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cvntoid · 7 months ago

Note

erm… predatory/prey play with roman in the workplace……

everyone is gone, like the building is CLOSED closed. he tries to corner his assistant (because duh) and be like hey… what if you let me fuck you? and she just slips her heels off and just. books it.

it’s all in good fun, until it’s not. hopefully no one sees the security footage of him dragging her back into his office by her ankles.

and then he [redacted] her [redacted] until they [redacted]. goodbye 2024.

“I’m bored.”

“Try… I don’t know. Doing some of the paperwork we have to get through. We only have to be here until everything is looked over, signed, filed…” You sigh a long, frustrated sigh, leaning on the desk with your head in your hands. “Roman. You have to throw me a fuckin’ bone, here.” The hour runs so late that everyone else is gone on this floor, only the two of you left. You’re not tired, necessarily, just so utterly over all this paperwork.

Roman smirks at his place behind his desk, flicking his gaze to you from his computer screen. He lifts an eyebrow. “I could throw you a bone.”

A glare has him giggling to himself, that infuriatingly high little inward laugh he does when he’s feeling smug, or clever. It’s actually kind of attractive in an odd way… but so many things about Roman are. It pisses you off. He shouldn’t be allowed to be so smarmy and careless and just… look like that all the time. Roman’s eyes are on yours again and it becomes humiliatingly clear that you’ve just been staring at him, tracing the planes and lines of his handsome features. He turns a little, giving you his full attention now. Tracing his fingertip along some of the papers on his desk. Knowing you’ll watch.

“Oh… are you thinkin’ about it?” Roman licks the edge of his teeth, grinning. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you. I mean… nobody’s here, right?”

“Fuck off,” you say softly. A flush rises up your throat and you roll your eyes, ripping another sheet off the top of the stack to parse through it. “You wish.”

“No… no, I think you wish. I do.” Roman rises up from his chair and you’re forced to look up at him, hands freezing as you move to sign a report. “I think you give me those fuck-me eyes all the time. As if I don’t notice. Oh - don’t make that face. I notice, sweetheart. I know when I’m stuck inside somebody’s mind… stuck tight.”

You feel a strange sort of… something. Something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, just the way Roman’s standing up right now. Looming over his desk. Moving to walk around the edge. Out of pure instinct, you stand as well, palms on the surface as you rise up. Roman’s eyes are glittering, pupils wide and only getting wider.

“Roman…-”

“We should,” he says. “Fuck, I mean. You should let me bend you over this desk. Or… I mean, you could get down on your knees. I could get down on mine, whatever - equal opportunity fucking, right? I’m told I give some serious lip.”

He advances slowly, smoothly, like an animal as you edge toward the door. He’s smiling, but it’s not actually a smile at all. A wolf licking its chops. Your pulse quickens, a surge of adrenaline making your fingers tremble a little. Roman refuses to back down, his voice drawing lower, quieter, trying to hypnotize you like a cat with his words.

“Bad move, sweetheart. I can run. Probably had no idea, but all I did in fucking military school was get screamed at and run. I will catch you.”

Your breath catches in your throat and it’s then that the slice of fear starts mingling with something else, stomach doing flips. A spreading warmth seems to fill the basin of your hips, all that smoldering heat matching the fever-spots of flush in your cheeks. You slip off your heels, grateful for the carpeting - wearing thin tights might not fare so well on a hard, slippery floor while being chased. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He’s going to chase you. A tiny shiver zips up your spine.

“I’m gunna give you a head start, just to level the -”

Before he can finish, you’re taking off. His laughter trails behind you, and after turning a corner in the endless rows of cubicles, you drop to your hands and knees and crawl, moving another couple rows over like that, holding your breath. There’s a manic thrill bouncing around inside your body, making you shake as you scuttle underneath a desk, both hands pressed over your own mouth. Somewhere nearby, there are soft, light scuffing sounds as he walks. Barely there, hard to discern. If he’s taken his shoes off, you’re fucked.

After a few agonizing minutes of trying to figure out his location by sound, he walks by. The sight of his legs walking away from you almost makes you gasp - almost. God, you can feel your pulse behind your fucking eyeballs. You inch forward little by little on your hands and knees on the carpet. Roman’s still slowly walking the other way. You rise up to a stand for only a fleeting moment before you stumble over your own goddamn feet, making a little sound as you land roughly on your hands and knees again. There’s a moment frozen in time in which you turn your head sharply to face Roman, and he looks behind his shoulder and sees you. There’s a flash of surprise on his face before he’s smirking, turning fully around, and you only make it a couple of steps before his fingers are digging into the collar of your shirt, yanking you back so that you fall down again, this time on your ass.

Limbs are pinwheeling for purchase - you twist in his grasp and he’s on top of you, laughing, practically panting with excitement. In a moment of blind panic, you slap him in the face and he reels a little. In that moment you scramble up and start running again, and he’s on your fucking heels. His laughter titters just behind you and it makes you giggle in return, giddy with the chase, with the weird combination of fear and arousal and anxiety making you throb. You throb everywhere - your pulse finds a loud, pounding home in the tip of your nose, your chest… your cunt.

Wheeling around a corner too fast, you trip again. Roman’s absolutely beside himself, laughing at you as he leans down and grabs your ankles.

“Hey, you really gave it your all,” he commends, voice dripping with derision. He flashes you a grin, all teeth as he starts dragging you backwards. You try to kick and wiggle, but Roman’s stronger than he looks - he has you in a solid grip, clucking his tongue at you. “No, none of that - you had your chances. I win, and I’m going to cum in your little cunt about it. Okay? That was the deal.”

Your skirt rides up and so does your blouse, everything coming untucked and rucking up. The carpet burns as he drags you across it, and you hiss as you squirm to escape it. Roman watches with a hint of amusement, uninterested in your struggle or your discomfort. He drags you all the way across the floor back to his office, and when you try to clutch at the door frame, Roman is swift to toss your legs to the side and take a step closer to kick it away. He finishes hauling you fully into the office and shuts the door, turning to you with his eyes all hooded and dark, cheeks red with excitement. The both of you tremble, the both of you utterly consumed by a manic sort of adrenaline high.

“Well, it’s not being bent over a desk, but - but I kinda like this better. More intimate, yeah? I get to watch you cum all over my cock. Lucky me - and lucky you,” he purrs, pushing your thighs open. When you lift yourself up on your elbows, he yanks your arms down by the wrists. “Dont. Give it up, honey - the struggle is really nice, don’t get me wrong. Cuuute, just fuckin’ cute as shit. But I’m getting impatient.”

He releases you to reach between your thighs, where he pulls at the fabric of your tights with both hands and rips them open down the center.

“Gotta invest in something that doesn’t get sold from a fuckin’ Walmart, babydoll. That was so easy it was barely fun.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble.

“Oh, you will.” Roman takes a moment to pull your underwear to the side. He runs his fingers along your slit, tracing the edges and folds of your pussy as he spreads it open, looking at it, barely teasing your clit. “You know how wet you are? Dripping. How fucking sad is that? Are you - oh, am I pissing you off? Making you all upset? You look like you wanna hit me. You wanna hit me again?”

You glare at him, opening your lips to say something about it when he laughs, shoving his fingers inside of you without warning, curling them, pumping them with a precision that has your glare dissolving. Moans take away all the words you had. Roman looks positively triumphant - he fucks them a little harder, a little faster, relishing the way you make those stupid, breathy sounds, the look on your face indistinguishable from pain. It excites him to think of that, too - hurting you a little.

“God, if you’re this fuckin’ whiny for my fingers, you’re really gunna love what comes next,” he murmurs.

Then you do slap him - but it can barely be called a slap at all. The impulse comes, you run with it in the heat of the moment, and a second too late you pull the slap a little and it barely registers. He blinks a little in surprise, fingers paused in their rhythm. He fucks them into you even harder as his eyes bore into yours, that delicate, angry vein showing on his forehead. His free hands rests on your inner thigh, gripping the flesh there. Keeping you spread.

“Not great,” he deadpans. “Try it again. This time, do it like you give a fuck about doing something right for once.”

You can do that. You can do that very well, and the crack of your open palm against the same cheek stings your hand. The flush to his face is immediate, and his eyes look black as he yanks his fingers out of your body again and he slaps you back with the same hand. He smiles as he watches you wipe your own cum off your cheek, tears welling up in your lashes. He tilts his head and pouts a little, undoing his slacks and pushing them down his hips. His cock bounces free, and the sight of it catches you completely off guard. It’s not that you’d ever had an expectation, or a particularly specific thought as to his size, but he is surprisingly thick. Long. His smooth, rippled cockflesh laced with veins. He grins, stroking it once or twice, and fuck, it looks gorgeous in his fingers like that as he teases himself.

“Yeah, I mean… at least I didn’t slap you with this, right? You wouldn’t even be conscious for what I’m about to do to you. But, you know… maybe another time.”

“Roman, seriously - you’re gunna have to… you know, take it - take it easy, okay?”

Roman’s eyes get absolutely dreamy, shining in the dimmed light and hooded by his lovely, low eyelids, wet lips parted as he crawls up over you. He leans in and lowers down until he can brush his lips just barely against yours, more a tease than anything else. He tilts his head and licks a wet stripe from the edge of your jaw up to your cheekbone, planting a wet, sloppy kiss there.

“Don’t you worry about that.” He reaches between your bodies and runs the fat, leaking head of his cock along your slit, slowly, up and down, back again. Every couple passes, he pushes the tip deliciously against your hole, rocking there but only barely. There’s a crease between his focused brows when he lifts to watch your expression, moving to keep your gaze even when you get embarrassed. “Look at you, all fuckin’ wriggly and full of shame. You getting desperate, sweetheart? Yeah? Wanna ask me for it?”

“Roman…”

“Mhmm?” Roman nuzzles playfully into your neck and nips at your throat, once, twice, a third time - this time hard enough to make you whine in that adorable way, your hips twitching. He chooses this moment to work more of himself in - only maybe an inch, just a little further, where he rocks infuriatingly slow again as he sucks a deep, dark bruise into your skin. He can’t wait to see what you do with that tomorrow - how you’re going to cover it up. But he’ll know. He’ll know it’s there. “Hey - go ahead. Ask for what you want.”

“Can you.. uh,” you mumble, nerves crashing under the sheer overload of sensation, of throbbing need. God, the entire fucking thing - the fear, the chase, the force, Roman being an insatiable goddamn beast hellbent on destroying you; it’s enough to melt your brain. But if finding a few more words is all that stands between you and the rest, then… “Can you please give me… more?”

“More of my cock?” Roman starts edging more of himself inside, a smooth, slow rolling of his hips, undulating. Each little thrust brings him closer to home, and you’re gasping. He fastens his lips to a new spot on your neck, at the juncture of your shoulder. “Just trying to take it easy, right? Be patient - you’ll get it all, honey.”

Finally, he’s worked himself balls-deep. He rolls so softly, so very tenderly against your cervix, the tip of his thick cock kissing against it over and over in a maddeningly erotic tease. Is it still a tease if there’s no room left to fuck into? He pushes your thighs open and lifts himself up a little, looking down at you. His cheeks are as flushed as yours. You’ve never noticed just how many freckles he has over his cheeks and nose, how they dot him delicately like a surreal expanse of dark stars in a pink sky.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself cum, just like this.”

Zero hesitation - you push your hand down between your thighs, between your bodies, and expertly circle your clit with your fingers. The natural clench against the stretch of him feels otherworldly. The bright, electric sensation of stimulation on the soft cusp of your cervix adds an entirely new layer to it; it’s sharp, but pleasantly so. You sneak a peek between your bodies at the way he rolls his hips, down to where he only slightly moves in and out of you. He keeps you impossibly full. You let your head fall back down and catch his smug lips, the way he licks them.

“Fuck… I’m close,” you whine.

“I know… I know.” God, he almost sounds kind. If you weren’t looking directly at him, you’d believe it. “Do it for me. You’re this tight already… I wanna know what it feels like to have your perfect little pussy milk me dry. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to empty my fucking balls into you, you know that?”

“Oh - fucking…- shit-” Your entire body seems to seize up, and all that molten, coiled tension melts in a series of devastating waves, pulsating, rushing from behind your eyes all the way down to your toes as he continues to rock into you like that through the crash of your orgasm. His breathing gets erratic and he’s leaning down to lick at your throat. After you move your hand to cling to him, he starts to really fuck into you, rearing back just to slam his cock back inside. Suddenly you’re skating on the shockwave of a brand new explosion of pleasure as he sees fit to set a punishing new pace. The curve of his cock finally tends to all those barely-touched nerves in his full, brutal strokes, balls audibly slapping against your body.

“Yeah - keep fucking cumming. It’s okay, I know - it’s a lot to take. You’re doing so good - look at you. Like you were made to take my cock, huh, baby? I’m gunna fill you up, okay? You ready?” His voice is drawn high, soothing, making your head spin as you try to fit the tone of his voice with the sly, mean smirk on his lips. He reaches a hand up and presses his fingers against your lips, sliding two of them over your tongue. “Good girl - good fucking girl.”

The feeling of your lips and tongue on his fingers, the sounds you make, the way you keep clenching around him - it’s the perfect storm. His hips falter at the same time his moans do, and his cock is pulsing inside of you. He pushes deep, fingers matching as they wander toward the back of your throat until you whine, gagging, grabbing at his wrist to stop him. Your teeth scrape his knuckles and he shudders as he moans, rutting his hips in time with each thick spurt of his cum. There’s a wonderful sort of haze where both of your bodies are coming down, muscles relaxing. The beginning of the afterglow. Roman removes his fingers as his body stills, dick softening inside of you. He sticks those fingers into his own mouth without even thinking about it, tasting you, your saliva. Finally he separates from your body and pats the inside of your thigh, giving it a strangely affectionate squeeze. It feels more intimate than everything else you’ve done, in some weird way: the way he didn’t look at you when sucking your saliva off his fingers, the tenderness of the squeeze. Those things go quietly inside of you, somewhere else to peruse later. Things Roman wouldn’t really want you to have; accidental gifts.

“That was…” you trail off, exhaling hard to convey your feelings. You laugh a little bit, a bit of tension releasing as you do. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do all that… you can just call me Roman Roy,” he cracks, smiling wryly. He sighs and pulls himself together, running a hand through his mussed hair before it falls right back into his eyes. “I know, I know. Big ol’ fuckin’ hog, devilishly handsome, and hilarious? I’m the entire goddamn package.”

“Don’t forget filthy rich.”

Roman shakes his head and bows slightly to you, hand outstretched as if giving you the floor. “And filthy rich. If I could just fuck and marry myself, I would. Now, uh… is your back okay? Got a little… scraped up, yeah? You need some, like, Neosporin or some shit?”

“Yeah, in fact - could you also bring me some Mickey Mouse bandaids, maybe a lollipop? Some stickers? I’m fine, Roman… thanks, though.”

“Show you a fuckin’ lollipop,” Roman mutters, running his hands over his face. He snaps his fingers, fidgety, gesturing toward the door. “Come on, let’s get the fuck outta here. Fuck the papers. I’ll make somebody else finish it tomorrow. I don’t care. Romey tired.”

Roman places a chaste hand at the base of your spine, guiding you through the doors to end the evening. There’s a comfortable silence as you separate, Roman heading for his car while you go off to your own apartment in the opposite direction. Closer to arriving home, your phone dings. Roman’s name shows up and you ignore the tiny wisp of a thrill in your gut at seeing his name there inside your phone, not having reached out first.

Overtime required tomorrow. My shopper will have new tights for you - you’re welcome. Make it worth it. -R

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stvrchaser · 2 years ago

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head.

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh.

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly.

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you.

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics.

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground.

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth.

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up.

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjotv x reader #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #clarisse la rue fluff #pining #but they’re already dating #they’re just horrendously down bad for each other and it’s kind of embarrassing #x reader #healthy bit of banter #and trying to convince clarisse to let percy live to see another day #breaking news: summer camp gets awkward when ur gf has beef w the middle schooler #you can’t say she didn’t try to help him ok

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