"What is it, Decamps?", he sighs "Could you please call me by my name darling? And will fucking turn around?" He demands, and I do so because I want to see his expression at my words "Fuck off", his brows raise a bit and then they furrow, he probably expected me to fall on my knees for him again...
I start walking away, but he catches my left wrist "Victoria stop" he orders, I just snatch my wrist out of his hold and walk out. He follows me right behind and forcefully grabs my wrist again "Victoria if you don't fucking stop and listen to me I'll-"
"You will what?"
That's not me, it's someone else, someone behind me, his words come from above my head and I know who it is.
Decamps' attention is no longer on me but on the guy that destroyed his eye.
Jean-Pierre repeats himself "You will do what, asshole?"
(Academic rivals to lovers, slight love triangle, angst and some spice)
Jean-Pierre x protagonist
(Victoria is my OC but I barely describe her physically so feel free to imagine this as a y/n story)
Do not copy anything about this story
I do not own the show Mixte 1963 and the characters (except for a few ones) are not mine, all credits to the owner.