying to complete some old experiments I’ve had from years ago. Even if I try to sleep, I just… Lay there, staring at the ceiling, maybe getting two or three hours here and there.”
You sigh, your arms immediately wrapping around their neck as you pull them close. Their eyelashes bat against the skin of your neck as they close their eyes, a shaky breath escaping them as they inhale your scent, focusing on the way your body feels and smells.
At that moment, an idea hits you. Without disturbing the hug, you look around the messy room, quickly taking in the setting before noticing that, for once, their couch rests next to the window, uncluttered and undisturbed.
Reluctantly, you pull away from them and the first thing you can hear is a grunt of disapproval. Once your eyes meet again, their pupils are so big, they could only be compared to a puppy dog that has just discovered steak for the first time, pleading, begging even, “Why’d you do that?”
Without an answer, your hand slides with theirs, fingers lacing and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Their palm is slightly wet, though you can’t quite place if it is from the condensation from the whiskey glass they held earlier or if it is from nervous sweats. Regardless, all you can focus on is how warm their presence feels close to you.
You don’t speak, instead, you just guide their body towards the couch, their feet dragging behind you, “what are we doing?” They ask, their eyes already fighting to remain open in a combination of the exhaustion and the fuzzy feeling from being drunk, the comfort you bring them doesn’t help either. They are clearly forcing themselves to stay awake, wanting to spend all of this time with you instead of stubbornly trying to push you away.
“We are not doing anything,” you respond, taking a seat on the couch. Your free hand brushes against the spot next to you and they quickly catch onto what you are hinting, your words finally clicking in their head as they flash you a confused look, “You, on the other hand, are going to sleep for a while.”
Their eyes widen for a second as your words take them by surprise, a small groan of protest making its way past their chapped lips, “mmmmm, noo, I can’t… I have so much work that I need to get done… I don’t... Have time to sleep.”
Carefully, you bring your hand towards the back of their head, pulling the ponytail holder out of their hair to make sure they are more comfortable for the next step, which includes guiding their head down towards your thighs. It doesn’t take much effort nor does Hanji put up much of a fight, their body is completely exhausted after all.
“Mmmm,” they whine, their voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and stubbornness, almost like a child who refuses to lay down for nap time, but once again, they don’t put up a fight, “damn it, how could I ever say no to you?”
“You can’t,” you chuckle, your fingers beginning to comb through the knots in their hair, detangling the strands, your nails gently scratching their scalp while you are at it, “I promise I will be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”
Your words are soft, carrying so much love that it is almost impossible for Hanji not to melt on the spot. The warmth of your legs combined with the feeling of your fingers going through their hair is finally enough to relax their overly exhausted body, their eyes finally closing and you use your free hand to remove their glasses, hanging it up on the neckline of your shirt.
“Finnneeeee,” Hanji whines once more, turning their body over so their face is buried in your stomach, their slim body now curled into a small ball on the couch and you can’t help but smile at the sight, “but do not let me sleep for more than thirty minutes. An hour, tops.”
You lift your eyes slightly to take a look at the clock on the wall, a gift from Kiyomi to celebrate your relationship. Silently, you take note of the time and look back down at your beloved, a soft, whispered “okay” leaving your lips.
“I’m serious,” Their voice starts sounding more sluggish by the second, their mind already starting to drift off but they fight back sleep for a few extra minutes, just enough to finish the conversation between the two of you, their voice extremely drowsy, “I’ll be mad if you don’t wake me up.”
“I would not dream of doing such a thing,” you respond, unsure if they recognize the mischievous tone in your words or not, but truly hoping that, if they do, they are simply choosing to ignore it. Even so, the way you speak brings them so much comfort, a sense of peace they haven’t felt since becoming commander, “just sleep, my love. I’ll be here.”
The moment Hanji hears you whisper that promise, the certainty that you will be here when they wake up, it’s like a switch flips inside of their mind and they finally allow their body to relax against your touch. Much like a cat, they purr as you continue to run your fingers through their hair, unable to avoid the smile that is now stamped on their lips.
“Thank you, love you,” they whisper, their voice is barely audible and you almost miss it. You don’t even have time to respond before they are completely asleep, the weight of the countless sleepless days finally catching up with their body.
When the first hour passes, you look up from your book, your eyes landing on the clock before making their way down towards Hanji’s face. They look so peaceful, their breathing is so calm and even that it soothes your own worries away and it takes every ounce of your strength not to lay down and nap with them.
The decision to let them continue their slumber is an easy one. Eventually, you notice a small smile that tugs the corner of their lips in their sleep and you can’t help but wonder and hope that they are dreaming of you. Nevertheless, your fingers continue to go through the strands of their hair, even if it makes flipping the pages of your book a bit difficult, you manage to find a solution by placing it down on the armrest of the couch before using your pinky and ring fingers to hold the object down while the remaining digits flip towards the next page.
Another hour goes by and you start to ponder if you should wake them up. Maybe letting them sleep for this long wasn’t such a good idea, especially since you know they have to return to their duties as commander of the Survey Corps, such as continuing their research and sketching plans for the flying boat. But you can see it in their expression, the small specs of the bubbly person they used to be finally showing back up on their features as they sleep, small reminders of the bright light that has saved you from darkness more times than you can count.
You gasp softly when Hanji stirs slightly in your lap, your heart clenching in your chest as you continue to look down at them, scared that you moved too much and it caused them to wake up. Their expression is still undisturbed, almost like a cat that has just found the warmest spot on the window sill and you catch yourself smiling at them. A silly, love-sick smile that only they can bring out of you.
As the third-hour rolls by and you are trying to convince yourself that it is time to wake them up, you hear a knock on the door and your entire body freezes. You find yourself torn by the two options:
1) Do you say something loudly enough for the person on the other side to hear and risk waking Hanji up in a stressful way before throwing them directly into a situation in which they need to be the Commander, and not the bubbly Hanji Zoe you once loved so dearly.
2) You silently hope that the soldier on the other side will either go away soon or open the door quietly. The couch, though it is by the window, still has a perfect view of the front door to their office, so the person would quickly notice the situation and you would be able to calmly wake Hanji at your own pace, without any negative or stressful interactions.
A second, more forceful knock comes and you notice Hanji slowly starting to shift on your lap. The annoyed expression on your face morphs into one of anger and, as the shadow on the door side moves to knock for a third time, you decide to throw a pillow at the surface.
The person stops midway with their movements before their hand slowly comes to rest on the knob, twisting it slightly as the door quietly swings open. In front of you stands a very nervous scout, one of the new recruits, who hasn’t even been able to choose a specialty yet. His hands are trembling and he nearly drops the stack of papers he holds in his grasp, eyes bugging out of his skull as he looks at you and the sleeping figure on your legs.
“P-paperwork… F-for the C-Commander…” His voice is quiet and trembling, almost as if he is stepping directly into a monster’s lair. You realize in this moment just how intimidating Hanji is in everyone else’s perspective but your own and you can’t help but smile. You nod and gesture your head towards their desk, placing your index finger in front of your lips.
“I-it’s from… Instructor S-Shadis,” he says in the quietest of whispers, but you could already tell. Keith Shadis’ ugly handwriting was something you could identify from a mile away if you had to, “r-reports about… T-the ranking c-ceremony.”
“Thank you,” you mouth the words softly, your fingers moving on Hanji’s hair. They look so small and calm, almost like a harmless kitten, a direct contrast to the authoritative figure that can command an entire room with just a single look in their eye.
The boy nods, his trembling legs making their way towards the wooden table and carefully placing the new stack of paper next to the old ones, trying his best to make sure it is neatly organized while desperately avoiding eye contact with you. He does a quick salute towards you before eagerly exiting the room and you can nearly hear his breath of relief once he is out of sight, outside the closed doors.
You shake your head before looking down at Hanji once more to see a smile on their face. You roll your eyes, “how long have you been awake for?”
The smile on their face grows bigger, their eyes opening slowly to look at you, still a blurry image from the lack of their glasses but still enough for their heart to beat slightly faster, “since the first knock.” Of course, you think to yourself, “How long was I asleep for?”
You look at the clock, and a part of you wants to lie, say it’s only been thirty minutes or so but when you look out the window, you realize the sun has already started to set, making it impossible for such a thing to be even remotely believable. You sigh again.
“Around three hours…” You respond in a sheepish voice, avoiding their gaze. Immediately, Hanji sits up, placing their glasses above the bridge of their nose and looking at the clock on the wall. Once they look back at you, you can see the slightly irritated expression on their face and you feel like you could just shrink and disappear under such a harsh gaze.
“y/n, you promised!” They blur out and you can tell it isn’t anger or irritation… It’s an intense pile of anxiety, hidden behind the harsh facade they attempt to put up. They’re scared that something went wrong in the period they have been sleeping, like the Survey Corps might have fallen apart and they were doing something so useless such as taking a nap. A single thought is going through their mind, those words they have been chanting like a mantra since the fateful day in Shiganshina.
Erwin Would Never.
You stand up a mere second after them, watching closely as their hands grip the edges of the desk and their head hangs low, hips tilted forward in a desperate attempt to hold themselves upright. It breaks your heart to see them like this and, no matter how much you agree with Erwin that Hanji should be the next Commander, you can’t forgive him for leaving such a massive responsibility on their shoulders.
So your arms wrap around their waist, your cheek finding a perfect spot in the area between their shoulder blades. You nuzzle your face against their vest, nearly purring as you do. The smell of Hanji’s skin, mixed with a little bit of sweat as a result of their nap awakens the butterflies in your stomach and the only thing able to bring you out of your thoughts is the broken sound of their voice.
“How long were you going to let me sleep for?” They whisper, a hint of desperation behind their tone and you notice they are shaking. You tighten your grip around them.
“For as long as you needed,” you respond and, at the sound of their quiet sob, your heart shatters. “You haven’t been eating or sleeping, you are drinking in the middle of the day and, well, you are pulling away from me.”
With a long sigh, they turn around, a defeated expression on their face, “Y/n, I’m a mess. I’ve always been a mess. I’m always overthinking things, I’m mean, I’m stubborn, please. I need to catch up on my work, it’s so much paperwork and it just keeps piling up…”
“Hanji, you’re spiraling,” you whisper, fingertips almost featherlike as they brush against their arm. You hope and pray and nearly fall to your knees begging that they will listen to your voice, that they will give you time to make your case and prove that they are so much more than anything they are thinking, but they continue.
“Erwin’s one mistake was making someone like me the commander,” they whisper in the most defeated tone you have ever heard. It’s like something in your mind snaps and you immediately grab a hold of their wrist, flipping them around before pressing your body against theirs on the table.
“Now you listen to me and you listen good,” your voice is stern in a way Hanji had never heard before, it’s filled with pain, heartache, and still so much love, “Erwin wouldn’t have made you Commander if he didn’t think you would be a perfect choice. And I agree.”
Hanji wants to protest, they want to contradict you but the desperate look in your eyes convinces them to remain silent. Instead, they focus all of their attention on your words, into the amount of effort it takes you not to break into tears as you listen to their self-deprecating words, the doubt in their mind. They focus on the way your lips move and how desperately they want to kiss you.
“You are the reason why we were able to eradicate titans outside the wall, you created the thunder spears that were enough to scare off the armored titan,” you continue, the trembling in your hands is so intense you can barely contain your grip on them but you don’t let go nevertheless, “Moblit sacrificed himself for you because he believed you could guide us towards the world outside the walls. Erwin entrusted the Survey Corps to you because you are the most brilliant person any of us has ever seen. Please, just… Tell me you at least believe me.”
They don’t respond, not because they don’t want to, but because their voice won’t come out. It’s as if their brain has lost connection with their vocal chords and all they can focus on is the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes.
So in one swift move, Hanji grabs a hold of your wrist and immediately switches places with you. You can’t help but yelp quietly, especially when you feel their hands grasping at the back of your thighs as they lift you. Your hands reach behind you, carefully assessing the area while trying not to mix any of their paperwork, but Hanji doesn’t have a single care in the world that isn’t you at this moment.
Their eyes hungrily stare at your lips and, with a silent nod of their head, you push away all the papers that were once so neatly organized on their desk. Once you are sitting down and your legs wrap around their waist, Hanji wastes no time in sealing their lips with yours, a delighted hum escaping your body once they do.
You wrap your arms around their neck, allowing your fingers to venture through the messy strands of their hair. Their fingers dig into your hips, strong enough to nearly leave a few bruises but neither of you care, the need you have for each other overwhelms any and every other one of your senses.
Their tongue slowly glides on your lower lip before they gently take it in between their teeth, pulling the skin towards them. After a few seconds, they let go and immediately begin to silently beg for entrance, using the tip of their tongue to nudge your lips apart and it doesn’t take you long to indulge.
They pull you closer to themselves, your bodies pressed together without a single inch of free space as they hold you, nearly afraid that you might disappear the second they loosen their grip. It’s the first time you have kissed in what feels like forever, even if it has been just a few weeks.
You can’t help but focus on the taste of whiskey in their mouth, it’s completely different from anything ever made inside the Walls. It nearly tastes “expensive”, for the lack of a better word. It’s been hours since they have last taken a sip and the flavor is still so vivid on their tongue. So much so that it nearly burns once your saliva begins mixing.
It’s only when the need for air becomes unbearable that the two of you pull away, a small string of saliva connecting your bodies. You run your tongue over your lip, breaking that connection and still getting one last taste of them. The sight causes a shiver to run down Hanji’s spine and they smile, gently placing their forehead against yours.
“I needed that,” they whisper, a smile stamped across their face and you nod, “I’m sorry for pushing you away, I’m just… Having a lot of big feelings that I couldn’t express but I have you now.”
“It’s okay, just don’t forget that I am here for and with you, okay?” You whisper back in a love-filled voice and they smile once more, nodding their head as their grip around you tightens ever so slightly, “You still taste like home.”
“Yeah? And what does that taste like?” They chuckle, nuzzling their nose against yours, enough that you can feel their glasses against your face.
“Like expensive whiskey,” you respond and Hanji laughs, the sound you’ve missed most these past few weeks and you are reminded yet again that home is whatever, wherever and whenever you are with them. No matter what.
Hange has taken notice of their lovely secretary— you, and how you always act so professionally. So corporate. Even after they had started subtly expressing their favor and admiration towards you in hopes you would catch on, they could never seem to get past your exterior. And as everyone knows, what Hange can't understand easily becomes their new fascination. What will it take for you to realize that this new fascination is, in fact, you? And when the cards are all eventually laid out, just how will you respond?
Hange's buzzing on the inside, just watching and waiting to find out... But can they handle it?
OR: a self-indulgent, (probably cliché in some ways) CEO!Hange × Secretary!Reader fantasy I tried so hard to form an actual plot around for the sake of not looking ridiculous.
tags: porn with plot, oral sex, vaginal fingering, alcohol, office sex, age difference, power dynamics, idk yall
WC: ~10.6K
You were punctual, never a minute late to work. You walk in with purpose through the front entrance of the tall building, scanning your ID card and making your way to the elevator, pressing the button to the top floor. You dress modestly for your workplace setting, never wanting to appear flashy or over the top. But still, you possess a beguiling and girlish flair, reflecting your youth as you were just one year fresh out of grad school. Being the one to greet important business partners and clients of Hange’s at the front desk or over the phone, you’re the first face and impression of the company, and you take that responsibility very seriously. Always with a calm and cordial smile to everyone, visitors and colleagues alike, it had become second nature for you to rely on that comportment. Being so young and already having a stable job at such a well-established and influential company meant a promising future for you, and you hoped your hard work would pay off to help you climb higher up the corporate ladder someday.
Paradis Enterprises is a think tank company and laboratory formed of the brightest minds in physics, biology, and chemistry, all collaborating in the development of new materials for industrial manufacturing, with Hange Zoë at the helm as CEO. Currently, at the notably young age of 32, they stepped up to the position 4 years ago after their good friend and the previous CEO Erwin Smith chose to step down and knew Hange was perfectly suited to take over.
Having worked hard for your dual degrees in biology and global business, you earned a summer internship after your second year of grad school at Paradis as a lab assistant in one of the Biology labs. You learned so much during your time there that you applied for the internship position again in your third year and were happily welcomed back. During your second internship, your eagerness and remarkable potential caught the eye of some of the higher-ups, including Hange. And so, by the end of your internship, you were called to Hange’s office to discuss setting you up with a job as soon as you graduated. Naturally, you jumped at the opportunity and have been working as Hange’s second hand ever since for over a year now.
Having just settled in for the day moments ago, you get to work sending emails to a list of clients. After being focused for an hour or so, you hear footsteps from the main hallway. Hange appears around the corner, coffee mug in hand, as they stride over to the front desk.
Cheerily they ask, “How’s my favorite secretary this morning?”
They cross their arms leaning over the top of the table, directly facing you. They never bother trying hard on their appearance; hair always messily swept up with their shorter fringe framing their face. They wore a beige turtleneck sweater with the sleeves pushed up to their elbows, the fit was comfortably loose and paired with black slacks and workmen’s boots. Hange wore boots more often than any shiny new dress shoes to work, always preferring comfort over style. Also, always based on the very likely chance they’d decide to spend their free time running around in the facilities. After all, working in labs and testing rooms alongside their employees was much more fulfilling than sitting idly in their stuffy office simply because they could.
“Good morning, Hange. Everything’s alright here. How is your day so far?” you greet them with your voice steady and soft as always, putting the paper in your hand down and turning your attention to them.
Hange was never one for formalities, insisting on being referred to by just their name by all employees. As you were one of the people they worked closest with, you had developed a friendly familiarity with one another. Would they prefer it if you dropped a bit of the professionalism at least around them, though? Yes. But maybe that’s just how you were. However, they couldn’t help but feel that there had to be more to you swirling just under the surface of what they could see. And they did hope to one day see you without a rigid corporate filter. How intriguing would that be? they thought.
Hange would stop by at least once a day for the simple purpose of conversation, but topics almost never dwelled on personal lives, especially never for you. You never divulged much of anything that wasn’t related to work or academics, no matter how much Hange subtly tried. Every now and then, you would mention the smallest detail about your interests or personal endeavors, and Hange would make an effort to remember these things about you; any little piece of you that they could absorb like a sponge and keep in mind. Sometimes they couldn’t help but reflect on how talking to you seemed to brighten their day more than they wanted to admit.
They blink away their thoughts to answer you, their ever-charming smile growing wider as they wave their hand casually, “Fine and all… very boring right now, though. So I figured I’d pay you a visit in the meantime!”
Before you could offer a reply, a ring from the front desk phone pulled your attention away. You smile as you reach for it, “Hold that thought, please.”
They nod in understanding and wait, listening as you greet the caller. They watch your eyebrow twitch as you listen, not missing how your lips, tinted a deep red, quirk to the side as they hear a not-so-happy voice shout in your ear. “I understand your complaint. However, this isn’t the right extension to call. I’d be happy to transfer you-“
You trail off as the client shouts over you, riled up by their own tirade. Hange watches your shoulders rise tensely, then relax and fall with a puff of your chest as you maintain your composure. A recentering technique of yours they noticed you did at times like this.
In an instant, your usual smile returns and your tone comes out overtly eager and appeasing. “Oh, yes I understand. How awful! I can imagine how frustrating that experience was for you after you’ve worked so hard. I’ll get you in contact with the correct department right away! They’ll be perfectly suited to fix this just for you. How does that sound?”
Hange hears the voice on the phone murmur a response, no longer shouting, as you politely laugh with relief evident on your face. “Of course, I’ll transfer you right now. Have a lovely day!” You press some buttons on the phone's dial pad and place the phone back in its holder with a heavy sigh.
Hange can’t help but chuckle a bit now that the call was over. “Who the hell was that, already yelling before lunchtime? You were talking to them like a preschool teacher trying to calm down a child throwing a tantrum!”
You draw your eyes back to Hange, feeling a small laugh escape you as well. “Just another one of our…um… lovely clients collaborating on our latest project. He was complaining about still waiting for invoices and some other things and wanted to speak to you directly, but obviously you or I wouldn’t have that.”
Hange scoffs, still amused and now recognizing who was on the phone, “I literally gave that guy all the right contacts to communicate with last time I spoke to him… Sorry he gave you such a hard time.” They smile at you apologetically.
“Oh, it’s fine. Most clients like that all tend to be the same, just wanting to take shortcuts and talk to who’s in charge to solve all their problems, even when it’s obvious it could be fixed if they just find the right department actually in charge of their issue,” you blink as if realizing you were speaking too casually then shrug dismissively with a small smile. “In any case, it’s no big deal, really. It happens all the time.”
Their eyes rest on you as you speak, a prideful smile on their lips. “I’m sure I’d be drowning in calls like that if I didn’t have you. A real lifesaver, you are.”
You hum a small laugh, “No need to thank me, Hange, it’s my job.”
Hange’s eyes soften, lingering on you in silence for a second before they counter, “I give credit where credit is due.”
You smile graciously at their words, letting a comfortable stretch of silence pass before you both resume talking for a while longer with your familiar, standard chatter.
Eventually, you check the time, “I don’t mean to cut the conversation short, but you have that virtual meeting with that new agency from Marley in about 5 minutes. Better get going.”
Hange eyes the watch on their wrist and sighs, “Right as always, y/n.” They chug the last of their coffee and turn to make their leave, drumming their fingers on the top of the reception desk as their hand slips off. “Always a pleasure, dear. I’ll be seeing you.”
You nod, offering them your signature well-mannered smile with a tilt of your head, “Of course, I always enjoy our chats!” Hange turns their head to you just before they round the corner. They smile back at you, a warm and personal one. And then they’re out of sight.
The day passes by and you find yourself staying later than you intended to, getting caught up in a state of hyper-focus while filling out forms and making phone calls. As you shut down your computer, the elevator doors at the end of the hall open and Hange steps out, still wearing their lab coat. They take notice of you and perk up slightly, walking towards the front desk. “How come you’re still here, y/n?”
You look away sheepishly, “Oh, I sort of lost track of time, but I just finished. So, I’ll be going now, don’t worry.” You start to pick up your things, slipping them into your bag as Hange watches. You turn back to them, striking up conversation, “How did your day go? Did anything exciting happen?”
Hange lets out an especially loud and sharp sigh, lifting their glasses a bit to rub the bridge of their nose. “Well… while I was in one of the Chem labs, someone didn’t turn off one of the burners, and the sprinklers went off. But, I don’t know if you’d call that exciting.”
They can’t help but finish the sentence off with a humored huff, but your eyes are already widening as you shoot up from your chair, “WHAT?! Are you alright?”
Hange lets their glasses fall back down as they’re a bit startled by the abrupt noise. They chuckle, “Yes, I am. Nothing caught on fire, luckily. Just some smoke.”
They stretch their arms up, bending back a bit to relieve some muscle tension from the long day, “I’d say a quick drink is in order after today. Will you be joining me?”
You jut your head back slightly in surprise, “Me? Why not someone else?”
Hange smiles, “Well, you’re also here right now, aren’t you? Plus, who else would I go with? Levi? Oh yeah, he’s real great company to sit down and have a drink with.” The edge of shameless sarcasm makes you bite your lip as you try not to laugh at the expense of the chief operating officer with the permanent scowl.
“Fair enough… I’ll go.” Hange has half a mind to keep their evident excitement to a minimum, so they simply chirp, “Great! I’ll go get my things!”
You acutely notice their slightly faster pace as they walk to their office down the hall while, somewhat clumsily, slipping off their lab coat. You wait at the elevator doors as they hurry back, now wearing their trench coat and shoulder bag. They beam at you as they press the elevator button to make your way out.
As you reach Hange’s car in the parking lot, you pause with a slight ‘um,’
“Are we driving there? In your personal car?”
Hange turns, a bit confused, “Yes, it's a bit far for walking, but it’s my favorite bar. It’s got a really relaxing atmosphere. You’ll like it.” They smile reassuringly as they reach past you, opening the passenger door for you and gesturing for you to get in. You simply nod, smoothing down the back of your skirt as you sit inside.
The car ride is filled with distinct chatter from Hange excitedly talking about their plans for working in the chem lab again tomorrow, with you listening intently, offering your own short but always interested responses and questions.
Hange slows the car as they pull up and park in front of a rather small and cozy bar; soft warm light spills out onto the dark street from the inside. “Here we are!”
As you both walk in, Hange holds the door open for you with an exaggeratedly chivalrous gesture and a grin, you chortle as you enter and thank them. The space emanates a rustic feel with brick walls, light wooden tables, and chairs. The bar area is simplistic and vintage-looking: no flashy lights, glass shelves, or fancy overhangs. Low music plays from what looks to be a refurbished jukebox in the far corner of the room. You had to agree now, the atmosphere in the place is pleasant and relaxing, putting you at ease. Hange leads you to two stools on the bar table.
“So what will you be having?” they ask enthusiastically as you take your seats. You think for a moment, looking at the shelves of alcohol behind the bartender, “I guess a margarita would be nice.” It comes out more like a question. Regardless, Hange nods with a pleased smile, calling the bartender over and ordering a margarita for you and a shot of whiskey for themselves.
You spark up conversation first, “This is a really nice bar, I wasn’t expecting a place so…” you trail off, trying to find a good word.
Hange chuckles, “So simple?”
You blink in surprise at their statement, then nod gingerly, hoping you haven’t offended them.
“It's my favorite bar for a reason, but not for bringing clients or business partners. To me, this place is more personal.” They turn to you smiling, a smile that looked as though they were about to continue their statement, but decided otherwise. ‘That’s why I brought you here,’ they thought, letting the words remain unsaid.
You offer a small smile back just as your drinks are being slid over, saying a hushed thanks to the bartender. As you both sip your drinks, you take notice of how strong yours is. Maybe that’s also why Hange likes it here. Hange suddenly speaks by calling your name first, “ I have to ask, where do you see yourself in the near future in your career?”
You’re taken aback by their question, carefully putting your thoughts into words for a moment, “Well,” you take another sip of your drink before you start, “I don’t want to sound entitled since I am happy with what I do now, but I think… Maybe I’d like to work more with marketing and public relations for the company. I like the idea of traveling and interacting with new people to teach them about our services, our ideas, and all the things we’re working on. I think what we do is really important and makes people’s lives easier,” you speak with increasingly more pride as you trace the stem of your glass absentmindedly, “I’m really happy to be a part of that in any way I can, but I feel like I want to show people just how much we’re contributing to the world, given everything I’ve learned since I’ve started working here.”
You turn back to look at Hange when you’re met with silence and find their intense stare with an unreadable expression. You shrink back a bit, worrying you said the wrong thing, “U-um, I’m not asking for a promotion or anything!”
At that, Hange lets out a boisterous laugh, “You crack me up sometimes, y’know that, dear? No, I’m not offended by anything you said; in fact, I’m very pleased. Proud, even.”
You nod, feeling a bit embarrassed that you misread their reaction. You awkwardly take another, longer sip of your drink, nearly finishing it. You place your cup back down. “I’m glad. I just want you to know that I’m really grateful for the opportunities you’ve given me. I never expected things would work out for me as well as they have, and it’s all thanks to your faith in me.“ You offer a slight bow of your head in gratitude. Hange finds themselves taken by your sincerity, smiling gleefully as you allow yourself to sit in the air of vulnerability around you now.
“You’re a bright young woman, y/n,” Hange starts, causing you to perk up curiously, “I have high hopes for what you can bring to this company in the future, not just as my secretary. I hired you directly because your resume and accomplishments, both during your internship and overall, are impressive beyond most people your age. You have more potential and competence than some of the people I already have working in the labs.” You chuckle at their playful jab, remembering the mishap in the chem lab earlier.
They continue, tilting their glass to you in emphasis, “You keep working hard, and you’ll go far here. That, I can promise.” You still, a bit dumbfounded for a moment, but when Hange doesn’t retract their glass from you, you take the hint and clink glasses with a smile that truly reaches your eyes this time. At the sight, Hange is starstruck, claiming a small victory in their mind as they finish their whiskey. You finish your margarita as well, placing it away from you.
“Let me get you another one.” Hange is about to call the bartender back, but you interject.
“Ah, really, I think one is enough for me. You don’t have to do that. Thank you.” There’s that professionalism again, they think. In response, they double down.
“Nonsense, I brought you here to treat you. Just one more for you and me?” They feel a bit guilty using a semblance of puppy dog eyes, but they really did think you deserved a time to relax. You give in and agree to one more drink, and Hange happily gets the bartender’s attention once more.
A comfortable silence settles over you both for a while as you listen to the white noise of jumbled conversations around the bar and the music from the jukebox. Hange does as well, all while stealing glances at you as you nurse your second drink.
After a short while of this, Hange speaks up again, wanting to draw your attention once more, “Honestly, it still surprises me you’re genuinely interested in this sort of work.” You snap out of your distant thoughts and look back at them, “Huh? Why’s that?”
“It’s just, you’re so young. At your age, I knew what I loved doing, but I was still naively stumbling through the career field. If I knew you back then, I’d be quite envious of an intelligent, beautiful young woman such as yourself who knows exactly what she wants and just goes for it.”
You accidentally gulp down more of your drink than you intended to at their words. You quickly put it down and mull over what you heard a few times, but you can’t come up with a response other than, “Oh… really?”
Hange nods confidently, finishing their second drink. “Yes, really. Hell, if I didn’t know you at all, I’d think a girl like you was interested more in the entertainment industry, something in the spotlight. You certainly have the looks and the charm.” They gesture about you with their hand enthusiastically and speak with a casual tone and easy smile.
You swear you see a hint of smugness visible in their smile. You blink as if you’re refocusing your eyes like a camera lens, subconsciously leaning closer. But whether it’s the alcohol from your second drink finally creeping into your senses and making you see things or not, you can’t tell. You couldn’t deny that you found Hange incredibly attractive, so hearing them compliment you like that stirred up a flustered sensation in you.
But what the hell were you thinking?
You were supposed to be having a simple recreational outing with your boss after a long day at work. A morale boost if anything. This wasn’t a date, so of course they wouldn’t be flirting with you, genius.
You feel a giggle rise in your throat as you laugh at yourself in disbelief at your own ridiculous thoughts. You turn away from Hange, your laughter becoming more unrestrained as you lean back, pushing your hair up messily with your hand. At this, Hange is completely baffled but can’t find it in themself to interrupt your laughter, instead watching in awe at never having heard you laugh with such zeal. And what a sight it was.
By the time you calm down with a loud sigh, your cheeks are faintly flushed and your eyes are half-lidded, blinking slowly.
Hange leans closer to you, speaking with mild concern, “Um, are you alright? What was so funny?”
You turn to them with a relaxed grin, your hand reaching up to press on their chest and push them back playfully, “Oh, nothing, nothing. Man… Maybe that second drink wasn’t a good idea after all.” You have the urge to fall into another laughing fit but restrain yourself, opting for a tight-lipped giggle.
Hange stiffens at the hand on their chest, it is only there for a moment as you push them back while giggling to yourself; your fingers dragging down slightly before you withdraw your hand completely. As you seem lost in your own world, Hange reaches into their pocket to grab their wallet, “A-Alright, I think it’s time to go. Let’s get you home.”
You turn to them with a confused frown, “Huh? Why?”
Hange chuckles, “Well, it’s clear you don’t drink often, now I feel guilty for encouraging you to get a second one. So let me take you home, okay?”
You let out a quiet noise that sounds like a grumble. Hange laughs now as they grab some cash from their wallet.
“What’s so funny?” You almost sound indignant as you squint suspiciously at them.
“Nothing, nothing…” It comes out teasing as Hange directs your words from earlier right back at you.
They place the cash on the table and stand up from their stool. With a sigh, you reluctantly do the same. You hop off then stand frozen with your arms out for balance, a bit startled as if you weren’t prepared for the landing. Hange waits at the door, holding it open for you as you walk with a lazy sway, but still balanced enough, so Hange fights the urge to support you in some way as they make their way to the car.
The car ride is spent in comfortable silence with the occasional directions from the GPS directing Hange to your townhouse apartment. At every red light, Hange glances back at you, smiling at your slight flush and slumped form against the armrest of the door as you stare off into the distance.
By the time they reached the parking lot of the complex, you had dozed off. Hange silently gushes to themself, mentally engraving the image before reaching over and gently stroking your arm to wake you. “Dear, wake up, it’s time to go.”
You lift your head up, fluttering your eyes open, realizing you had fallen asleep in your boss’s car on top of not watching your alcohol intake. You mentally curse yourself, wondering what’s gotten into you.
You sit up and turn to them while fumbling with your seatbelt, “I’m so sorry, Hange…”
They chuckle softly, “Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind.”
As you gather your purse and coat, Hange is already walking around the car to the passenger’s side, opening the door for you and offering their hand. With a slight stagger, you get out, taking their hand. Hange continues to walk behind you as you go up the stairs, a hand ghosting the small of your back to make sure you don’t trip.
You reach the second floor, walking through the open hallway, feeling the slight breeze of the evening until you stop at your door. Hange slips their hands in their coat pockets, watching with mild amusement as you rummage through your purse for your keys. You unlock the door while turning to Hange, standing firmly as you always do in spite of your slight intoxication.
Directing a grateful smile at them, you say, “Thank you for taking me for drinks, Hange.”
You then offer an apologetic bow of your head, “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, I should have known my limit. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
Hange tosses their head back with a genuine laugh, you lift your head back up in confusion. “There’s no need to apologize. It was nice to see you let loose this once. In fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing that more often.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and look off to the side, still feeling embarrassed. You feel yourself teeter sideways until you’re leaning against the door frame, from the way everything in your vision was shifting a little too fast when you move your eyes.
With their hands still in their pockets, Hange leans down, planting a soft lingering kiss on your cheek while you’re distracted.
Even in your impaired state, your eyes widen in shock, processing the sudden contact, but you can’t find the words to respond.
Drawing back with a bright smile on their face, Hange breaks the silence first, “It’s always a pleasure to have your company, y/n. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, they turn, letting their gaze stay on you for a second longer before finally walking down the hall to head back to their car.
“…R-Right.”
You’re not even sure they heard you. You’re still mentally replaying the exchange that just occurred. Your tired legs finally snap you out of your daze, and you pull yourself off the doorframe. With a groan at your growing sensitivity to the ceiling lights in the hallway, you slip inside your apartment, shutting the door.
Hange settles into their car again. They let out a sigh while leaning their head back on the headrest for a moment. They never expected the impulsive decision of inviting you for a quick drink to go the way it did, but they sure as hell were over the moon about it now. Just like a carefully curated experiment, they placed you in a new environment. And just as they had hoped, you, too, had exhibited new behaviors. And they soaked up every bit of it, absolutely captivated by it. They had to admit it to themself, they lost their sense of restraint just a moment ago when they kissed your cheek. But they just couldn’t help it.
There had to be more to you for them to see; they needed there to be more. And they’d find a way to uncover it. They always do.
There is a searing feeling inside of them. It’s only growing more intense, and only you can sate it. With another deep sigh, this one more resolute, they turn on the engine and start their drive home.
- - -
You come into work the next day, thankfully still on time, as the remnants of a light headache finally start to dissipate. You settle into your seat at the front desk with a light huff and get to work checking Hange’s inbox, riddled with new emails, to organize it for them.
A few minutes pass, and you hear Hange’s familiar footsteps rounding the corner. You turn and are greeted by their easygoing smile, coffee mug in hand as always, as they wave to you.
“Goooood morning!~”
You offer a stiff grin back. You can’t help but feel like you made a fool of yourself last night over drinks. And now, being back in the office after the fact, it makes you feel even more awkward. Not to mention remembering the kiss on the cheek that Hange surprised you with triggers a tingling sensation all over your face now. Did they even remember doing that? Maybe they were more far gone than they let on yesterday, and they just hide their tipsiness better than you do.
“Oh- Hi, Hange. Good morning to you, as well.”
Whether Hange notices your tense state or not, they don’t draw attention to it, simply smiling warmly at you for a moment before continuing, “I hope you didn’t get any hangover symptoms from our outing last night.”
You shake your head in response, “Ah, no, I’m fine. A slight headache earlier, but I took aspirin. Thank you for your concern.” You regain your usual composure, resting your arms on the desk as you fold your hands while speaking.
In the back of Hange’s mind, they feel slightly irritated by it now— how firmly you can still hold onto your workplace etiquette even after last night, when you had finally let go a little around them. But to them, it’s still the same challenge they willingly accepted long ago: to see a part of you no one else can. Now, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t stop the urge to fight tooth and nail for it.
They grin wider as they lean further on the desk, almost looming over you; in a steady voice, they almost coo with a dotting look of concern, “That’s good then. You know I wouldn’t want a sweet thing like you to spend all day suffering because of me!” Your fingers twitch in their folded position. You press your lips into a tight line, barely stopping a noise of surprise from coming out as you force yourself to nod.
There’s an intensity in Hange’s eyes that you were all too familiar with. It’s one that only exists when they’re fully enthralled by something, studying and scrutinizing it under their gaze to figure out everything they can about how it works.
They were looking at you that way right now.
And it made you want to squirm in your seat with the heat simmering inside of you that only seemed to grow by the minute in this conversation.
You let out a breathy laugh, about to respond and pretend you weren’t flustered, but Hange beats you to it, “I’ll be in my office for the rest of the day if you need me, dear!”
With that, they’re already pushing off the desk, withdrawing back down the hall with an undeniably cheeky smile etched on their lips.
You spend the rest of the day as you normally would: taking calls, scheduling meetings with clients, and running around some of the facilities to organize any information Hange would need to form their schedule for next week. You try your best to remain your usual focused and present self, but the way Hange acted towards you this morning is a thought you just can’t shake off. The lingering glances and touches, the close proximity, and the names of endearment had only gotten more frequent since the night before. They had always been the easily sociable type with you and everyone else, but there was no doubt that this was more than mere friendliness now.
As you sit at your desk, lost in thought, your lips curl into a small smirk, feeling a growing sting of excitement flushing your cheeks.
- - -
Being so easily distracted the whole day had significantly impacted your efficiency. You found yourself staying past your shift again, back at your desk after running around all day, now trying to get the last of your tasks done since it was the end of the work week. With a sigh, you grab the last of the sheets you printed out and store them in the filing cabinet.
You pause when you hear cheerful whistling echoing down the hall, turning rather quickly to meet Hange’s gaze that’s already on you. Their stare is calm and casual, but their lips are turned up into the ghost of a smirk. You shut the filing cabinet, “You’re still here, Hange? I didn’t realize how late it got, I figured I was the only one left.”
Hange walks around the front desk into the filing area where you stand, just a few strides short of standing in front of you. They lean against the wall, hands in their front pockets and watching you. “I noticed your things were still here an hour ago while you were somewhere else, so I decided to wait for you. Are you finished now?”
You quirk a brow in curiosity, “Yes, I am. But, wait for me? Why?”
Suddenly, Hange’s smile is as cheery as ever, “Just to chat with my favorite secretary! I’ve been cooped up in my office alone all day, and since you’re still here, I figured you might spare me a bit of your time before going home. I’ll drive you home again, too, if you’d like!”
You absentmindedly tap your fingers on the handle of the drawer, feeling your heart race a bit. There’s an almost hopeful look on their face, mixed with something you can’t describe, like they’re observing every move you make.
“Oh! Yes, of course I don’t mind.” You start to move back to your seat, but as you pass Hange they gently hold your arm to stop you.
“No, not here. It’s more comfortable in my office, dear. Come.” They speak so softly it makes your brain buzz.
They let go of your arm and start walking down the spacious hallway. You follow closely behind them as they reach the large doors at the end. They hold one open for you and you step inside.
You rarely go very far into Hange’s office, mostly just poking your head in the door for a moment to relay a message to them. So, as you walk on ahead of them, you let your eyes wander around the large room. It has much less of a cold and contemporary feel than the rest of the building. All the furniture is old-fashioned and made from dark wood, and a large, ornate rug lies under the desk area. You see various tall bookshelves almost touching the ceiling filled with books and files, as well as some interesting knick-knacks lying around on the accent tables. You take a seat in the chair across from Hange’s, your hands resting on your lap, as Hange grabs the glass pitcher on the table and pours you both some water before reclining comfortably in their own chair.
They look at you with a calm smile, and you feel shyness creep up inside of you, unsure of what to say.
Hange starts, “I heard you stepped in to help in the biology lab today. That was very kind of you, y/n.”
You blink in surprise, wondering how they got word of that, “Oh… Yes, I was just passing by, and when I dropped in to say hello, I realized they were pretty short-staffed while conducting some tests. I figured I could save them some time by helping set things up.”
You pause for a moment as you recall your time during your internship in the lab fondly, nostalgia glazing over your eyes and a smile curling onto your lips. “After all, I owe a lot to them since that’s where I got my start here. So I was happy to help.” You look up and offer a small grin before taking a sip of your water and looking away, feeling sheepish.
Hange studies your every movement, the way your eyes dart around the room, your strict posture in the chair with your legs crossed, even the unnecessarily secure grip you have on your cup.
“You’re always at the right place, at the right time. Always so eager to do what you can for everyone here. You’re a real charming girl all around. Stunning, intelligent, and compassionate too,” they muse out loud.
Their laugh that follows is light and placid, but you just know your own face isn’t conveying the same casualness. They were making no effort to be subtle anymore, and you were starting to feel your own resolve crack.
You feel the curl of your lips return as you look at them now, “You really think all those things about me?”
Hange mirrors your smile, though they hide their surprise at how you regained your composure so suddenly.
They take a sip of water and lean over the desk, “Of course I do, sweetheart. No one else can do what you do. I always get comments from clients about how capable you are, how sweet, too. I can’t lie, though, when they do it just… it makes me feel….” They look off as if trying to find the right word, a ghost of a smile ever so delicately gracing their face by the time they turn back to you. You notice something intense flicker in their eyes. It’s only there for a moment, but it’s enough for you to know, without a doubt in your mind, this was them pushing the boundaries. Hard.
To hell with good manners. You were reaching your limit at this point, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
You press on, holding eye contact calmly and squinting slightly as if to implore them to continue.
“What do you feel, Hange?”
By the tone of your voice, the soft murmur that’s slow but unwavering, Hange knows very well that you’ve caught on now. But what is that look you’re giving them?
You’re playing coy now.
So they should too.
They can’t help but want to push your buttons more, to see what makes you tick and how. They push off their chair, walking lazily around their desk with their arms crossed, thinking distantly, “That’s the question. But, do you really not know the answer?”
You tilt her head, your sharp eyes still watch them; your expression still cool and unwavering.“I might… but I think I’ll get the full picture if you tell me yourself.”
Hange looks at her wryly with a small huff of amusement, “Really gonna make me say it, huh?”
You say nothing, simply letting the smile on your tinted lips spread wider, the corners of your eyes crinkling with it, like you were enjoying this.
And you were.
It’s a look they’ve never seen on you before, and it’s dangerous.
They come around the desk to the front of it and lean it, just off to your right, “It’s just so nice seeing that pretty face greet me with a smile every morning… But the thing is, you smile like that at everyone. It’s so rehearsed… and it’s irritating…”
They slide off the desk and lean forward on the armrests of your chair, caging you with their arms as they peer down at you with those analytical eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses. They watch to see any change in your body language, even the slightest twitch, but there is none. That’s new.
“Why?”
You simply ask, soft and sure like your usual self, as if they weren’t just a few inches too close for personal space.
But those eyes you’re giving them; like you’re expecting something, like you’re prying into Hange’s mind— they were the one being studied now.
They let their next thought rest on the tip of their tongue for a moment before finally saying it, “Because I wanna see a smile that’s only meant for me.”
Your face changes, and you radiate satisfaction as your body relaxes back a bit. Your eyes suddenly flicker down their form, so up close and still caging you in before you look back up with a shameless grin. Your fingers start trailing up and down their bare forearms, up to where the sleeves of their button-down shirt are cuffed. Their grip on the armrests tightens, you notice.
“You’re sweet with your words, Hange… I really do always enjoy our little chats.”
You’d said that to them before, just never in that tone. Never with that extra layer of meaning.
Something in Hange, previously wound up so tightly, begins to unravel.
They let out a deep, almost exasperated chuckle as they look down and watch how your fingers trace their skin, “See, this is what vexes me about you the most. I can’t figure out what you’re thinking, not now, not ever. And I’d like to think I’m quite the observer. But when it’s you, I just can’t crack it. Do you have any guesses as to why?”
You hum in thought. Hange is used to resolving their curiosities with ease, being able to understand the object of their interest from the inside out in no time then reveling in the pleasure of it. But you just weren’t giving that to them. Instead, you confused them more and more with each passing second, and it was driving them up the wall.
Your gaze stays on your fingers, watching how they cause goosebumps to spread on Hange’s skin.
"Maybe it’s because you’re trying to figure me out like one of your little experiments,” you say teasingly, your voice light with it as your fingers pause deliberately for a moment before continuing. “You try to dissect everything like it’s some grand mystery with an answer right there waiting for you, but some things aren’t meant to be solved. They’re meant to be felt.”
You finally look back up at them, seeing the searing desperation behind their eyes, just barely restrained.
You ask again, more hushed but also more urgent, “What do you feel, Hange?”
Hange sucks in a breath. It’s ever so slightly unsteady as they bite their tongue, mulling over your words and racking their brain for a response.
They were excited.
This was invigorating in a way they’ve never felt, even better than any breakthrough. They hear the words spill out of their mouth before they can really process them.
“What do I feel? …I can’t help but feel this- this ache in my body when I’m near you.” They let out a huff of laughter, “It’s a real problem.” They’re narrowing their eyes at you, their lips in a tight grin with gritted teeth, enticing you. Showing you they’re not playing games anymore.
While you listen, you wantonly shift your gaze from their eyes to their lips, then back up again, subtly biting your own lip as your smirk grows wider, no longer caring to be subtle. But you quickly change your expression to respond; eyes wide with faux puzzlement, your voice softly ringing out almost tauntingly honeyed.
“Oh, that does sound like a problem. Is it really my fault?” You sound almost delighted behind the pretend pout of concern you show.
Hange chuckles, feeling the tension in their body diminish for a moment as they look down because of your off-handed comment, then back to you, “All your fault, dollface. You gonna help me?”
They lean in ever closer, like they were daring you. Their voice drops to a whisper that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Or are you gonna walk out the door and leave me all alone craving you?”
You quirk a brow with a coquettish smile, drawing your head back to look at them fully once again, not realizing you had leaned in closer as well.
“Craving, you say?”
Hange feels their jaw clench at your teasing, their grip on the armrests tightening until the wood creaks once in protest under the force. With brows knitted together and a smile now faded into a slight grimace of burning need, they simply nod, their eyes never leaving yours.
You tilt your head to the side with a sweet hum, inching the slightest bit closer again.
“How can I say no to that?”
In a heartbeat, they’re crashing their lips on yours, firm but not forceful, giving you every liberty to pull away if you so choose.
But as soon as they feel how you lean in and kiss back, any remnant of restraint Hange had flies out of their head. The kiss quickly turns fiery. They lean forward, towering over you, and you crane your head up a bit higher. You match their rhythm in an instant, hands reaching to hold the back of their head while your gentle fingers tangle in their hair. Hange groans and braces themselves against the back of your chair with one hand. They swipe their tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance. In response, you softly tug their bottom lip with your teeth, and they swear their head starts spinning.
They kiss back feverishly until you finally part your lips wide enough and let them in. Their free hand starts gliding up your leg, lifting your skirt past your knees slowly, inch by inch, and it makes you keen forward into them sighing against their lips. When their hand starts moving to your inner thigh, you pull away. They can't help but chase after your lips, but one of your hands presses on their chest, holding them there where they can’t reach you. You almost laugh at the eyes of a kicked puppy they give you.
“I can take it from here…”
Suddenly, Hange is being pushed back by their shoulders to stand upright against the desk with a gentle but sturdy force they didn’t know you had. You lean forward in your chair slightly, your heavy-lidded eyes flickering between theirs and down to where your hands are reaching.
Wordlessly, you start to pull at their belt buckle, and Hange’s skin ignites at the light brushing of your fingers. You can see their eyes blown wide behind their glasses, clutching onto the desk behind them as they watch you, stunned. They look like their mind is going a mile a minute.
So cute.
When you unclasp their belt, now fiddling with the button on their pants, you pull them out of their thoughts with your voice so soft and sweet, “You can relax.”
Hange definitely feels the taunting edge in your statement, and you can’t help but giggle at how their furrowed brows twitch because of it.
They had to regain control somehow, but how could they when you were looking at them like that?
“Are you nervous, Hange?”
They narrow their eyes at you with an air of challenge, their throat oddly dry, but they retort cooly, “Nervous? That’s not it… I’m just- awfully intrigued by you right now”, their lips twitch into a lopsided grin, “Though, I have to admit you’re making it harder and harder to think straight, dear.”
You only grin back impishly. In a smooth motion, you unzip their pants and pull them down along with their underwear, a string of wetness still connecting the fabric to their core as their clothes pool above their knees. Hange instantly stiffens with a straight spine at the feeling of cool air now surrounding them, and their eyes stare unblinking as you trail your nails along their bare thighs.
They take their bottom lip between their teeth as one hand takes the lead, and your fingers softly trail between their soaked folds. Hange sees the musing look on your face as you experimentally ghost your fingers on their clit, causing a shiver to crawl up their spine. They stay as quiet and still as possible, watching in petrified awe at how you start to rub soft, tight circles on them. They let out soft pants when you pick up speed and press slightly harder, then slow down again to run your fingers further back to their entrance and pick up more of their slick.
Hange tilts their head back as they look down at you and let out a breathy laugh, meant to sound peeved but undeniably laced with desperation, “Damn it love, why’re you teasing me?”
You look up at them with wide eyes, your curled lips puffy and smeared with your lipstick parted slightly as your own breathing grows heavier. The quicker pace of your fingers on their clit returns, and now it’s almost tormenting, making their hips stutter as they hiss. “A-ah!”
You quip, “You’ve spent all this time poking and prodding at my mind, trying to see how I react to what you say, what you do, how close you get… You just can’t help yourself when your curiosity is piqued. I’ve honestly noticed it every now and again, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.” You end your sentence with a small chuckle, mostly to yourself, as you let your gaze fall back to your working hand, languidly marvelling at the sight of their drenched cunt every time you spread their folds open just a bit with your fingers.
“Every time you got a bit too friendly, a bit too close, I would wonder to myself why. But, just look at you right now… I know why.”
Whether their face is flushed deeply due to your words or your actions, they don’t know anymore. But they’re gasping for air now, unable to respond with any more than a hushed string of curses as their shoulders hunch inwards from their twitching. They see more of their juices dripping out of them and onto your hand every time you drag your eager fingers back up.
As they start to close their eyes, you withdraw your hand completely, and they look down at you almost frantically.
“W-why did you-”
They trail off, dumbfounded as you push your chair back with an impatient huff and get on your knees in front of them. They suddenly need to rely more on the desk to hold up their weight as you inch closer to them, undoing the first few buttons of your blouse. It slides down your shoulder as you crawl, exposing enough to see even the top trimming of your bra. You looked so breathtaking, and Hange was so painfully hot at this point.
Their patience was wearing thin. Part of them wanted to reach out, grab you, and have their way with you. To make you theirs like they’d always imagined.
Yet nothing about this encounter was turning out the way they’d anticipated. The other part of them… the part that was winning their own inner battle by a landslide at this point, wanted to give in to your touch and hang on to every word that comes out of that pretty mouth.
While they’re lost in thought, you make quick work of unzipping their boots to pull them off, tossing them somewhere you don’t care to see behind you, then pulling their pants and underwear the rest of the way off their body, unceremoniously pushing it all aside.
They let out a whimper they didn’t mean to as you take hold of one of their thighs and gently pull it up and over your shoulder. You trail wet kisses along their inner thigh, each time inching closer to their exposed core until your tongue darts out and flicks against their clit once, finally tasting them. You hum at the taste and your eyes bore into them, intense with desire and watching every change in their face as you take another lick, and then another.
Each time, Hange spasms, fingernails digging further into the wood of the desk with every soft flick of your tongue. Just when they start getting used to the sensation, you drag a long stripe from their soaked entrance to their clit before latching onto them, and now they were just putty in your hands.
You suckle gently at first, slowly rolling your tongue against them in a fluid motion. You alternate between giving attention to their clit and to their hole to lap up more of their slick. You close her eyes blissfully, savoring their taste as you push your tongue inside just far enough to make them really feel it, before withdrawing to their clit once more.
Hange groans loudly as you create a suction around their clit with your lips, and they reach down with a shaking hand to gently tuck a fallen strand of hair away from your face.
“God, look at me again, sweetheart.”
You bury your head further between their thighs as you set a rhythm with the suction of your lips, looking up at them like they asked, her eyes dilated and hungry. A whine catches in their throat at the sight. They snake their hand behind your head to take off the clip holding up your hair, toss it behind them on the desk, and instead use their hand to keep your hair out of your face.
“That’s it… so good. You do it so good- F-fuck…”
You mewl with delight at their praise, and the vibrations around their clit send a shock through Hange’s body.
They huff out a breathless laugh despite being severely overwhelmed, their grip on your hair tightens, “Who taught you all this, huh?”
You pull away fully with a little ‘pop,’ leaving lazy kisses down their thigh once more with such a proudly devilish smile.
“Don’t worry about it. Plus, I don’t need to be taught… I just need to watch you.”
Hange absentmindedly bucks their hips as you continue planting wet kisses on them instead of giving them attention where they need it most. Your other hand pushes their shirt up as you graze over their stomach, admiring how their muscles tense on contact, their whole body shuddering at your touch. They draw in a ragged breath, their voice the quietest you’ve ever heard it when they beg,
“Please… I…”
They can’t get another word out. They look down at you, completely wrecked, a deep blush reaching the tips of their ears, their chest heaving with each shaky breath. Their pleading eyes peek over the glasses slipping down their nose, almost like they’re agonizing. The scene before you tugs at your heartstrings, and you decide to give them what they need.
You latch onto their clit once more, the hand tracing their abdomen now creeping down and prodding at their entrance before your middle finger slips inside with ease. Hange grunts through gritted teeth, their posture slouches further, and they buck forward to meet your pace as you start to curl your finger inside of them. As their moans grow louder, they start tugging you closer by your hair as their hips roll desperately against your mouth. You let them, relinquishing just a bit of control so they can use your mouth how they please, knowing they can’t help themselves anymore from the need to chase their release.
They’re so lost in their own euphoria, grinding at a rhythm that makes her own thighs clench together. You add your ring finger to join the first inside of them, angling it to brush against their walls every time you curl them upwards. A mix of your drool and their slick drips down your wrist and chin and onto the valley of your breasts as you make your goal nothing but getting them to their end. Broken whines accompany every exhale Hange lets out, like they can’t take it much longer.
“M-mnh… just like that. Shit, you’re perfect.”
You mewl against them, completely enraptured by the blissed out expression on their face. Your gaze alone is taking their very soul, coaxing them to let go and give you what you want. Hange feels every fiber of their being calling out to you for more, entranced by how this dominant aura they never fathomed you could hold only intensifies every beautiful thing they ever saw in you. Their body is shaking openly now, and they’re panting so hard their glasses have fogged over.
You feel their walls flutter tighter around your fingers, and you know they’re close. You groan in need, the ravenous expectation evident in your eyes, sharp and demanding. Hange’s quivering voice is quieter once more, their vocal cords embarrassingly starting to give out on them as their orgasm approaches, and they don’t care. You increase your speed, fingers pushing in deeper inside of them as you suck on their clit more fervently, nails digging into the plushness of their thigh on your shoulder to steel your own resolve as they start to spasm.
“Ah! Please… Please, d-don’t stop…”
Suddenly, their entire body tenses. Electricity crackles through their veins as their breath catches in their lungs for a moment before their posture completely caves in on itself again, and the most raw sound you’ve ever heard erupts from deep within their chest.
“FFFUCK.”
Your eyes flutter, and you let out a satisfied moan of your own when you feel their walls clamp around your fingers as their essence drips out of them and down your knuckles. Despite their grip on your hair trying to weakly pull you away, you continue working them through their climax until they’re wheezing and convulsing. That’s when you’re satisfied. You take in their disheveled state with vibrant pride as you slowly withdraw yourself.
The remnants of the searing ecstasy across their skin simmer down to a warm tingle in their body, muscles still twitching as they come down from their high. You gently withdraw your finger from inside of them, tenderly cleaning up the mess between their thighs for them with your tongue before slowly lowering their leg back down from your shoulder for them.
When you fully pull back— catching your own breath while licking the corners of your mouth clean, your grip on their thigh softened to soothing caresses— you look up at them. Your glossed lips eagerly curl into a vibrant smile with such an elated gleam in your eyes.
And there, Hange thinks while nearly melting before you at the sight, there is the smile that’d be only theirs to see.
Out of a profound need to feel you close again, they quickly tug you up and against their body before they kiss you with clinging desperation.
Hange groans, tasting themself on your tongue. The kiss is as passionate as the first, but this time more slow and tender as they still recover from the overwhelming daze of their orgasm. You reciprocate their fervor without hesitation, wrapping your arms around their neck as your knees feel weak from kneeling… among other reasons.
Hange embraces you, their hands on your waist tighten, fingers clutching onto the fabric of your blouse as their eyes fall closed. You tilt your head to the side to kiss them deeper, offering them the closeness they seek without question now. They hold you and kiss you like they need to make sure for certain that you’re actually here with them; that the last hour wasn’t all another daydream and you had actually gone home ages ago while they’d been zoned out in their office chair again with the real world completely drowned out.
With your lips still connected, Hange’s hands move to grip your hips as they turn around so your backside bumps against the edge of the desk now. Slowly, they trail lower down your thighs until they lift you onto the surface. You make a noise of surprise against their mouth as you’re lifted off the ground. As you’re placed down, you break the kiss. Without a second thought, Hange chases your lips again, eyes still closed and body still kindling with longing.
But when you hold them back with a hand on their chest, they finally open their eyes, their mouth slightly agape, and wanting more. Hoping for more.
They hear a breathless chuckle from you as you don’t let them get any closer, and they slump in defeat as they rest their weight on their hands on either side of you. They wanted to sound frustrated, but their voice comes out softly through a smile, laced with that want they can no longer hide.
“Now, why’re you doing this to me? Can’t you see I’m trying to return the favor?”
At this, you quirk a brow, tilting back further as you shake your head with an amused yet fond grin.
“Ah-ah… You’ve gotta earn that.”
They pull back a bit, but not too far. They push their crooked glasses up with a huff of incredulous laughter, lips upturning in a lopsided grin in spite of themself.
“Yeah? How can I do that?”
You stay silent for a moment. You pull back your hand from their chest, your fingers lightly tracing down the buttons of their shirt as you hum in thought. That touch alone has Hange practically shivering again. Your eyes never once leave theirs when you speak next with conviction.
“Ask me out to dinner first. Then maybe you can.”
Hange feels the sting of blush on their cheeks as they laugh wholeheartedly, looking down for a moment then back at you. Your simple request caught them off guard for some reason.
Maybe the heat of your shared moment fried their brain and left them unable to think straight anymore. Normally, asking you out would’ve been the first step; the step they’d planned to take first. But that was before you pulled them into your web they had no idea was there until there was no saving them. The post-sex clarity left them feeling flustered and lost. And now, to top it all off, you had beaten them to the punch of bringing up that question without them even realizing it.
Nothing went at all how they planned it to, did it?
“Right, dinner. That’s um… a good place to start. Well, not ‘start’. We’ve clearly already started something. Unless you don’t think so! I wouldn’t want to assume what you’re thinking after all and-“
Their words are cut short when you plant another short kiss on their lips, and they quickly get the hint that they need to shut up. You giggle at the look on their face and how they purse their lips tightly as if to keep their words from spilling out again.
“Sorry. You were rambling. But I do think we’ve started something here. So… would you like to continue this and actually ask me now?” Your voice is entwined with gentle amusement near the end as you now wait patiently for them to gather their scattered thoughts.
Hange lets out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding, strong enough to blow their fringe up. They straighten up and look at you directly with a newfound intensity, an air of vulnerability evident in their eyes as they meet your watchful gaze.
Their hand reaches out for yours, capturing it in their gentle grasp as they start with your name, “Would you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night? I got ahead of myself… I-I guess we both did. But I want to do this right. I didn’t make a move just for this to be a one-time thing, you know. I’m serious about you. Hell, I think about you every day and-“
Their eyes widen for a moment as they catch themselves getting off track again. A mix between a sigh and a sheepish laugh escapes them, and they fight the urge to rip their gaze away from yours as they continue. Their thumb grazes over your knuckles softly.
“What I’m trying to say is, I want to get to know so much more of you… if you’ll have me.” They search your eyes hopefully, the lopsided and earnest grin that only you could draw out of them creeping back onto their lips. “So, what do you say?”
A delighted smile blooms on your lips, your own fingers tightening around their hand as you give Hange that look that makes their head spin.
“I’d say that sounds perfect.”
Hi :D
So I wrote this a while ago and just kinda let it marinate for a damn long time in between proofreading bc I definitely need to be medicated. Posting this on the last day of kinktober is so funny.
I've never written a fanfic before and I definitely have a lot I'd like to learn if I continue to do so. I'd be so happy if anyone could drop a comment and tell me their thoughts on this/what they liked. And honestly, any writing advice from any other fic writers who might read this would be greatly appreciated, it's bc of y'all that I said fuck it and tried it out for myself lol.
Hange has taken notice of their lovely secretary— you, and how you always act so professionally. So corporate. Even after they had started subtly expressing their favor and admiration towards you in hopes you would catch on, they could never seem to get past your exterior. And as everyone knows, what Hange can't understand easily becomes their new fascination. What will it take for you to realize that this new fascination is, in fact, you? And when the cards are all eventually laid out, just how will you respond?
Hange's buzzing on the inside, just watching and waiting to find out... But can they handle it?
OR: a self-indulgent, (probably cliché in some ways) CEO!Hange × Secretary!Reader fantasy I tried so hard to form an actual plot around for the sake of not looking ridiculous.
tags: porn with plot, oral sex, vaginal fingering, alcohol, office sex, age difference, power dynamics, idk yall
WC: ~10.6K
You were punctual, never a minute late to work. You walk in with purpose through the front entrance of the tall building, scanning your ID card and making your way to the elevator, pressing the button to the top floor. You dress modestly for your workplace setting, never wanting to appear flashy or over the top. But still, you possess a beguiling and girlish flair, reflecting your youth as you were just one year fresh out of grad school. Being the one to greet important business partners and clients of Hange’s at the front desk or over the phone, you’re the first face and impression of the company, and you take that responsibility very seriously. Always with a calm and cordial smile to everyone, visitors and colleagues alike, it had become second nature for you to rely on that comportment. Being so young and already having a stable job at such a well-established and influential company meant a promising future for you, and you hoped your hard work would pay off to help you climb higher up the corporate ladder someday.
Paradis Enterprises is a think tank company and laboratory formed of the brightest minds in physics, biology, and chemistry, all collaborating in the development of new materials for industrial manufacturing, with Hange Zoë at the helm as CEO. Currently, at the notably young age of 32, they stepped up to the position 4 years ago after their good friend and the previous CEO Erwin Smith chose to step down and knew Hange was perfectly suited to take over.
Having worked hard for your dual degrees in biology and global business, you earned a summer internship after your second year of grad school at Paradis as a lab assistant in one of the Biology labs. You learned so much during your time there that you applied for the internship position again in your third year and were happily welcomed back. During your second internship, your eagerness and remarkable potential caught the eye of some of the higher-ups, including Hange. And so, by the end of your internship, you were called to Hange’s office to discuss setting you up with a job as soon as you graduated. Naturally, you jumped at the opportunity and have been working as Hange’s second hand ever since for over a year now.
Having just settled in for the day moments ago, you get to work sending emails to a list of clients. After being focused for an hour or so, you hear footsteps from the main hallway. Hange appears around the corner, coffee mug in hand, as they stride over to the front desk.
Cheerily they ask, “How’s my favorite secretary this morning?”
They cross their arms leaning over the top of the table, directly facing you. They never bother trying hard on their appearance; hair always messily swept up with their shorter fringe framing their face. They wore a beige turtleneck sweater with the sleeves pushed up to their elbows, the fit was comfortably loose and paired with black slacks and workmen’s boots. Hange wore boots more often than any shiny new dress shoes to work, always preferring comfort over style. Also, always based on the very likely chance they’d decide to spend their free time running around in the facilities. After all, working in labs and testing rooms alongside their employees was much more fulfilling than sitting idly in their stuffy office simply because they could.
“Good morning, Hange. Everything’s alright here. How is your day so far?” you greet them with your voice steady and soft as always, putting the paper in your hand down and turning your attention to them.
Hange was never one for formalities, insisting on being referred to by just their name by all employees. As you were one of the people they worked closest with, you had developed a friendly familiarity with one another. Would they prefer it if you dropped a bit of the professionalism at least around them, though? Yes. But maybe that’s just how you were. However, they couldn’t help but feel that there had to be more to you swirling just under the surface of what they could see. And they did hope to one day see you without a rigid corporate filter. How intriguing would that be? they thought.
Hange would stop by at least once a day for the simple purpose of conversation, but topics almost never dwelled on personal lives, especially never for you. You never divulged much of anything that wasn’t related to work or academics, no matter how much Hange subtly tried. Every now and then, you would mention the smallest detail about your interests or personal endeavors, and Hange would make an effort to remember these things about you; any little piece of you that they could absorb like a sponge and keep in mind. Sometimes they couldn’t help but reflect on how talking to you seemed to brighten their day more than they wanted to admit.
They blink away their thoughts to answer you, their ever-charming smile growing wider as they wave their hand casually, “Fine and all… very boring right now, though. So I figured I’d pay you a visit in the meantime!”
Before you could offer a reply, a ring from the front desk phone pulled your attention away. You smile as you reach for it, “Hold that thought, please.”
They nod in understanding and wait, listening as you greet the caller. They watch your eyebrow twitch as you listen, not missing how your lips, tinted a deep red, quirk to the side as they hear a not-so-happy voice shout in your ear. “I understand your complaint. However, this isn’t the right extension to call. I’d be happy to transfer you-“
You trail off as the client shouts over you, riled up by their own tirade. Hange watches your shoulders rise tensely, then relax and fall with a puff of your chest as you maintain your composure. A recentering technique of yours they noticed you did at times like this.
In an instant, your usual smile returns and your tone comes out overtly eager and appeasing. “Oh, yes I understand. How awful! I can imagine how frustrating that experience was for you after you’ve worked so hard. I’ll get you in contact with the correct department right away! They’ll be perfectly suited to fix this just for you. How does that sound?”
Hange hears the voice on the phone murmur a response, no longer shouting, as you politely laugh with relief evident on your face. “Of course, I’ll transfer you right now. Have a lovely day!” You press some buttons on the phone's dial pad and place the phone back in its holder with a heavy sigh.
Hange can’t help but chuckle a bit now that the call was over. “Who the hell was that, already yelling before lunchtime? You were talking to them like a preschool teacher trying to calm down a child throwing a tantrum!”
You draw your eyes back to Hange, feeling a small laugh escape you as well. “Just another one of our…um… lovely clients collaborating on our latest project. He was complaining about still waiting for invoices and some other things and wanted to speak to you directly, but obviously you or I wouldn’t have that.”
Hange scoffs, still amused and now recognizing who was on the phone, “I literally gave that guy all the right contacts to communicate with last time I spoke to him… Sorry he gave you such a hard time.” They smile at you apologetically.
“Oh, it’s fine. Most clients like that all tend to be the same, just wanting to take shortcuts and talk to who’s in charge to solve all their problems, even when it’s obvious it could be fixed if they just find the right department actually in charge of their issue,” you blink as if realizing you were speaking too casually then shrug dismissively with a small smile. “In any case, it’s no big deal, really. It happens all the time.”
Their eyes rest on you as you speak, a prideful smile on their lips. “I’m sure I’d be drowning in calls like that if I didn’t have you. A real lifesaver, you are.”
You hum a small laugh, “No need to thank me, Hange, it’s my job.”
Hange’s eyes soften, lingering on you in silence for a second before they counter, “I give credit where credit is due.”
You smile graciously at their words, letting a comfortable stretch of silence pass before you both resume talking for a while longer with your familiar, standard chatter.
Eventually, you check the time, “I don’t mean to cut the conversation short, but you have that virtual meeting with that new agency from Marley in about 5 minutes. Better get going.”
Hange eyes the watch on their wrist and sighs, “Right as always, y/n.” They chug the last of their coffee and turn to make their leave, drumming their fingers on the top of the reception desk as their hand slips off. “Always a pleasure, dear. I’ll be seeing you.”
You nod, offering them your signature well-mannered smile with a tilt of your head, “Of course, I always enjoy our chats!” Hange turns their head to you just before they round the corner. They smile back at you, a warm and personal one. And then they’re out of sight.
The day passes by and you find yourself staying later than you intended to, getting caught up in a state of hyper-focus while filling out forms and making phone calls. As you shut down your computer, the elevator doors at the end of the hall open and Hange steps out, still wearing their lab coat. They take notice of you and perk up slightly, walking towards the front desk. “How come you’re still here, y/n?”
You look away sheepishly, “Oh, I sort of lost track of time, but I just finished. So, I’ll be going now, don’t worry.” You start to pick up your things, slipping them into your bag as Hange watches. You turn back to them, striking up conversation, “How did your day go? Did anything exciting happen?”
Hange lets out an especially loud and sharp sigh, lifting their glasses a bit to rub the bridge of their nose. “Well… while I was in one of the Chem labs, someone didn’t turn off one of the burners, and the sprinklers went off. But, I don’t know if you’d call that exciting.”
They can’t help but finish the sentence off with a humored huff, but your eyes are already widening as you shoot up from your chair, “WHAT?! Are you alright?”
Hange lets their glasses fall back down as they’re a bit startled by the abrupt noise. They chuckle, “Yes, I am. Nothing caught on fire, luckily. Just some smoke.”
They stretch their arms up, bending back a bit to relieve some muscle tension from the long day, “I’d say a quick drink is in order after today. Will you be joining me?”
You jut your head back slightly in surprise, “Me? Why not someone else?”
Hange smiles, “Well, you’re also here right now, aren’t you? Plus, who else would I go with? Levi? Oh yeah, he’s real great company to sit down and have a drink with.” The edge of shameless sarcasm makes you bite your lip as you try not to laugh at the expense of the chief operating officer with the permanent scowl.
“Fair enough… I’ll go.” Hange has half a mind to keep their evident excitement to a minimum, so they simply chirp, “Great! I’ll go get my things!”
You acutely notice their slightly faster pace as they walk to their office down the hall while, somewhat clumsily, slipping off their lab coat. You wait at the elevator doors as they hurry back, now wearing their trench coat and shoulder bag. They beam at you as they press the elevator button to make your way out.
As you reach Hange’s car in the parking lot, you pause with a slight ‘um,’
“Are we driving there? In your personal car?”
Hange turns, a bit confused, “Yes, it's a bit far for walking, but it’s my favorite bar. It’s got a really relaxing atmosphere. You’ll like it.” They smile reassuringly as they reach past you, opening the passenger door for you and gesturing for you to get in. You simply nod, smoothing down the back of your skirt as you sit inside.
The car ride is filled with distinct chatter from Hange excitedly talking about their plans for working in the chem lab again tomorrow, with you listening intently, offering your own short but always interested responses and questions.
Hange slows the car as they pull up and park in front of a rather small and cozy bar; soft warm light spills out onto the dark street from the inside. “Here we are!”
As you both walk in, Hange holds the door open for you with an exaggeratedly chivalrous gesture and a grin, you chortle as you enter and thank them. The space emanates a rustic feel with brick walls, light wooden tables, and chairs. The bar area is simplistic and vintage-looking: no flashy lights, glass shelves, or fancy overhangs. Low music plays from what looks to be a refurbished jukebox in the far corner of the room. You had to agree now, the atmosphere in the place is pleasant and relaxing, putting you at ease. Hange leads you to two stools on the bar table.
“So what will you be having?” they ask enthusiastically as you take your seats. You think for a moment, looking at the shelves of alcohol behind the bartender, “I guess a margarita would be nice.” It comes out more like a question. Regardless, Hange nods with a pleased smile, calling the bartender over and ordering a margarita for you and a shot of whiskey for themselves.
You spark up conversation first, “This is a really nice bar, I wasn’t expecting a place so…” you trail off, trying to find a good word.
Hange chuckles, “So simple?”
You blink in surprise at their statement, then nod gingerly, hoping you haven’t offended them.
“It's my favorite bar for a reason, but not for bringing clients or business partners. To me, this place is more personal.” They turn to you smiling, a smile that looked as though they were about to continue their statement, but decided otherwise. ‘That’s why I brought you here,’ they thought, letting the words remain unsaid.
You offer a small smile back just as your drinks are being slid over, saying a hushed thanks to the bartender. As you both sip your drinks, you take notice of how strong yours is. Maybe that’s also why Hange likes it here. Hange suddenly speaks by calling your name first, “ I have to ask, where do you see yourself in the near future in your career?”
You’re taken aback by their question, carefully putting your thoughts into words for a moment, “Well,” you take another sip of your drink before you start, “I don’t want to sound entitled since I am happy with what I do now, but I think… Maybe I’d like to work more with marketing and public relations for the company. I like the idea of traveling and interacting with new people to teach them about our services, our ideas, and all the things we’re working on. I think what we do is really important and makes people’s lives easier,” you speak with increasingly more pride as you trace the stem of your glass absentmindedly, “I’m really happy to be a part of that in any way I can, but I feel like I want to show people just how much we’re contributing to the world, given everything I’ve learned since I’ve started working here.”
You turn back to look at Hange when you’re met with silence and find their intense stare with an unreadable expression. You shrink back a bit, worrying you said the wrong thing, “U-um, I’m not asking for a promotion or anything!”
At that, Hange lets out a boisterous laugh, “You crack me up sometimes, y’know that, dear? No, I’m not offended by anything you said; in fact, I’m very pleased. Proud, even.”
You nod, feeling a bit embarrassed that you misread their reaction. You awkwardly take another, longer sip of your drink, nearly finishing it. You place your cup back down. “I’m glad. I just want you to know that I’m really grateful for the opportunities you’ve given me. I never expected things would work out for me as well as they have, and it’s all thanks to your faith in me.“ You offer a slight bow of your head in gratitude. Hange finds themselves taken by your sincerity, smiling gleefully as you allow yourself to sit in the air of vulnerability around you now.
“You’re a bright young woman, y/n,” Hange starts, causing you to perk up curiously, “I have high hopes for what you can bring to this company in the future, not just as my secretary. I hired you directly because your resume and accomplishments, both during your internship and overall, are impressive beyond most people your age. You have more potential and competence than some of the people I already have working in the labs.” You chuckle at their playful jab, remembering the mishap in the chem lab earlier.
They continue, tilting their glass to you in emphasis, “You keep working hard, and you’ll go far here. That, I can promise.” You still, a bit dumbfounded for a moment, but when Hange doesn’t retract their glass from you, you take the hint and clink glasses with a smile that truly reaches your eyes this time. At the sight, Hange is starstruck, claiming a small victory in their mind as they finish their whiskey. You finish your margarita as well, placing it away from you.
“Let me get you another one.” Hange is about to call the bartender back, but you interject.
“Ah, really, I think one is enough for me. You don’t have to do that. Thank you.” There’s that professionalism again, they think. In response, they double down.
“Nonsense, I brought you here to treat you. Just one more for you and me?” They feel a bit guilty using a semblance of puppy dog eyes, but they really did think you deserved a time to relax. You give in and agree to one more drink, and Hange happily gets the bartender’s attention once more.
A comfortable silence settles over you both for a while as you listen to the white noise of jumbled conversations around the bar and the music from the jukebox. Hange does as well, all while stealing glances at you as you nurse your second drink.
After a short while of this, Hange speaks up again, wanting to draw your attention once more, “Honestly, it still surprises me you’re genuinely interested in this sort of work.” You snap out of your distant thoughts and look back at them, “Huh? Why’s that?”
“It’s just, you’re so young. At your age, I knew what I loved doing, but I was still naively stumbling through the career field. If I knew you back then, I’d be quite envious of an intelligent, beautiful young woman such as yourself who knows exactly what she wants and just goes for it.”
You accidentally gulp down more of your drink than you intended to at their words. You quickly put it down and mull over what you heard a few times, but you can’t come up with a response other than, “Oh… really?”
Hange nods confidently, finishing their second drink. “Yes, really. Hell, if I didn’t know you at all, I’d think a girl like you was interested more in the entertainment industry, something in the spotlight. You certainly have the looks and the charm.” They gesture about you with their hand enthusiastically and speak with a casual tone and easy smile.
You swear you see a hint of smugness visible in their smile. You blink as if you’re refocusing your eyes like a camera lens, subconsciously leaning closer. But whether it’s the alcohol from your second drink finally creeping into your senses and making you see things or not, you can’t tell. You couldn’t deny that you found Hange incredibly attractive, so hearing them compliment you like that stirred up a flustered sensation in you.
But what the hell were you thinking?
You were supposed to be having a simple recreational outing with your boss after a long day at work. A morale boost if anything. This wasn’t a date, so of course they wouldn’t be flirting with you, genius.
You feel a giggle rise in your throat as you laugh at yourself in disbelief at your own ridiculous thoughts. You turn away from Hange, your laughter becoming more unrestrained as you lean back, pushing your hair up messily with your hand. At this, Hange is completely baffled but can’t find it in themself to interrupt your laughter, instead watching in awe at never having heard you laugh with such zeal. And what a sight it was.
By the time you calm down with a loud sigh, your cheeks are faintly flushed and your eyes are half-lidded, blinking slowly.
Hange leans closer to you, speaking with mild concern, “Um, are you alright? What was so funny?”
You turn to them with a relaxed grin, your hand reaching up to press on their chest and push them back playfully, “Oh, nothing, nothing. Man… Maybe that second drink wasn’t a good idea after all.” You have the urge to fall into another laughing fit but restrain yourself, opting for a tight-lipped giggle.
Hange stiffens at the hand on their chest, it is only there for a moment as you push them back while giggling to yourself; your fingers dragging down slightly before you withdraw your hand completely. As you seem lost in your own world, Hange reaches into their pocket to grab their wallet, “A-Alright, I think it’s time to go. Let’s get you home.”
You turn to them with a confused frown, “Huh? Why?”
Hange chuckles, “Well, it’s clear you don’t drink often, now I feel guilty for encouraging you to get a second one. So let me take you home, okay?”
You let out a quiet noise that sounds like a grumble. Hange laughs now as they grab some cash from their wallet.
“What’s so funny?” You almost sound indignant as you squint suspiciously at them.
“Nothing, nothing…” It comes out teasing as Hange directs your words from earlier right back at you.
They place the cash on the table and stand up from their stool. With a sigh, you reluctantly do the same. You hop off then stand frozen with your arms out for balance, a bit startled as if you weren’t prepared for the landing. Hange waits at the door, holding it open for you as you walk with a lazy sway, but still balanced enough, so Hange fights the urge to support you in some way as they make their way to the car.
The car ride is spent in comfortable silence with the occasional directions from the GPS directing Hange to your townhouse apartment. At every red light, Hange glances back at you, smiling at your slight flush and slumped form against the armrest of the door as you stare off into the distance.
By the time they reached the parking lot of the complex, you had dozed off. Hange silently gushes to themself, mentally engraving the image before reaching over and gently stroking your arm to wake you. “Dear, wake up, it’s time to go.”
You lift your head up, fluttering your eyes open, realizing you had fallen asleep in your boss’s car on top of not watching your alcohol intake. You mentally curse yourself, wondering what’s gotten into you.
You sit up and turn to them while fumbling with your seatbelt, “I’m so sorry, Hange…”
They chuckle softly, “Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind.”
As you gather your purse and coat, Hange is already walking around the car to the passenger’s side, opening the door for you and offering their hand. With a slight stagger, you get out, taking their hand. Hange continues to walk behind you as you go up the stairs, a hand ghosting the small of your back to make sure you don’t trip.
You reach the second floor, walking through the open hallway, feeling the slight breeze of the evening until you stop at your door. Hange slips their hands in their coat pockets, watching with mild amusement as you rummage through your purse for your keys. You unlock the door while turning to Hange, standing firmly as you always do in spite of your slight intoxication.
Directing a grateful smile at them, you say, “Thank you for taking me for drinks, Hange.”
You then offer an apologetic bow of your head, “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, I should have known my limit. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
Hange tosses their head back with a genuine laugh, you lift your head back up in confusion. “There’s no need to apologize. It was nice to see you let loose this once. In fact, I wouldn’t mind seeing that more often.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and look off to the side, still feeling embarrassed. You feel yourself teeter sideways until you’re leaning against the door frame, from the way everything in your vision was shifting a little too fast when you move your eyes.
With their hands still in their pockets, Hange leans down, planting a soft lingering kiss on your cheek while you’re distracted.
Even in your impaired state, your eyes widen in shock, processing the sudden contact, but you can’t find the words to respond.
Drawing back with a bright smile on their face, Hange breaks the silence first, “It’s always a pleasure to have your company, y/n. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, they turn, letting their gaze stay on you for a second longer before finally walking down the hall to head back to their car.
“…R-Right.”
You’re not even sure they heard you. You’re still mentally replaying the exchange that just occurred. Your tired legs finally snap you out of your daze, and you pull yourself off the doorframe. With a groan at your growing sensitivity to the ceiling lights in the hallway, you slip inside your apartment, shutting the door.
Hange settles into their car again. They let out a sigh while leaning their head back on the headrest for a moment. They never expected the impulsive decision of inviting you for a quick drink to go the way it did, but they sure as hell were over the moon about it now. Just like a carefully curated experiment, they placed you in a new environment. And just as they had hoped, you, too, had exhibited new behaviors. And they soaked up every bit of it, absolutely captivated by it. They had to admit it to themself, they lost their sense of restraint just a moment ago when they kissed your cheek. But they just couldn’t help it.
There had to be more to you for them to see; they needed there to be more. And they’d find a way to uncover it. They always do.
There is a searing feeling inside of them. It’s only growing more intense, and only you can sate it. With another deep sigh, this one more resolute, they turn on the engine and start their drive home.
- - -
You come into work the next day, thankfully still on time, as the remnants of a light headache finally start to dissipate. You settle into your seat at the front desk with a light huff and get to work checking Hange’s inbox, riddled with new emails, to organize it for them.
A few minutes pass, and you hear Hange’s familiar footsteps rounding the corner. You turn and are greeted by their easygoing smile, coffee mug in hand as always, as they wave to you.
“Goooood morning!~”
You offer a stiff grin back. You can’t help but feel like you made a fool of yourself last night over drinks. And now, being back in the office after the fact, it makes you feel even more awkward. Not to mention remembering the kiss on the cheek that Hange surprised you with triggers a tingling sensation all over your face now. Did they even remember doing that? Maybe they were more far gone than they let on yesterday, and they just hide their tipsiness better than you do.
“Oh- Hi, Hange. Good morning to you, as well.”
Whether Hange notices your tense state or not, they don’t draw attention to it, simply smiling warmly at you for a moment before continuing, “I hope you didn’t get any hangover symptoms from our outing last night.”
You shake your head in response, “Ah, no, I’m fine. A slight headache earlier, but I took aspirin. Thank you for your concern.” You regain your usual composure, resting your arms on the desk as you fold your hands while speaking.
In the back of Hange’s mind, they feel slightly irritated by it now— how firmly you can still hold onto your workplace etiquette even after last night, when you had finally let go a little around them. But to them, it’s still the same challenge they willingly accepted long ago: to see a part of you no one else can. Now, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t stop the urge to fight tooth and nail for it.
They grin wider as they lean further on the desk, almost looming over you; in a steady voice, they almost coo with a dotting look of concern, “That’s good then. You know I wouldn’t want a sweet thing like you to spend all day suffering because of me!” Your fingers twitch in their folded position. You press your lips into a tight line, barely stopping a noise of surprise from coming out as you force yourself to nod.
There’s an intensity in Hange’s eyes that you were all too familiar with. It’s one that only exists when they’re fully enthralled by something, studying and scrutinizing it under their gaze to figure out everything they can about how it works.
They were looking at you that way right now.
And it made you want to squirm in your seat with the heat simmering inside of you that only seemed to grow by the minute in this conversation.
You let out a breathy laugh, about to respond and pretend you weren’t flustered, but Hange beats you to it, “I’ll be in my office for the rest of the day if you need me, dear!”
With that, they’re already pushing off the desk, withdrawing back down the hall with an undeniably cheeky smile etched on their lips.
You spend the rest of the day as you normally would: taking calls, scheduling meetings with clients, and running around some of the facilities to organize any information Hange would need to form their schedule for next week. You try your best to remain your usual focused and present self, but the way Hange acted towards you this morning is a thought you just can’t shake off. The lingering glances and touches, the close proximity, and the names of endearment had only gotten more frequent since the night before. They had always been the easily sociable type with you and everyone else, but there was no doubt that this was more than mere friendliness now.
As you sit at your desk, lost in thought, your lips curl into a small smirk, feeling a growing sting of excitement flushing your cheeks.
- - -
Being so easily distracted the whole day had significantly impacted your efficiency. You found yourself staying past your shift again, back at your desk after running around all day, now trying to get the last of your tasks done since it was the end of the work week. With a sigh, you grab the last of the sheets you printed out and store them in the filing cabinet.
You pause when you hear cheerful whistling echoing down the hall, turning rather quickly to meet Hange’s gaze that’s already on you. Their stare is calm and casual, but their lips are turned up into the ghost of a smirk. You shut the filing cabinet, “You’re still here, Hange? I didn’t realize how late it got, I figured I was the only one left.”
Hange walks around the front desk into the filing area where you stand, just a few strides short of standing in front of you. They lean against the wall, hands in their front pockets and watching you. “I noticed your things were still here an hour ago while you were somewhere else, so I decided to wait for you. Are you finished now?”
You quirk a brow in curiosity, “Yes, I am. But, wait for me? Why?”
Suddenly, Hange’s smile is as cheery as ever, “Just to chat with my favorite secretary! I’ve been cooped up in my office alone all day, and since you’re still here, I figured you might spare me a bit of your time before going home. I’ll drive you home again, too, if you’d like!”
You absentmindedly tap your fingers on the handle of the drawer, feeling your heart race a bit. There’s an almost hopeful look on their face, mixed with something you can’t describe, like they’re observing every move you make.
“Oh! Yes, of course I don’t mind.” You start to move back to your seat, but as you pass Hange they gently hold your arm to stop you.
“No, not here. It’s more comfortable in my office, dear. Come.” They speak so softly it makes your brain buzz.
They let go of your arm and start walking down the spacious hallway. You follow closely behind them as they reach the large doors at the end. They hold one open for you and you step inside.
You rarely go very far into Hange’s office, mostly just poking your head in the door for a moment to relay a message to them. So, as you walk on ahead of them, you let your eyes wander around the large room. It has much less of a cold and contemporary feel than the rest of the building. All the furniture is old-fashioned and made from dark wood, and a large, ornate rug lies under the desk area. You see various tall bookshelves almost touching the ceiling filled with books and files, as well as some interesting knick-knacks lying around on the accent tables. You take a seat in the chair across from Hange’s, your hands resting on your lap, as Hange grabs the glass pitcher on the table and pours you both some water before reclining comfortably in their own chair.
They look at you with a calm smile, and you feel shyness creep up inside of you, unsure of what to say.
Hange starts, “I heard you stepped in to help in the biology lab today. That was very kind of you, y/n.”
You blink in surprise, wondering how they got word of that, “Oh… Yes, I was just passing by, and when I dropped in to say hello, I realized they were pretty short-staffed while conducting some tests. I figured I could save them some time by helping set things up.”
You pause for a moment as you recall your time during your internship in the lab fondly, nostalgia glazing over your eyes and a smile curling onto your lips. “After all, I owe a lot to them since that’s where I got my start here. So I was happy to help.” You look up and offer a small grin before taking a sip of your water and looking away, feeling sheepish.
Hange studies your every movement, the way your eyes dart around the room, your strict posture in the chair with your legs crossed, even the unnecessarily secure grip you have on your cup.
“You’re always at the right place, at the right time. Always so eager to do what you can for everyone here. You’re a real charming girl all around. Stunning, intelligent, and compassionate too,” they muse out loud.
Their laugh that follows is light and placid, but you just know your own face isn’t conveying the same casualness. They were making no effort to be subtle anymore, and you were starting to feel your own resolve crack.
You feel the curl of your lips return as you look at them now, “You really think all those things about me?”
Hange mirrors your smile, though they hide their surprise at how you regained your composure so suddenly.
They take a sip of water and lean over the desk, “Of course I do, sweetheart. No one else can do what you do. I always get comments from clients about how capable you are, how sweet, too. I can’t lie, though, when they do it just… it makes me feel….” They look off as if trying to find the right word, a ghost of a smile ever so delicately gracing their face by the time they turn back to you. You notice something intense flicker in their eyes. It’s only there for a moment, but it’s enough for you to know, without a doubt in your mind, this was them pushing the boundaries. Hard.
To hell with good manners. You were reaching your limit at this point, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
You press on, holding eye contact calmly and squinting slightly as if to implore them to continue.
“What do you feel, Hange?”
By the tone of your voice, the soft murmur that’s slow but unwavering, Hange knows very well that you’ve caught on now. But what is that look you’re giving them?
You’re playing coy now.
So they should too.
They can’t help but want to push your buttons more, to see what makes you tick and how. They push off their chair, walking lazily around their desk with their arms crossed, thinking distantly, “That’s the question. But, do you really not know the answer?”
You tilt her head, your sharp eyes still watch them; your expression still cool and unwavering.“I might… but I think I’ll get the full picture if you tell me yourself.”
Hange looks at her wryly with a small huff of amusement, “Really gonna make me say it, huh?”
You say nothing, simply letting the smile on your tinted lips spread wider, the corners of your eyes crinkling with it, like you were enjoying this.
And you were.
It’s a look they’ve never seen on you before, and it’s dangerous.
They come around the desk to the front of it and lean it, just off to your right, “It’s just so nice seeing that pretty face greet me with a smile every morning… But the thing is, you smile like that at everyone. It’s so rehearsed… and it’s irritating…”
They slide off the desk and lean forward on the armrests of your chair, caging you with their arms as they peer down at you with those analytical eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses. They watch to see any change in your body language, even the slightest twitch, but there is none. That’s new.
“Why?”
You simply ask, soft and sure like your usual self, as if they weren’t just a few inches too close for personal space.
But those eyes you’re giving them; like you’re expecting something, like you’re prying into Hange’s mind— they were the one being studied now.
They let their next thought rest on the tip of their tongue for a moment before finally saying it, “Because I wanna see a smile that’s only meant for me.”
Your face changes, and you radiate satisfaction as your body relaxes back a bit. Your eyes suddenly flicker down their form, so up close and still caging you in before you look back up with a shameless grin. Your fingers start trailing up and down their bare forearms, up to where the sleeves of their button-down shirt are cuffed. Their grip on the armrests tightens, you notice.
“You’re sweet with your words, Hange… I really do always enjoy our little chats.”
You’d said that to them before, just never in that tone. Never with that extra layer of meaning.
Something in Hange, previously wound up so tightly, begins to unravel.
They let out a deep, almost exasperated chuckle as they look down and watch how your fingers trace their skin, “See, this is what vexes me about you the most. I can’t figure out what you’re thinking, not now, not ever. And I’d like to think I’m quite the observer. But when it’s you, I just can’t crack it. Do you have any guesses as to why?”
You hum in thought. Hange is used to resolving their curiosities with ease, being able to understand the object of their interest from the inside out in no time then reveling in the pleasure of it. But you just weren’t giving that to them. Instead, you confused them more and more with each passing second, and it was driving them up the wall.
Your gaze stays on your fingers, watching how they cause goosebumps to spread on Hange’s skin.
"Maybe it’s because you’re trying to figure me out like one of your little experiments,” you say teasingly, your voice light with it as your fingers pause deliberately for a moment before continuing. “You try to dissect everything like it’s some grand mystery with an answer right there waiting for you, but some things aren’t meant to be solved. They’re meant to be felt.”
You finally look back up at them, seeing the searing desperation behind their eyes, just barely restrained.
You ask again, more hushed but also more urgent, “What do you feel, Hange?”
Hange sucks in a breath. It’s ever so slightly unsteady as they bite their tongue, mulling over your words and racking their brain for a response.
They were excited.
This was invigorating in a way they’ve never felt, even better than any breakthrough. They hear the words spill out of their mouth before they can really process them.
“What do I feel? …I can’t help but feel this- this ache in my body when I’m near you.” They let out a huff of laughter, “It’s a real problem.” They’re narrowing their eyes at you, their lips in a tight grin with gritted teeth, enticing you. Showing you they’re not playing games anymore.
While you listen, you wantonly shift your gaze from their eyes to their lips, then back up again, subtly biting your own lip as your smirk grows wider, no longer caring to be subtle. But you quickly change your expression to respond; eyes wide with faux puzzlement, your voice softly ringing out almost tauntingly honeyed.
“Oh, that does sound like a problem. Is it really my fault?” You sound almost delighted behind the pretend pout of concern you show.
Hange chuckles, feeling the tension in their body diminish for a moment as they look down because of your off-handed comment, then back to you, “All your fault, dollface. You gonna help me?”
They lean in ever closer, like they were daring you. Their voice drops to a whisper that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Or are you gonna walk out the door and leave me all alone craving you?”
You quirk a brow with a coquettish smile, drawing your head back to look at them fully once again, not realizing you had leaned in closer as well.
“Craving, you say?”
Hange feels their jaw clench at your teasing, their grip on the armrests tightening until the wood creaks once in protest under the force. With brows knitted together and a smile now faded into a slight grimace of burning need, they simply nod, their eyes never leaving yours.
You tilt your head to the side with a sweet hum, inching the slightest bit closer again.
“How can I say no to that?”
In a heartbeat, they’re crashing their lips on yours, firm but not forceful, giving you every liberty to pull away if you so choose.
But as soon as they feel how you lean in and kiss back, any remnant of restraint Hange had flies out of their head. The kiss quickly turns fiery. They lean forward, towering over you, and you crane your head up a bit higher. You match their rhythm in an instant, hands reaching to hold the back of their head while your gentle fingers tangle in their hair. Hange groans and braces themselves against the back of your chair with one hand. They swipe their tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance. In response, you softly tug their bottom lip with your teeth, and they swear their head starts spinning.
They kiss back feverishly until you finally part your lips wide enough and let them in. Their free hand starts gliding up your leg, lifting your skirt past your knees slowly, inch by inch, and it makes you keen forward into them sighing against their lips. When their hand starts moving to your inner thigh, you pull away. They can't help but chase after your lips, but one of your hands presses on their chest, holding them there where they can’t reach you. You almost laugh at the eyes of a kicked puppy they give you.
“I can take it from here…”
Suddenly, Hange is being pushed back by their shoulders to stand upright against the desk with a gentle but sturdy force they didn’t know you had. You lean forward in your chair slightly, your heavy-lidded eyes flickering between theirs and down to where your hands are reaching.
Wordlessly, you start to pull at their belt buckle, and Hange’s skin ignites at the light brushing of your fingers. You can see their eyes blown wide behind their glasses, clutching onto the desk behind them as they watch you, stunned. They look like their mind is going a mile a minute.
So cute.
When you unclasp their belt, now fiddling with the button on their pants, you pull them out of their thoughts with your voice so soft and sweet, “You can relax.”
Hange definitely feels the taunting edge in your statement, and you can’t help but giggle at how their furrowed brows twitch because of it.
They had to regain control somehow, but how could they when you were looking at them like that?
“Are you nervous, Hange?”
They narrow their eyes at you with an air of challenge, their throat oddly dry, but they retort cooly, “Nervous? That’s not it… I’m just- awfully intrigued by you right now”, their lips twitch into a lopsided grin, “Though, I have to admit you’re making it harder and harder to think straight, dear.”
You only grin back impishly. In a smooth motion, you unzip their pants and pull them down along with their underwear, a string of wetness still connecting the fabric to their core as their clothes pool above their knees. Hange instantly stiffens with a straight spine at the feeling of cool air now surrounding them, and their eyes stare unblinking as you trail your nails along their bare thighs.
They take their bottom lip between their teeth as one hand takes the lead, and your fingers softly trail between their soaked folds. Hange sees the musing look on your face as you experimentally ghost your fingers on their clit, causing a shiver to crawl up their spine. They stay as quiet and still as possible, watching in petrified awe at how you start to rub soft, tight circles on them. They let out soft pants when you pick up speed and press slightly harder, then slow down again to run your fingers further back to their entrance and pick up more of their slick.
Hange tilts their head back as they look down at you and let out a breathy laugh, meant to sound peeved but undeniably laced with desperation, “Damn it love, why’re you teasing me?”
You look up at them with wide eyes, your curled lips puffy and smeared with your lipstick parted slightly as your own breathing grows heavier. The quicker pace of your fingers on their clit returns, and now it’s almost tormenting, making their hips stutter as they hiss. “A-ah!”
You quip, “You’ve spent all this time poking and prodding at my mind, trying to see how I react to what you say, what you do, how close you get… You just can’t help yourself when your curiosity is piqued. I’ve honestly noticed it every now and again, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.” You end your sentence with a small chuckle, mostly to yourself, as you let your gaze fall back to your working hand, languidly marvelling at the sight of their drenched cunt every time you spread their folds open just a bit with your fingers.
“Every time you got a bit too friendly, a bit too close, I would wonder to myself why. But, just look at you right now… I know why.”
Whether their face is flushed deeply due to your words or your actions, they don’t know anymore. But they’re gasping for air now, unable to respond with any more than a hushed string of curses as their shoulders hunch inwards from their twitching. They see more of their juices dripping out of them and onto your hand every time you drag your eager fingers back up.
As they start to close their eyes, you withdraw your hand completely, and they look down at you almost frantically.
“W-why did you-”
They trail off, dumbfounded as you push your chair back with an impatient huff and get on your knees in front of them. They suddenly need to rely more on the desk to hold up their weight as you inch closer to them, undoing the first few buttons of your blouse. It slides down your shoulder as you crawl, exposing enough to see even the top trimming of your bra. You looked so breathtaking, and Hange was so painfully hot at this point.
Their patience was wearing thin. Part of them wanted to reach out, grab you, and have their way with you. To make you theirs like they’d always imagined.
Yet nothing about this encounter was turning out the way they’d anticipated. The other part of them… the part that was winning their own inner battle by a landslide at this point, wanted to give in to your touch and hang on to every word that comes out of that pretty mouth.
While they’re lost in thought, you make quick work of unzipping their boots to pull them off, tossing them somewhere you don’t care to see behind you, then pulling their pants and underwear the rest of the way off their body, unceremoniously pushing it all aside.
They let out a whimper they didn’t mean to as you take hold of one of their thighs and gently pull it up and over your shoulder. You trail wet kisses along their inner thigh, each time inching closer to their exposed core until your tongue darts out and flicks against their clit once, finally tasting them. You hum at the taste and your eyes bore into them, intense with desire and watching every change in their face as you take another lick, and then another.
Each time, Hange spasms, fingernails digging further into the wood of the desk with every soft flick of your tongue. Just when they start getting used to the sensation, you drag a long stripe from their soaked entrance to their clit before latching onto them, and now they were just putty in your hands.
You suckle gently at first, slowly rolling your tongue against them in a fluid motion. You alternate between giving attention to their clit and to their hole to lap up more of their slick. You close her eyes blissfully, savoring their taste as you push your tongue inside just far enough to make them really feel it, before withdrawing to their clit once more.
Hange groans loudly as you create a suction around their clit with your lips, and they reach down with a shaking hand to gently tuck a fallen strand of hair away from your face.
“God, look at me again, sweetheart.”
You bury your head further between their thighs as you set a rhythm with the suction of your lips, looking up at them like they asked, her eyes dilated and hungry. A whine catches in their throat at the sight. They snake their hand behind your head to take off the clip holding up your hair, toss it behind them on the desk, and instead use their hand to keep your hair out of your face.
“That’s it… so good. You do it so good- F-fuck…”
You mewl with delight at their praise, and the vibrations around their clit send a shock through Hange’s body.
They huff out a breathless laugh despite being severely overwhelmed, their grip on your hair tightens, “Who taught you all this, huh?”
You pull away fully with a little ‘pop,’ leaving lazy kisses down their thigh once more with such a proudly devilish smile.
“Don’t worry about it. Plus, I don’t need to be taught… I just need to watch you.”
Hange absentmindedly bucks their hips as you continue planting wet kisses on them instead of giving them attention where they need it most. Your other hand pushes their shirt up as you graze over their stomach, admiring how their muscles tense on contact, their whole body shuddering at your touch. They draw in a ragged breath, their voice the quietest you’ve ever heard it when they beg,
“Please… I…”
They can’t get another word out. They look down at you, completely wrecked, a deep blush reaching the tips of their ears, their chest heaving with each shaky breath. Their pleading eyes peek over the glasses slipping down their nose, almost like they’re agonizing. The scene before you tugs at your heartstrings, and you decide to give them what they need.
You latch onto their clit once more, the hand tracing their abdomen now creeping down and prodding at their entrance before your middle finger slips inside with ease. Hange grunts through gritted teeth, their posture slouches further, and they buck forward to meet your pace as you start to curl your finger inside of them. As their moans grow louder, they start tugging you closer by your hair as their hips roll desperately against your mouth. You let them, relinquishing just a bit of control so they can use your mouth how they please, knowing they can’t help themselves anymore from the need to chase their release.
They’re so lost in their own euphoria, grinding at a rhythm that makes her own thighs clench together. You add your ring finger to join the first inside of them, angling it to brush against their walls every time you curl them upwards. A mix of your drool and their slick drips down your wrist and chin and onto the valley of your breasts as you make your goal nothing but getting them to their end. Broken whines accompany every exhale Hange lets out, like they can’t take it much longer.
“M-mnh… just like that. Shit, you’re perfect.”
You mewl against them, completely enraptured by the blissed out expression on their face. Your gaze alone is taking their very soul, coaxing them to let go and give you what you want. Hange feels every fiber of their being calling out to you for more, entranced by how this dominant aura they never fathomed you could hold only intensifies every beautiful thing they ever saw in you. Their body is shaking openly now, and they’re panting so hard their glasses have fogged over.
You feel their walls flutter tighter around your fingers, and you know they’re close. You groan in need, the ravenous expectation evident in your eyes, sharp and demanding. Hange’s quivering voice is quieter once more, their vocal cords embarrassingly starting to give out on them as their orgasm approaches, and they don’t care. You increase your speed, fingers pushing in deeper inside of them as you suck on their clit more fervently, nails digging into the plushness of their thigh on your shoulder to steel your own resolve as they start to spasm.
“Ah! Please… Please, d-don’t stop…”
Suddenly, their entire body tenses. Electricity crackles through their veins as their breath catches in their lungs for a moment before their posture completely caves in on itself again, and the most raw sound you’ve ever heard erupts from deep within their chest.
“FFFUCK.”
Your eyes flutter, and you let out a satisfied moan of your own when you feel their walls clamp around your fingers as their essence drips out of them and down your knuckles. Despite their grip on your hair trying to weakly pull you away, you continue working them through their climax until they’re wheezing and convulsing. That’s when you’re satisfied. You take in their disheveled state with vibrant pride as you slowly withdraw yourself.
The remnants of the searing ecstasy across their skin simmer down to a warm tingle in their body, muscles still twitching as they come down from their high. You gently withdraw your finger from inside of them, tenderly cleaning up the mess between their thighs for them with your tongue before slowly lowering their leg back down from your shoulder for them.
When you fully pull back— catching your own breath while licking the corners of your mouth clean, your grip on their thigh softened to soothing caresses— you look up at them. Your glossed lips eagerly curl into a vibrant smile with such an elated gleam in your eyes.
And there, Hange thinks while nearly melting before you at the sight, there is the smile that’d be only theirs to see.
Out of a profound need to feel you close again, they quickly tug you up and against their body before they kiss you with clinging desperation.
Hange groans, tasting themself on your tongue. The kiss is as passionate as the first, but this time more slow and tender as they still recover from the overwhelming daze of their orgasm. You reciprocate their fervor without hesitation, wrapping your arms around their neck as your knees feel weak from kneeling… among other reasons.
Hange embraces you, their hands on your waist tighten, fingers clutching onto the fabric of your blouse as their eyes fall closed. You tilt your head to the side to kiss them deeper, offering them the closeness they seek without question now. They hold you and kiss you like they need to make sure for certain that you’re actually here with them; that the last hour wasn’t all another daydream and you had actually gone home ages ago while they’d been zoned out in their office chair again with the real world completely drowned out.
With your lips still connected, Hange’s hands move to grip your hips as they turn around so your backside bumps against the edge of the desk now. Slowly, they trail lower down your thighs until they lift you onto the surface. You make a noise of surprise against their mouth as you’re lifted off the ground. As you’re placed down, you break the kiss. Without a second thought, Hange chases your lips again, eyes still closed and body still kindling with longing.
But when you hold them back with a hand on their chest, they finally open their eyes, their mouth slightly agape, and wanting more. Hoping for more.
They hear a breathless chuckle from you as you don’t let them get any closer, and they slump in defeat as they rest their weight on their hands on either side of you. They wanted to sound frustrated, but their voice comes out softly through a smile, laced with that want they can no longer hide.
“Now, why’re you doing this to me? Can’t you see I’m trying to return the favor?”
At this, you quirk a brow, tilting back further as you shake your head with an amused yet fond grin.
“Ah-ah… You’ve gotta earn that.”
They pull back a bit, but not too far. They push their crooked glasses up with a huff of incredulous laughter, lips upturning in a lopsided grin in spite of themself.
“Yeah? How can I do that?”
You stay silent for a moment. You pull back your hand from their chest, your fingers lightly tracing down the buttons of their shirt as you hum in thought. That touch alone has Hange practically shivering again. Your eyes never once leave theirs when you speak next with conviction.
“Ask me out to dinner first. Then maybe you can.”
Hange feels the sting of blush on their cheeks as they laugh wholeheartedly, looking down for a moment then back at you. Your simple request caught them off guard for some reason.
Maybe the heat of your shared moment fried their brain and left them unable to think straight anymore. Normally, asking you out would’ve been the first step; the step they’d planned to take first. But that was before you pulled them into your web they had no idea was there until there was no saving them. The post-sex clarity left them feeling flustered and lost. And now, to top it all off, you had beaten them to the punch of bringing up that question without them even realizing it.
Nothing went at all how they planned it to, did it?
“Right, dinner. That’s um… a good place to start. Well, not ‘start’. We’ve clearly already started something. Unless you don’t think so! I wouldn’t want to assume what you’re thinking after all and-“
Their words are cut short when you plant another short kiss on their lips, and they quickly get the hint that they need to shut up. You giggle at the look on their face and how they purse their lips tightly as if to keep their words from spilling out again.
“Sorry. You were rambling. But I do think we’ve started something here. So… would you like to continue this and actually ask me now?” Your voice is entwined with gentle amusement near the end as you now wait patiently for them to gather their scattered thoughts.
Hange lets out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding, strong enough to blow their fringe up. They straighten up and look at you directly with a newfound intensity, an air of vulnerability evident in their eyes as they meet your watchful gaze.
Their hand reaches out for yours, capturing it in their gentle grasp as they start with your name, “Would you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night? I got ahead of myself… I-I guess we both did. But I want to do this right. I didn’t make a move just for this to be a one-time thing, you know. I’m serious about you. Hell, I think about you every day and-“
Their eyes widen for a moment as they catch themselves getting off track again. A mix between a sigh and a sheepish laugh escapes them, and they fight the urge to rip their gaze away from yours as they continue. Their thumb grazes over your knuckles softly.
“What I’m trying to say is, I want to get to know so much more of you… if you’ll have me.” They search your eyes hopefully, the lopsided and earnest grin that only you could draw out of them creeping back onto their lips. “So, what do you say?”
A delighted smile blooms on your lips, your own fingers tightening around their hand as you give Hange that look that makes their head spin.
“I’d say that sounds perfect.”
Hi :D
So I wrote this a while ago and just kinda let it marinate for a damn long time in between proofreading bc I definitely need to be medicated. Posting this on the last day of kinktober is so funny.
I've never written a fanfic before and I definitely have a lot I'd like to learn if I continue to do so. I'd be so happy if anyone could drop a comment and tell me their thoughts on this/what they liked. And honestly, any writing advice from any other fic writers who might read this would be greatly appreciated, it's bc of y'all that I said fuck it and tried it out for myself lol.
YOUR WATERPROOF MAKE UP IS HERE ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ nora's beauty salon (or just the 7k followers celebration)
BROW PENCIL: hange zoe + bathing together ˚.✦
It took a while to convince her to take a moment off with you. It's been a few weeks since you and Hange returned from the latest expedition, everything being quieter between you. She was busy with her own new Commander duties, you were focusing on becoming stronger.
Now, you needed to spend some time with her that wasn't right before going to bed and whispering a good night.
"Could we, perhaps, take a bath together?" you whisper, leaning into the bathroom door. You weren't looking at her, just fidgeting with your thumbs, waiting for an answer.
She looks up from her book at that moment, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She didn't think much about it, couldn't remember the last time you asked her something.
Hange blinks once, twice. Then the corner of her mouth quirks.
“…Yeah,” she says quietly, like she’s surprised herself by agreeing so easily. “Yeah. Let me just—give me a second.”
She sets the book down spine-open on the desk (a rare act of trust in itself, pages will crease and she normally hates that), pushes her chair back, and stands. When she walks past you into the small adjoining washroom, her shoulder brushes yours. An apology in motion.
The tub is old, chipped porcelain, barely long enough for one tall person let alone two. But the water runs hot here and Hange lets it fill while she peels off the rest of her uniform with the absent-minded efficiency of someone who’s been undressing in a hurry for years. Shirt, trousers, bandages already half-unwound from earlier in the day. She doesn’t try to hide anything. Doesn’t turn away.
When she steps in first, the water sloshes and immediately clouds a faint rusty brown from old blood and dirt that never quite leaves the creases of skin after an expedition. She sinks down with a long, shuddering exhale, knees drawn up because there really isn’t room otherwise. Her head tips back against the rim. Eyes close behind fogged glasses that she hasn’t bothered to take off yet.
You climb in after her, careful, fitting yourself between her bent legs so your back rests against her chest. The water is almost too hot. It stings the newer scrapes on your shins, but you don’t care. Her arms come around you almost automatically, just there. Chin finds the crook of your neck. You feel her swallow.
For a long minute neither of you speaks. Just breathing. The soft lap of water whenever one of you shifts. Steam curling up around your faces.
Then your eyes catch on her left forearm, resting along the edge of the tub beside you.
The scar is ugly. Jagged, raised, badly stitched even by field standards. You remember the day: the horse had gone down, she’d taken a titan’s backhand to the ribs and still managed to cut its nape while falling. Someone had dragged her behind a tree and stitched her up with whatever thread was left in the emergency kit.
Your fingers drift over it now, barely touching.
“…This is still terrible,” you murmur.
Hange snorts softly against your shoulder. “It closed, didn’t it?”
“It’s going to pull every time you reach for something heavy. And it’s ugly.”
“I’m ugly,” she deadpans, but there’s no real humor behind it.
You turn your head just enough to catch the edge of her expression. She’s staring at the ceiling, jaw tight.
Without asking, you reach for the small tin cup on the ledge, fill it with clean water from the tap still trickling, and pour it carefully over the wound to rinse away the last of the bathwater silt. Then you take her arm in both hands, gentle, turning it so you can see the stitching better.
“Let me fix it,” you say.
She opens her mouth, probably to deflect, then closes it again. After a beat she just nods once.
You don’t have proper suture thread here, but there’s a roll of clean linen strip and a tiny pair of scissors in the cabinet. You work slowly, snipping the worst of the old stitches, cleaning the line again with soap and water, then re-closing it with neat, even loops. Not perfect, your hands shake a little from the heat and the closeness, but better. Much better.
Every time she twitches, you pause and press your lips to the skin just above the wound. Not a kiss so much as an anchor. She doesn’t flinch after the first time.
When you’re done you wrap fresh linen around it and tie it off. Then you lean back again, letting your head rest fully against her collarbone.
Hange’s arms tighten around you.
She doesn’t say thank you. She never does when it matters this much.
Instead she reaches for the cracked bar of soap, lathers her hands, and brings them up to your hair.
Her fingers are long, calloused, surprisingly careful. She works the soap in slow circles over your scalp, thumbs pressing gently at the base of your skull where you always carry tension. You didn’t even realize how tight you were until you feel yourself melt against her.
Water drips from her forearms onto your shoulders. She keeps going long after the soap is rinsed, she just combs through your hair with her fingers, untangling knots you didn’t know were there, massaging the sore spots behind your ears, down the column of your neck, across the tops of your shoulders.
"Mmhm." A soft whine escapes your mouth without meaning to.
"Feels good?" she asks, you can hear the tiniest smile in her voice.
"So good."
You turn your face into the side of her throat. Breathe in soap and copper and the faint lingering smell of gunpowder that never quite leaves her hair.
Her hand slides down your arm, finds your wrist under the water, and simply holds it. Thumb stroking over your pulse.
“I missed this,” she whispers, so quiet you almost don’t catch it over the drip of the faucet. “I missed you.”
You turn in her arms just enough to press your forehead to hers. Glasses clink gently against your nose.
a/n: before you come up at me, i did my research and the author said that hange uses any pronouns, so i just use she/her or they/them depending on the vibes of the fic
PAIRING. Hange Zoë x fem!reader
SUMMARY. Your parents sent you to a conversion camp because of your homosexual tendencies. Will you graduate from the camp as a fully-fledged heterosexual or find love while you're there?
CONTENT. but I’m a cheerleader au, reader is based on Meghan, nerd!Hange, fluff, homophobia, friends to lovers, making out, barely proofread :’)
WORD COUNT. 4.4k
A/N. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH GAY HANGE LOVERS! This fic is my pride month gift to you all <3 also I can make my own dividers now! I'll be posting them soon too!
You’ve been fiddling with your pom-poms the whole ride, a string of pinks and oranges wrapping around your finger as you tried to empty your mind. Sending you off to a conversion boot camp, it’s preposterous! You pouted, looking over the window, and instead of counting backwards like you always do when something is testing your temper, you made a mental list of why you’re not a homosexual. You get good grades, you’re a Christian, you have a boyfriend, you’re a cheerleader! Every quality of a straight girl you could think of. Surely, they'll let you go home after you’ve proven your point, right?
When the car halted, your parents delivered you to the doorstep of an otherwise neat house if it weren't for the forced pink paint on specific areas. A Mary J. Brown, as she called herself, greeted you at the door, with a plastered smile at your parents as though promising she can return you straight. You wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, maybe. But your mom taught you to be nice to aging ladies.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry for the inconvenience here but I don’t think my parents’ speculation was right from the beginning,” you tried to reason, not even a minute in her office. You smiled, made your point, that's what you’re great at. “I’m not a homosexual.”
“Now, it’s normal to be in a stage of denial. You won’t even suspect that your actions are unnatural!” she smiled again as if in casual conversation.
Unnatural?
She brought out a drab gown, matching with an ugly footwear and explained that it was part of the first stage. You wanted to politely refuse and call all of this a kinder synonym for lunacy but you’re not very sure of the lady's breaking point.
She passed you to a girl named Hilary for a tour around the camp, the bright pink haunting you at every corner. Even the pink uniforms reminded you of napkins, detergents, and cupcakes but not in a nice way
The bright glittery pink assaulted your eyes as Hillary opened the door.
“This is where we sleep but there is no inappropriate behavior allowed,” Hilary said as a caution.
You blinked, “Inappropriate? Like swearing?”
Then a different voice spoke, “No, inappropriate as in fucking or setting the room on fire, that sort.”
The person said over the book they were reading.You could only make out a mess of brown hair tied into a ponytail, and deep brown glasses until they set the book down.
You only realized that you’ve been staring when the person waved a hand and smiled. Your cheeks heated in embarrassment and you forgot to wave back when Hilary ushered you outside. The tip of your ears heated even more when you realized that your underwear was peeking out of the dress you’re wearing.
“Well, nevermind, Hange. They're a bit weird,” Hilary said, standing next to the list of what seemed to be your fellow campers with the label “HOMOSEXUAL” above.
“Surely, harmless, right?” you laughed, just a small questioning ha-ha.
“Not sure about that yet,” Hilary responded vaguely. “We all passed the first step just yesterday.”
She pointed to a checklist of five rows. It seemed like a long grocery list with names on it but you remembered what Ms. Brown said earlier. You can become straight in five easy ways! That's way less steps than making pancakes.
Your name still left the first box unchecked and you have a terrible intuition that this day would not pass without the check mark upon it.
-
As always, your intuition did not fail you but this time you’re not happy about it. No sooner, it was time to meet your fellow campers, sitting around you in nursery blue and pink uniforms, They did not look too interested in the process themselves.
“Hi, I’m Y/N. How do you do?” you smiled. This was like a first day in class, right? You just need to introduce yourself and go.
Right?
Ms. Mary Brown instructed them to introduce themselves. You’re somehow glad you don’t have to endure this pastel hell alone.
They introduced themselves one by one, their names flying out of your head anyway, try as you might to listen. Each introduction was punctuated by “I’m a homosexual” which you’re not surprised at by now since you’ve been hearing the word repeatedly today.
Hange did not have their book this time, but they were twirling a pen in one hand. They can't sit still very well. When it was their turn, they stopped twirling the pen, and smiled, “We met earlier.”
“Hange,” Ms. Brown wore a smile of warning.
They only chuckled and stood up. “Now, now, I’m just confirming. I’m Hange. I’d say I like stars, insects, and chemistry but mostly girls. That's what got me here. Certified homosexual here. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
And like the time you first met, you’ve been staring again. Staring at the way their eyes shine in lovely shades of brown, or the way their hair frames their face, or how much genderless elegance they present even if they're obviously a nerd. You reckon they could dress up a certain way and they'll pass as a boyfriend in front of your parents.
Then, you caught yourself.
Wait.
Those are homosexual thoughts, right?
You chuckled nervously, the name of the guy who introduced himself after missed your ear entirely. You’re losing focus here.
When it’s your time to overcome the first step and admit your homosexuality, you repeat the practiced list of reasons you’ve been listing in your head since the car ride there.
You were then met with follow up questions, ones that grew more prickly in the skin, especially at the mention of intimacy with the opposite sex. You’re horrified at the thought of any phallic flesh at an arm’s length from you and it shows. Eventually, you’ve grown tired of the denial stage, any retort you can think of hitting you back with the reality that you are, indeed, a homosexual.
“Fine!” you screamed in frustration. “I’m a homosexual!”
The frustration dissipated into relief as they all clapped their hands. But the realization did not feel like a ton of bricks, or icy water trickling down your spine. It felt…different.
It felt like entering a whimsical amusement park of unknown rides and you picked a particularly risky rollercoaster. It was both fun and dreadful and you didn’t quite know how to put the two together.
As they left one by one, you were handed the bright pink uniform. You rubbed on the fabric and sighed, you’re a homosexual. Something you’re denying hours ago.
“Hey, Y/N,” a voice called, that one your ear familiarized with the most.
“Hey, Hange,” you returned their greeting.
“See you later,” they beamed, and in a quieter voice, “Nobody really follows the lights-out rule, we can play board games all night.”
And then they winked and you almost blacked out.
“Sounds fun,” you couldn’t suppress a giggle anymore. “I look forward to it.”
-
After you took a long shower and changed into the bright pink uniforms, Hange was true to their word that nobody follows the light-outs rule. Even Hilary was reading a ridiculously heterosexual pocket book as if it’s a textbook. Sinead was smoking by the window, briefly glancing at you before putting headphones on.
Hange was setting up a Snakes and Ladders board game at the foot of the bed.
“Y/N!” Hange tapped the carpeted floor across from them, ushering you to sit and start a game with them. You did so, remarking that you liked Snakes and Ladders.
“We’re gonna start off easy. I have a feeling you’re gonna beat me on this one,” Hange joked, rolling the dice which landed in two. For a while, it felt like you’re old friends at a slumber party. Joking around, exchanging stories in each of your turn while poor Hilary was chastising both of you to keep it down.
“Are there no other books allowed here except those?” You asked, pointing to a tall pile of romance books near Hilary’s bed, a man and woman always displayed intimately on the cover.
“Well, Ms. Brown allowed real textbooks. I have biochemistry and astrophysics over there,” they pointed at their bedside table. “Told her I need to read some material for the upcoming college.”
“And you need this large pile of board games too?” you joked, tapping the pile of board game boxes beside them with some names you can't even recognize or pronounce.
“Of course I do. I reckoned I’ll be bored out of my mind here so I brought these along. There's nothing to learn here.” Their voice had an edge of bitterness in it and you wondered how much they've grown to hate this place.
“Except being straight that is,” you responded, rolling the dice again and groaning when it landed on a snake.
Hange scoffed, laughed bitterly and said, “That's not something to be learned.”
“You don’t think so, huh?”
“Yes. These people are insane.”
“I agree with you,” you whispered and caught yourself too late.
“You do, huh?” they teased. “Christian, cheerleader girl with a boyfriend?”
“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes. “You might add homosexual to that too.”
“Welcome to the club, then.”
For the rest of the night, you played board games, willingly learning the ones you don’t know about. It tickled your brain in an amusing way, and you couldn’t think of any fun ways those games can be played without Hange.
-
No sooner, the long list of activities in Step 2 began: rediscovering your gender identity.
Ms. Brown made it clear with a list of feminine activities, and the more you read the tasks listed there, the more you realized you didn’t like much of it. It can't mean that you’re doomed to homosexuality, of course. Some things can be learned.
“This is tedious,” Hange groaned, staring at the ceiling, anything to avert their eyes off the floor to be cleaned. “I hate cleaning.”
“Unfortunately, it’s essential,” you frowned, taking a soapy scrub. “We better finish it fast.”
Hange wasn’t too happy about it, that's the darkest you’ve seen their mood turn since meeting yesterday. They kept drawing on the floor with soap which didn't help.
“Hey, Hans, look here,” you ushered them close and whispered. “I know you really love challenging stuff and this is no fun for you. But how about this…”
You traced a soapy finger over their area, even going over them until you reached the wall. Then you went by their side again and grinned, “Have it done in 10 minutes.”
They scanned curiously around the area and whispered. “But that’s…”
“Impossible?” you teased, adjusting a 10-minute alarm on Hange's watch.
Then they smiled, the competitive sparkle in their eyes alive at once as though the whole floor was a board game.
“Improbable. But I can manage,” they declared and got to work as quickly as they could manage.
You went on with the gamification strategy for the rest of the step 2, although some other activities needed more patience like sewing and manicure. Without much of their stubborness, you recognized Hange had steady hands and managed most of the task efficiently. On their stubborn days, they would sneak out of the camp and climb the highest tree near the pond so they could read in peace. Ms. Brown will always send you off to fetch them, and it only takes a minute of persuasion before you give up and sit on the tree with them anyway.
It was the first time you’ve seen birds up close, or for small insects to crawl willingly at someone's hand.
“It loves you,” you whispered in awe as a miniscule green fly flew at the back of their thumb.
“It’s a torpedo bug. Siphanta acuta,” Hange had to bite their lip to contain the excitement. “It’s harmless. Look closely.”
You did so, watching the unmoving bug with leaf-like wings. It looked at ease in Hange's hand.
Suddenly, Hange gasped softly, looking at you, or looking past you, you’re not very sure.
“Something landed on you too!” they gushed in a hushed whisper.
“Another torpedo bug?” you asked curiously and realized they were looking at your shoulder.
“No,” they pushed their glasses up and squinted, “Hubner’s wasp moth!”
“Is it harmless?”
“It is,” Hange spoke softly, inching closer.
You sat still, lest you will scare the harmless moth off your shoulder.
“It’s my favorite moth, you know. I used to see them in my grandma's garden.” Hange's smile was too pure and soft that your heart jumped around your ribcage. It didn’t help that they were sitting too close. “Lemme get it for you.”
The torpedo bug flew out of their hand as if on cue and their steady right hand inched closer on your shoulder. You didn’t dare to turn your head as your hair might brush the moth away so you stared at Hange's focused face, their slightly creased brow, the tiny light brown freckles on their cheeks that you didn’t notice before, and their rosy lips. The beating of your heart rang in your ears, if you moved an inch closer your lips could touch their cheek.
“There, I got it,” Hange breathed out a chuckle as the moth settled on their index finger. “Beautiful, isn't it?”
And truly it was such a beautiful thing to behold. The symmetrically patterned wings, the deep brown and dandelion of its body, and its harmless nature made it all the more interesting. Its warm radiance resembled Hange in a way you could not explain. Maybe it was the way they sit by the window in the morning, reading and waiting for you to wake up so they can convince you to sneak out. Or when you both bring your pancakes outside during breakfast so your eyes can take a break from the bright colors inside and stare at the peaceful garden to watch the butterflies flutter about the tulips.
For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, your heart was in a terrible lovestruck frenzy that you almost forgot Hange and the moth. Does love always feel like a heart attack?
Hange carefully placed the moth on a wide, lime-colored leaf dipping from its branches and turned to you.
“Ready to go?” they asked and you nodded. Then froze for a moment when you realized how high up you’re both at.
-
“Woah, woah, easy…” Hange held you by the waist when you almost slipped down while scooting over the branch. “Don’t go falling on me now. Ms Brown will kill me!”
You shared a laugh as you responded, “Your fault for always running off to high places.”
“We’ll sneak somewhere else next time.” It sounded like a promise. You wanted to ask more but the perils of coming down that tree allowed you nothing but listening to Hange's insructions.
“Put your foot down there.” or “Grab that branch.” You were embarrassed to admit that you’re in survival mode.
Hange climbed down much faster, even with a thick book tucked in their arm. You both ran back inside just in time for lunch. The remaining activities went on until you forgot that you might be in love with your new best friend.
-
It helped that your relationship was dressed in an innocuous name: best friends. The kind of best friend you'll write to after graduation, one where you can meet up every few months to have drinks with, the one you'll ask to be your bridesmaid on your wedding day. That kind of girl friendship, right?
You only realized how complicated it was to give the name a definition when you enjoyed holding their hand when the others weren't looking, or when you indulge on their late night rambles until you fell asleep on their bed, or that time you almost blacked out when they kissed a thank-you on your cheek. It dawned on you that you might be doomed, walking straight to the point of no-return. But you can't imagine holding anyone's hand and liking it if it wasn’t Hange's.
One morning, Ms. Brown initiated another activity that might help: finding what might be the root of your homosexuality.
The others confided one by one but when your turn came, their expecting eyes became unbearable so you said, “I’ve been thinking but I can't think of anything. Maybe there's nothing?”
“There certainly must be a traumatic or influential event that led you to the wrong path, isn't there?” Ms. Brown responded.
“Or maybe it’s just the way it is,” Hange butted in, your knees pressed flush as you sat beside each other.
Ms. Brown sighed and said, “That can't possibly be, Hange. Now while we wait for Y/N’s answer, why don’t you go ahead first?”
Hange had a bored expression upon their face and said, “Can’t think of any either. I’ve been like this since forever.”
“How about influences at home, or at school?”
Hange laughed then, “Ms. Brown, I think you just want me to say that the all-girl boarding school I attended made me gay.”
“That's an entirely plausible reason.”
“Except that I dropped after two months.”
You were slightly surprised. Everyone is.
“And why is that?” Ms. Brown asked.
“Can’t bear the homophobic lunatics,” Hange said, looking directly at Ms. Brown. “So I transferred to a science high school.”
You smiled, and couldn’t help yourself. You said, “That's cool. How was science high school?”
“Better. And there is more equipment. You can use the astronomy club's telescope whenever you want!”
Your next question was cut short when Ms. Brown interfered, “Now, we are here to identify your roots, not celebrate it. You better identify it well, especially you, Y/N, and write a reflection about it.”
Ms. Brown then dismissed the meeting.
As you walked away, Hange giggled and said, “It’s so easy to piss her off.”
You both shared a low five and laughed as you headed back inside.
“Besides, finding a root? That's ridiculous! For all I know, this conversion camp made me gay,” you chortled.
Hange gave you a curious smile, “Good job, hon, you defeated the purpose of this whole camp.”
“I’m very proud of myself, thank you,” you gave a comical bow.
“So… what part of this camp made you gay, huh?” Hange faced you then continued, “Is it an act of defiance, a certain influence, someone…?”
With each question they seemed to appear closer, and it sent your heart into another gymnastics. You can tell that Hange will keep pestering you about it until you give in.
“Nope, never gonna tell you,” you grinned. “And you'll never catch me.”
You took off into a sprint, the cheerleading training finally had benefits as you outrun Hange along the whole camp. You were winning until Hange strategize and used a shortcut, tackling you to the grass until you both rolled down the shallow dip in the garden.
You laughed until your stomach hurt, laughed even harder when grass and dirt stuck to your pink uniforms and for a while everything felt right. It felt like falling down into your childhood storybooks but in this case, it wasn’t just friendship that you felt.
Hange peeked over the mound of grass and said, “Ms. Brown doesn't come here often.”
They turned to you and smirked, “What do you think we should do?”
“Something she won’t like,” you grinned, your eyes settling to Hange's lips and it did not take them a minute to understand.
“How about this…” Hange whispered softly, eyes trained on your lips before kissing you. And it felt like sparks, like the first burst of citrus in your lips. But they hesitated, struck by a thought that such a kiss wasn’t meant to last. You pulled them by the color, whining silently, begging for the kiss to last until you’re satiated. That's all the permission they needed to continue, to kiss you like it was the last time, until you were gasping for breath, until your lips remembered the shape of their own.
You can't wipe the smile off your face after. Even Ms. Brown was fooled that you were starting to enjoy her noon lectures.
You kissed Hange in the bathroom again, and again when you knew nobody was looking.
-
That night, you stayed up late to write the reflection Ms. Brown assigned earlier. You wrote a whole childhood best friend shtick just to make Ms. Brown shut up. It comes as a struggle when you’re too preoccupied replaying the kiss on your head. Although half of what you wrote was fabricated, some truths stuck out and you’re afraid it will grow undeniable for the days to come.
Looks like you’re not coming home heterosexual after all.
On the bed next to you, Hange did not seem to be completing the assignment. The pencil movement only indicated sketches and if you squinted closely, quick labels. It must be requiring them a lot of thought since their brows scrunched more than ever and they were drawing phantom signals in the air.
You watched them for a while and fell asleep in your notebook, unaware of Hange's good night kiss on your forehead just before lights out.
-
Ms. Brown woke everyone up early for another lecture outside. Something about the negative consequences of homosexuality, sodomy and evil, and more things you don’t care about. You read your reflections out loud in the class but you weren't listening for the most part.
When the lecture ended, Ms. Brown reminded you of focusing on lectures, and gave both of you and Hange a long stare as you walked away.
It was Hange's idea for the both of you to take on gardening tasks. It was that or inside that hellish camp, they explained. You were convinced they just like staring at leaf bugs or digging out earthworms. You did not mind very much since you enjoy admiring the flowers, and stealing glances at Hange.
Today, Rock, Ms. Brown’s son, is in the garden, picking out weeds and removing pests. You wished he'd leave soon so you can carry out gardening tasks without anyone watching.
Hange saw him plucking a frog out of the flower bed and called out to him, “Hey, tough guy, unhand the amphibian, will you?”
“The what?” Rock asked as if he didn’t understand.
“The frog,” Hange repeated simply, laying out their hands. “Hand it here.”
He did so and said, “Keep the critters away, Mom doesn't like them around the plants.”
“Alright,” Hange walked away with the small frog ushering you to head to the pond with them. You had to wait it out until Rock is done weeding after all. Hange cooed happily at the frog as if playing peek-a-boo with a baby. You’re surprised the frog hadn't jumped out of their hand already.
You both sat behind a huge tree near the pond, your toes can touch the water if you stretched your legs.
“God bless the frogs, they're not homophobic,” Hange chuckled, setting the tiny frog down near the pond. It stayed for a while before hopping into the water, and to a lily pad nearby.
You were leaning at Hange's shoulder as your eyes followed the frog. You don’t know what to say, the grass felt soft beneath you, the sun was a soft honey yellow in the sky, and words did not feel so necessary at the moment.
So you pressed a light kiss on Hange's cheek to which they responded with a lopsided grin.
“Is that the best you can do, cheerleader?” they asked, very much aware how challenging you can end up.
“Of course not.” You surprised them by straddling their lap, sitting there comfortably as if it was made for you to sit on. It was one of the rare occasions where you see Hange blush, especially when their own teasing returns to them.
“Alright, you win,” they admitted and you shrugged as if it was the most natural thing.
“I wish I could sit on you like this with better clothes,” you frowned, plucking at the pink uniform skirt you never liked.
“Or none at all,” Hange offered.
“Pervert.”
You kissed again, deeper than yesterday, with more yearning unleashed and breaking free into a fit of passion. Hange's hand teased the edge of your skirt and you guided the further. The need to feel them everywhere, in every inch of your skin, came stronger. You wished and wished that you could be anywhere else, somewhere quiet, like your bedroom when you’re home alone. Those times where your parents take three day business trips, but instead of just blasting music in the house or ordering a large pizza while you watch chick flicks, you have Hange. How fun and light and beautiful things could have been! It felt like true love, like a movie screen bursting into a classic love song at a first kiss.
When you tire out, you perch your head on Hange's shoulder. The rustling of the leaves, and the chirp of the birds sustained both of your silence.
Then Hange spoke, “We can go somewhere you know…”
“Where?”
“I’m an expert runaway, we can go anywhere.”
Hange felt you smile on their shoulder. “Good luck saying that to Ms. Brown.”
“I may have a way.”
You looked Hange in the eyes and saw that mischievous glint once again. They are serious about running away.
“Try my left pocket,” they instructed. “My hands are kinda full here.”
You rolled your eyes and chuckled as you reached for their left pocket, “They won’t be if you weren't holding my ass.”
You felt a thick bunch of paper in their pocket and pulled it out. Once unfolded, the paper showed a rough draft of the camp’s ground plan, including directions of nearby infrastructure around.
You were about to ask what the map is for when they gave you another instruction, “Now, my right pocket.”
You reached for it and felt a small matchbox. Looking closely, it has a white illustration of a rooster on a rainbow background with the word “COCKSUCKER” arched above. You shook the box and the half-full contents rattled.
“You can't be serious, Hange…”
“Humor me.”
For a while, you were stunned, your mind spiraling into a vast plane of possibilities, of the things to come and the things to be left behind. Your thoughts clamored against your skull until Hange gave a feather-light kiss on your knuckles. Then everything fell into a hush.
“What do you say, my Juliet?”
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