technically set in the hp world but like this is just me projecting feelings into writing

tw: rape

She would've never spent time with him, not voluntarily, not before this summer. But desperation has the ability to dissolve even the most iron clad resolves. And that's what it was, or had been—an iron clad resolve.

She'd never really liked Rudolphus. He was a pureblood in the worst way one could be a pureblood: first-born to his family, a boy, unaware that he was average looking and not miraculously handsome, insanely and obnoxiously rich, and not fully accustomed with words like no. He occasionally made jokes teetering the edge of blood purism—but never far enough as to be called a death eater. It was clear he thought of professors as glorified house elves—but he never expressed his view loudly enough to receive detentions. He had a careless ignorance of everyones' worries other than his own—not that he had many.

But he also made jokes that forced Juliet to duck her head and hide a grin. He understood what it was to have parents who really shouldn't have ever gotten married. And most of all he looked at her in a way that made her feel pretty. Made her feel like an object? Yes. Made her feel slightly disgusted and sometimes made her skin crawl? Absolutely. But when you haven't felt pretty or seen for a whole summer it's easy to let that slip into the back of your mind.

And that night it had been so, so incredibly easy to forget everything that repelled Juliet from Rudolphus the entirety of their time at Hogwarts. At least up until now. Because now it was just them on the couch, everyone else gone to scout for drinks or off to a bedroom. 

He was uncomfortably close; their thighs pressed together, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his face mere inches from hers when she turned to look at him. Which was why she'd been facing forwards, away from Rudolphus, and trying not to think about the fact that his eyes had been undressing her for the past hour.

But she was looking at him now, through the fuzzy haze of firewhisky and butterbeer and who knows what else. His eyes were heavy with something—lust, maybe? Alcohol? Had he been drinking? She couldn't be sure. All Juliet knew was that she had consumed too much. 

And then suddenly his stupid heavy eyes flickered toward her lips and next thing she knew his lips were on hers while his stubble was scratching her face and his arm was too heavy and his lips too wet and everything was just wrong.

She had enough bodily autonomy left to lurch backwards; but that was it. There were no helpful voices in her mind telling her to run, to push him the hell off and leave. She'd chased the voices away drink after drink, which had seemed like the perfect idea at the time; now Juliet couldn't even create a full idea in her head.

Come on, he was saying, it's fine, he whispered, already leaning closer again. But it wasn't fine, nothing was fine, and her mind had now caught up and was repeating the same words over and over: bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, leave, leave, leave, bad, bad, bad.

But suddenly he was too close again, his lips on hers, and all she could feel was the slimy wetness of his tongue and the scrape of his sad excuse for a beard. It was no use pulling back this time. This time he was prepared; this time he pressed forward to make up for the gap Juliet tried to create. Her arms felt sluggish and leaden as she pulled them from her sides in between them, against his chest, and she pushed. Pushed with all the might she could muster at 3:00 in the morning with enough alcohol in her system to inebriate two grown men. It was enough to get him off, to allow her some air. But her breath was getting stuck in her throat and it was so hot in the room and everything was so wrong.

Come on, it's fine, the same refrain left his lips again.

I don't know, was all she could come up with to say as she blinked hard against the fog in her eyes and in her brain and tried to just think. Think of what to do, what to say, how to leave. Rudolphus didn't give her the courtesy of time to formulate a thought, an action, a plan.

Come on, he repeated, you wouldn't have come here if you didn't want to. It was an evil statement, vile and foul and far from the truth. But it was said gently, said in a tone that was trying to convince Juliet of a so-called truth that Rudolphus had fabricated. Said with undertones like of course you want this and who wouldn't want this and it's okay to want this and don't worry and I want this so you must want this and a million other things Juliet wasn't unable to pick apart before his lips were trapping hers again.

And then Juliet's saving grace appeared, or so she thought. Henry and Lawrence, Rudolphus' idiot pureblood friends, found their way back to the room. And Juliet thought she would be rescued from Rudolphus pressing into her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So bloody stupid. They took one look at the scene and laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed. And exchanged words with Rudolphus she was too far gone to hear, and sat down on a different couch, and minded their own business.

And then he was there again. Too close and touching her in too many places and so heavy and she couldn't bloody think. Why couldn't she just. Bloody. Think? Her hands found purchase on his shoulders and the distance between them was right again.

Your friends, she said, they're right there. She was trying to say fuck off but found she couldn't, instead she could only grasp at weak excuses to stop whatever the hell was going on. Turns out a people pleaser will always aim to please people—drunk or sober, deserving or not.

They don't mind, it's fine Juliet, relax, his stupid tone told her she was being childish, ridiculous, overly worried, too difficult.

She offered up so many reasons: I'm tired, I have to go home soon, I haven't shaved, we don't have protection. He countered every single one: it's fine, I'll get you home on time, I don't mind, don't worry about that. She didn't know why she couldn't just shove him and leave. But Juliet had never been less sober, he was nearly twice her weight and on top of her, no one intervened, and he had so much practice manipulating others to his will. And so they ended up in a bedroom. And so he ended up having his way with her.

And afterwards? Afterwards Rudolphus helped her get dressed. He helped her gather her belongings. He helped her home. He kissed Juliet goodnight behind the big beech tree in the yard before helping her over the fence to sneak into her room. And he bloody owled her a good morning letter the next day.