Okay so this is the fic thing that I’ve spent the last few hours writing and fussing over grammar in. Set in the recordofanovak/fuu!Claire universe.
Claire Novak loses her virginity on the hood of her car.
She has a fake ID that says her name is Naomi and that she is twenty years old.
Her hair has been cut short and temporarily dyed red, her clothes cut as provocatively as she’d been comfortable with. Between the ruby red heels, jeans that could have been painted on, a bikini top and leather jacket, she makes for a rather noticeable figure. No matter how awkward and stilted she expects herself to be, it’s surprisingly easy to slip into playing a more promiscuous person.
The actual event is nothing to write about. He’s drunk and she has a very specific goal in mind. She traces symbols and sigils on his back and on the hood, mouths spells against his skin and into the night. Her mind is entirely focused on the ritual she’s completing instead of the feeling of his attempts to jackhammer into her. It’s such a disconnect from her body that it takes her a full minute to realize that he’s passed out on top of her after he finishes.
She spares little thought for what her mother would think as she pushes him up off of her and shoves him to the ground. There is a point and purpose to everything that Claire does, and this is no exception.
It’s still very strange to jam her fingers up into herself to soak them in her own blood. It’s uncomfortable and awkward to be shuffling around her car with her jeans barely on so that she can keep painting the sigils into the wheelwells, the trunk, the insides of the doors… there are so many places where she has to paint the markings in the combination of hymen and menstral blood.
It takes almost an hour to get all the symbols painted and spells spoken, and by the end of it she’s exhausted. She just wants to curl up in the backseat and sleep, but with the guy she’d let fuck her still passed out on the ground she can’t. She takes the time to pull his pants back up and shove him in the back seat. She drives him back into town and dumps him off on a park bench.
Then she goes back to her hotel room and strips off her clothes. She washes the temporary dye out of her hair. She flops onto the bed in nothing but a long baggy shirt that had once been her father’s. She spares a brief moment to hope that she’s done right by him; she’s lost her virginity specifically to power a ritual ward on her car, designed to keep demons out.
She’s only fifteen.