#cool for the summer

[z-oot]

ADACHIIIIIIII ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cool for the Summer 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren't as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellooooooooo. I've done it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The heat is suffocating. There’s so many people crammed into the tight space. Enough to smother you and make you sweat. You're close to the end. 

The train is finally still and passengers rise to take down their bags and form a queue along the center aisle. You stay patiently in your seat. You’d rather wait there then brave the crowded shuffle as the impatience to disembark mounts. 

At last, the doors open and people begin to move. You don’t stand until the last person passes your row. Your suitcase is at the front of the car with the bigger luggage. 

Step-by-step you make your way up and slip your bag off the middle shelf. You haul it awkwardly to the door and the man on the ground helps bring it down. You thank him, looking only at his branded pin, and step off. 

You drag the bag behind you and hike up the smaller bag on your shoulder. You’re exhausted and it’s not even noon. The automatic doors stand open as the other passengers enter the station. You follow and wheel your bag to the side so you’re out of the way. 

You take out your phone. Your mother texted that she was here ten minutes ago. You can’t see much through the busy station. It’s summer and everyone is on their way somewhere; going home or heading out on vacation. 

You’re relieved to be back but you won’t be able to relax until you’re at your mom’s house. You can’t wait to hide in your room and catch up on your reading. After four years at college, you have a long list. 

As endless as your list may be, your reprieve won’t be. You have your degree now. You need to use it. Find a job, start your life, be an adult. The prospect is exciting but terrifying. More the latter as it entails associating with strangers. You’ve never been very good at that. 

You did so well in school because it’s all you did. You didn’t go out and party, you didn’t distract yourself with dating or drinking, you didn’t even sign up for that book club that looked fun. You only stayed in and studied and occasionally ate in the cafe instead of boiling ramen or ordering in. 

You don’t see her. You roll over to a free seat and sit. You text and ask where she is. 

The general public stirs around you, blending into your peripherals as you stare at your phone and wait. You’d be better off waiting outside. Maybe. There’s a line of taxis and it’s all clustered with people trying to claim one. 

“Ahem, excuse me.” The deep tone draws your head up but your eyes don’t go all the way. You focus on the man’s neck and the silver and brown stubble under his chin. He says your name and you sit up taller. “That’s you, right? Your mom showed me a pic. She’s just run to the bathroom.” 

“Huh?” You clutch your bag tight. 

“She did tell you I was coming, didn’t she?” He asks. 

You shake your head and gnaw on your lip, “no. Who are you?” 

You don’t know him. Not by his voice or the brief peek at his face. He’s older. Maybe her age. His dark hair is peppered with grey and his face is lined around his eyes and mouth, a few softer wrinkles in his forehead. His blue eyes are as bold as gems. 

“Bucky.” He answers as if that should be explanation enough. He offers his hand. “Finally, we meet.” 

You look around and accept his hand. You shake it. “Um, okay?” 

He lets you go and grabs the handle of your suitcase. You reach for it in panic and stand. You nearly tip over and barely avoid brushing against him. 

“She didn’t mention me. At all?” 

You shake your head. 

“Bucky,” your mom’s voice undercuts the awkward introduction. You turn to watch her flutter over. “Oh, sweetie, you’re home!” 

Your mom seizes you and wraps you in a tight hug. She usually lets you have your space. You’ve never been touchy feely but you don’t protest. It has been a while since you saw her. 

“Um, mom?” You murmur as she releases you. 

She steps back and looks between you and the stranger. No, his name is Bucky. 

“Oh, yes. You two. This is Bucky. Bucky--” 

“We met,” Bucky interrupts. 

“So sorry. I had an iced coffee on the way,” she trills. 

“Bucky?” You raise your brows in your mom’s direction. 

“You remember. I told you I met a guy,” she lowers her voice and nudges you. “This is him.” 

“Oh.” 

You vaguely remember her mentioning it after Christmas. You didn’t think too much about it. You don’t remember it coming up again. She always just said she went out or talked about chores. You wonder if she didn’t tell you on purpose. If maybe she expected you to overreact. 

“We thought we could take you out for lunch as a bit of a homecoming. That train food isn’t very filling.” She smiles. “Well, it was Bucky’s idea. He’s so sweet.” 

“Honey,” he chuckles. “Please, you’re giving me a lot to live up to.” 

“Erm. If you want.” You shrug. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’m starving.” Bucky pulls your bag away and you flinch again. “Ladies, first. Want me to get your other bag?” He offers and you shake your head.  

Your mom moves first and you quickly catch up to her. You wish she’d at least warned you. You’re entirely unprepared for this. She knows you don’t do well with new people but maybe that’s why she didn’t say anything. So you couldn’t come up with an excuse to get out of it. 

The sun beats down and adds to the sheet of sweat across your nape. Bucky looms behind you, his shadow skewing on the pavement, and you search for your mom’s car. You don’t see it. 

She leads you to a dark blue car and you stare at it dumbly. 

“Bucky drove,” your mom explains. The trunk pops as Bucky rolls your bag up. You step back as he lifts it inside. You thank him again as guilt bristles in your chest. 

You follow your mom around the side of the car, waiting for her lead. When she opens the door, you open the back one. When she gets in, you get it. When she clips in her seat belt, you do. Bucky gets in on the driver’s side and drops his keys in the little tray between the cup holders. He jabs the button to turn the engine. 

He doesn’t shift into gear right away. He does up his own seat belt, adjusts his posture, then fiddles with the mirror. You glance up as his eyes dart away in the mirror. Was he looking at you?

You pick at the hem of your sleeves button-up and lean into the door. You really hope you’re not in the way. You have that rotting sensation in your gut. You’ve ruined their day. 

“Alright, everyone buckled in?” He grips the wheel with one hand, the other hooking behind your mother’s seat as he cranes and backs out of the spot. You stare at his thick fingers as you slump down in self-consciousness. You know he’s only checking his rear window but you’re always paranoid of being seen. 

He rolls the car straight and steers between the slanted rows of vehicles. He idles behind the fleet of cabs and weaves his way through the chaos. Your mom sighs and shifts. She’s a less than patient driver. 

“So, we were thinking the new bar and grill, figured you haven’t been around to try it,” your mom explains. “But if you miss Dezi’s, we can go there. Me and Bucky love getting Sunday lunch there. You remember how we used to go?” 

Your lips twitch as you fright a frown. Dezi’s is your place. You and your mom went there since you were in grade school. Knowing she’s been taking him feels like a violation. The suspicion that you’re being replaced unnerves you. You don’t have any right to be mad about it. You’re grown now and your mom’s allowed to live her life. Thing’s change, they already have. 

“New place is fine,” you grumble. 

“Great! Megan recommended it. I’ve been dying to try it.” Your mom is elated. 

She’s never short of enthusiasm but you don’t know the last time she didn’t have a single complaint. If it’s a nice day, she’s disappointed she can’t be at the beach. If she has the day off, she’s upset she has to do the laundry, even if you offer to throw it in with yours. And when she finally gets her food at a restaurant, she laments that she didn’t order the chicken instead of beef. Maybe change is good. 

“Your mom’s a great tour guide. I don’t feel so lost anymore.” Bucky stops at a light and looks at her. “Uh, Lauren?” 

“Straight then left,” she instructs him with a point of her finger. Her nails are done. Not her usual chipped paint on her short square cuticles; she has a full set with a lovely almond shape. 

He follows her directions and continues through the green. You turn your attention out the window. You were only just home for the holidays but everything feels so different. Or maybe you are too.  

There’s nothing ahead of you no, yet everything at the same time. You haven’t found much in your job search. Every job your mom sent you, you applied. You trawled the online boards and even used the student career center for help with your CV. A dozen articles littered your feed deeming the market oversaturated. 

Another disappointment for your mom. You’re sure she won’t fail to mention this one. You exhale and twine your fingers together in your lap. 

“Tired, sweetie?” Your mom asks. 

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. It wouldn’t do any good to share your worries. You still have time to find a job. Eventually, you have to get something. 

“Alright,” Bucky flicks his blinker on and waits to turn. “Here we are.” 

He pulls into the lot of the bar and grill. It’s built to resemble a log cabin and the entire theme has a rustic tint. He slides into a spot and shuts the engine off. In the silence, your stomach rumbles loudly. 

“Hungry?” He chuckles and peeks back over his shoulder. As your mom jostles her purse and untangles her seat belt, he winks. Your blink dumbly and click the button to release yourself. 

“Sure.” Your voice creaks as you pull the door handle. It doesn’t budge. You try again. Then frantically feel around for the lock. 

“Oops.” Bucky turns and hits a switch. The locks thunk back. 

Your mom gets out first and you follow. Bucky catches up and brushes by you as he passes. He beats you both to the front door and opens it for you. You trail your mom and he stays close as he enters behind you. 

“Such a gentleman,” your mom praises and giggles. She sounds bubbly. You can’t remember her sounding like that before. 

“Table for three,” Bucky says to the hostess. 

Again, he lets you go ahead of him. Your mom is ahead of you as the hostess leads you into the dining room. You’re sat at a booth. You’re relieve to have a bench to yourself, facing your mother and Bucky, but she insists on being on the outside in case she needs the bathroom. That leaves you across from him. 

“Drinks.” Bucky intones as he grabs the slender menu. “Cocktails?” 

“What do they have?” Your mom leans on him as she reads over his shoulder. 

“Hmm, interesting. Apple cider’s a bit out of season,” Bucky comments. “Figured we should celebrate. Baby girl is home and graduated.” 

You wince at the reference. Baby girl? He sucks his teeth as he examines the menu then turns it around. He offers it across the table. 

“Think I'll stick to beer,” he says. 

“Go on,” your mom goads. “Get something special, sweetie. You earned it.” 

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll just have water.” 

“It’s a special day,” she insists.  

“Well, er...” you take the menu and nod. You look down at the listings as your cheeks burn hot. You don’t like to argue, especially when there’s no good reason. 

You try to make sense of it. Blackberry sounds good but you’re not sure what bitters are. You don’t drink. You had one glass of wine at a New Years party with your mom’s friends a few years ago and didn’t really get the appeal. It made your stomach feel swishy. 

There’s a lemonade that sounds okay. You like lemonade. You settle on that and put the menu down. Your mother scoops it up and you apologise. You should’ve asked her if she needed it. 

A server appears and takes your drink orders as she doles out a set of larger menus. You take yours and listen as she recites the specials. You don’t really catch any of it. You’ve always done better with writing than oral instruction. She leaves and you wait for the others to open their menu before you do the same. 

“This is nice,” your mom says. “I’m so happy you two are getting along.” 

You force a smile and Bucky slips his arm around her and squeezes. Your eyes meet again and his cheek dimples beneath his beard. You quickly avert your attention back to the sandwich options.

Getting along? You barely know him. Not to mention, you didn’t expect him. No use in whining about it. He's here and your mother is happy. 

[femininenachos]

cool for the summer

On vacation in Polis, Clarke hooks up with a local (again and again and again).

It’s just a hot summer fling.

It’s not like anybody is going to catch feelings… right?

Now on AO3.

[webs-of-words]

summer is in season 🤍

sources: pinterest | ellen everett | pinterest | pinterest | eating the city - sayaka murata | the bear and the nightingale - katherine arden | cool for the summer - demi lovato | pinterest | @girlonabreak on tumblr | @flowersofzephyr on tumblr | pinterest

[dailymusicgifs]

Demi Lovato "Heart Attack" / "Sorry Not Sorry" / "Cool For The Summer" | 2023 VMAs

[throwbackgaylor]

september 12, 2023 | one year ago

taylor swift singing and dancing along to demi lovato’s vmas performance of ‘cool for the summer’

[porcelainmortal]

Several Sentence Sunday / New Fic Alert

Thank you to @miss-minnelli and @sophie1973 for the tags!

I posted a new fic today for the lovely and incredible @blueeyedgrlwrites. She's the best beta ever, my constant cheerleader, and at least half the reason I'm still writing. 💕

This is technically a ficlet fail, clocking in at 1,500 words total. Link is below! Here's a taste.

Alex pauses, key in hand, and looks up at Henry. Alex is definitely too drunk for this but he can’t help himself. “Were you really joking?” Henry’s face tenses, his blue eyes guarded and bloodshot but still beautiful in the glaring fluorescent light of the hallway. Alex can’t look away from them.  “Why does it matter?” “I just have to know,” Alex whispers. He’s not sure how they are suddenly so much closer, but Henry’s eyes dart back and forth, assessing Alex.  Henry’s lips are so close and they look so soft. Alex leans in, intending to close the gap, but Henry steps out of the way and Alex stumbles. He looks at Henry, confused.  “I won’t do this when we’ve been drinking. If you still care, ask me again tomorrow.” He unlocks the door and heads inside, leaving Alex standing in the hallway alone.

Tagging @anincompletelist @anchoredarchangel @blueeyedgrlwrites @bitbybitwrites @caterpills

@cricketnationrise @cha-melodius @firenati0n @faketrex @getmehighonmagic

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @iboatedhere @inexplicablymine @kiwiana-writes @myheartalivewrites

@onthewaytosomewhere @priincebutt @rmd-writes @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow

@tailsbeth-writes @thesleepyskipper @theprinceandagcd @thighzp @wordsofhoneydew and as always, an open tag for anyone that wants it!

[queerliblib]

THE MADNESS BEGINS. Sixteen gay-as-hell books compete for the ultimate prize: bragging rights. 

Last year's Queer Books March Madness was dominated by underdog @joydemorra's Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites. Will another sleeper contender snag the (extremely metaphorical) trophy, or will a heavy hitter like Gideon the Ninth claim the title? YOU DECIDE. 

Voting for Round 1 is up in our Insta stories from 10 AM 3/17 to 10 AM 3/18 (EST). Votes in the comments ✨will not count!✨

All the nominations are from our bracket are available for free through QLL’s Libby collection. Check 'em out and get reading: https://tinyurl.com/QLL-MM24

Want to support our mission of by connecting LGBTQ+ people with literature, information, and resources that celebrate our community? Donate at the link in our bio!

<3 HAPPY MADNESS. 🏀📚☄️

[the-yennefer]

Got a taste for the cherry

I just need to take a bite

[lionheartamelia]

Lyric videos for all of the tracks on REVAMPED by Demi Lovato

[lgbtqreads]

Fave Five: YA Sapphic Summer Romances

Cool for the Summer and Going Bicoastal by Dahlia Adler Wish You Weren’t Here by Erin Baldwin The Summer of Jordi Perez and No Boy Summer by Amy Spalding Rise to the Sun by Leah Johnson Hot Dog Girl and Melt With You by Jennifer Dugan

[jamteayang]

book blurbs!! hell yes 💖

I’ve only been an editor for a hot second, so while other editors might be like “ho hum, a blurb from a NYT bestselling author? just another day at the office” -- I am screaming, crying, etc. I am starstruck! 

It is pretty freaking cool that YA authors I love to read have nice things to say about a book I edited. And it’s really fun to get to email these blurbs to the author (Jessica Mary Best!) and be like “hey! that’s you!! they’re talking about your writing!!!” 

So that’s my unsolicited perspective on the whole thing. Without further ado, some praise for Stars, Hide Your Fires by Jessica Mary Best: 

"With lush worldbuilding, high stakes, and a page turning mystery, STARS, HIDE YOUR FIRES is impossible to put down. Brilliantly crafted and delightfully fast-paced."—Rachael Lippincott, coauthor of SHE GETS THE GIRL

"A delightfully, mischievous adventure full of intrigue, betrayal, and a touch of romance. Get ready to join your new favorite rebel crew." —Dahlia Adler, author of COOL FOR THE SUMMER

"A delightful and gripping space mystery with twists and more twists; a charming and unlikely detective team; an adorable, banter-y romance; and an extravagant sci-fi ball!"—Vanessa Len, author of ONLY A MONSTER

And if “queer Knives Out in space” sounds like your jam, then consider: pre-ordering Stars, Hide Your Fires by Jessica Mary Best. Pre-orders are really important for the success of a book -- they signal to buyer accounts, booksellers, etc that this is a book they should be paying attention to. So if you do end up pre-ordering or requesting the book at your local library, thanks! I appreciate you. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cool for the Summer 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: baby girls, he we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You rinse out the bowl you used for your oatmeal. It’s only as the back door opens that you notice the roar of the mower’s stopped. You put the porcelain in the dishwasher and shut it as you hear footsteps down the hall. It’s almost ten o’clock. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Bucky greets your back as he enters. “I just put fresh water in the hot tub. Might go for a soak myself, try to loosen up these muscles.” 

You face him, “hot tub?” 

“Oh, yeah. Guess that’s new too.” He chuckles. “Another one of my projects.” 

“Right,” you nod. A sudden buzz makes your jump. 

You look around and scurry across the kitchen to grab your phone. It’s a message from your mom. But why would she text you? Can’t she just come downstairs? 

‘Is Bucky still there?’  

You stare at the message and frown. Huh? 

“Everything okay, doll?” Bucky asks. Your eyes flick up. 

“Um, yeah, erm, it’s my mom...” you shake your head. 

“Right, how’s work going for her?” He plants a hand on the counter and leans. 

“Work? It’s her day off,” you blink. 

“Ah, yeah, she said she didn’t want to wake you up when she left. She got called in. Emergency.” He explains. 

You clutch the phone as you stare at him dumbly. Why didn’t he mention that earlier? Well, it’s not on him, you could have checked. But if she’s gone, why is he still here? 

“Don’t spoil the surprise,” he says, “about the lawn.” 

“I won’t,” you look down and text her back. 

“So how about it? You up for a soak?” He asks again. 

“Um, I’ll think about it. Just gonna chat with my mom,” you waggle your phone at him and meander to the door. 

‘Great. You two can get to know each other.’  

Her answer is disappointing. You thought she’d be surprised, maybe confused. It’s all perfectly normal to them. You’re still adjusting. If she’d told you before you got there, it wouldn’t feel so strange. 

At the same time, you don’t want to let her down. You can’t just ignore her message. You have to try but you feel like you haven’t even had time to settle in. And he’s not the only thing that’s different. Your room doesn’t even feel like yours. 

You stand at the bottom of the stairs. You key in a final reply. ‘Ok’. That’s it. A tepid agreement. 

“Hey,” Bucky surprises you again. “Invitation stands,” he wipes his forehead, his bicep bulging as he does, the muscles of his chest straining. “I’m just going to get in my trunks.” 

“Uh, I... I’ll think about it,” you make yourself take a step up and climb steadily, refusing to look back. 

You stare at the phone. You don’t want to be rude. You’re sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why your mother didn’t mention him. You might do the same in her shoes. After so long being single, she was probably just letting it pan out. 

Still, she could have said something when you were on the train. 

Whatever. It’s not your place to complain. You’re still living under her roof, rent-free, after years of tuition on her dime and a lifetime of dependency. You can pretend like this is all okay. 

You go into your room and shut the door behind you. You wouldn’t have a swim suit in the dresser, you didn’t bother to pack it for college. Wherever your other clothes are, it should be there. You just don’t know where that is. 

A tank top and shorts should do the trick. You prefer that to an actual swimsuit. It won’t feel so revealing.  

You take out a hot pink spaghetti strap shirt and a pair of black shorts. You switch out your clothes, catching your foot in the shorts and tripping slightly. You stand up, shirtless, leaning on the vanity as you get your balance.  

You glimpse your reflection and shy away. You tie the string of the shorts and reach for the tank top. You pull it over your head and check yourself in the mirror. It will do. You hope. 

As you come out of the room, another door opens. You peer down the hall as Bucky emerges from your mother’s room. You gulp and flick your eyes away from him. He wears a pair of light blue shorts, so short you might mistake them for briefs. His thick thighs and torso flex with his movement as he approaches, a towel over his shoulder. 

“You changed your mind?” He asks as he comes closer. 

“Erm, well, I... I’ll give it a try. I’ve never really been in a hot tub, so...” You poke your fingertips together nervously. You don’t want to tell him your mother told you to be social. 

“Great, kinda feel like a loser sitting in there by myself. It’s really too bad your mom had to go in.” He sighs. 

Yeah, it is. You wonder why he didn’t mention it sooner. Or why he’s hanging around. You guess you don’t really know how things work around here anymore. 

“Don’t forget a towel,” he winks as he pats the one on his shoulder. “I’ll go get the cover off and you can come hop on in.” 

He brushes by you, his knuckle glancing off you as he does. You shuffle down to the linen closet and take out a towel. You don’t follow him right away. 

Your stomach is a flurry of nerves. It’s just the oatmeal. It always sits like a lump. You didn’t think about that, you were just hungry. 

You go downstairs and drag your feet to the back door. You come out onto the deck and peer around. The tub sits in the deck, installed where the table used to be. It steams as Bucky steps into it. He sighs and groans, muscles clenching up his back and sides. He must work out a lot. 

You look down at yourself. Self-consciousness creeps over you. It’s been a while since you thought so much about it. You tried not to focus much on your body; as long as you liked what you’re wearing, you don’t worry about what’s underneath. You don’t have the most extravagant taste but you have a few cute pieces. 

He lowers himself into the water and lets out another drone. He shifts around to face you but doesn’t seem to notice you as he closes his eyes and leans his head back. He takes a deep breath so his chest puffs out. 

You set your towel next to his on the small table near the edge. You near and stand at the lip of the tub. Can you just sneak away? 

“Hey,” his voice rolls over the bubbling water, “it’s not bad. Come on. It feels great. It’ll loosen you right up.” 

You nod and bite your lip. You get down on your butt before you ease yourself down onto the seat of the tub. The water steams and spits just beneath your shoulders. It is nice though it does raise a thick sheen across your forehead. 

“Mmm, trust me, when you’re mine age, you’ll need one of these,” he smirks. “So,” he stretches his arms around the frame of the tub, “what’s the plan, doll?’ 

“The plan?” You flap your lashes. 

“For the summer? Beach days with the girls? You wanna invite some friends over? You can have the tub to yourself,” he offers. 

“Mm, no, I... I’m looking for work. Uh, probably send out more applications.” You shrug. 

“Looking for a job? Ah, right, no more school, huh? Exciting. You got the whole world in front of you.” 

“Mhm, yeah,” you reach to rub your neck. 

“I’m sure you’ll still have time to hang out with your friends,” he insists. 

“Uh, I don’t... I don’t really have any,” you utter. You look away and stare at the fence. 

“No? Well, all my buddies are too busy for me. I know how you feel.” He says, “you know, we could be friends.” 

“Um, yeah, maybe,” you look at him again as you chew your lip. His eyes snap up from your chest. You look down and try not to show your horror. Your nipples are entirely visible as the pink fabric clings to you. You cross your arms. “You’ll be busy with my mom.” 

“Not all the time,” he says “You know, ever since she got this promotion, she’s been too busy for me.” 

“Ah, erm, I'm sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?” He asks. 

You shake your head, “I don’t know...” 

“Mm, I know why,” he tilts his head. 

You stare at him in confusion. 

“You know a guy like me shouldn’t be kept waiting around. You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you? You can’t help but feel bad knowing I’m left all on my own. Lonely.” He traces a finger along the edge of the tub as he speaks. 

“I... guess. I don’t... know? I just...” You look away again. You can hardly stand the heat of the water as it boils your blood. 

He snickers and you wince as he shifts around the tub, sliding into the seat next to you. He slips his arm behind you as he does. You shrink down and stare at the deck railing. What is he doing? 

“This is nice, isn’t it? Getting to know each other?” His fingers tickle your shoulder as he crowds you. “You know, seems like we have a lot in common, doesn’t it?” 

“Um, erm,” you squirm in the seat. “I think... maybe... I should...” 

“Relax, it won’t do you any good if you don’t relax,” he girds. “I’m just saying, baby girl, seems like we’re both pretty lonely.” 

He leans back into the hot tub and lets his head fall back. You bend your arm, rubbing your other, and fidget. You want to just go but you’re scared to move. You don’t think you’re really afraid of him, he probably won’t stop you, but you’re just all locked up. 

You sit there, staring through the slats at the green lawn. The water babbles and your ears pulse. He continues to caress your shoulder. 

“Mm, baby girl, come on, just let yourself...” he taps your arm, “lean back, huh?” 

You obey. You lean back into the tub and slide down in the seat, trying to mimic him. Your head hits his arm as you recline. It is nice as the jets shoot up your back. 

“Wait, wait, you gotta get in the right...” he grabs your thigh and drags you towards him. “..place. Make sure you hit all the pressure points.” 

As he moves you, you spasm and cry out in surprise. A jet blows right against your shorts, a stream of water that sends tingles through you. You try to move back but he holds you in place. He squeezes your thigh and kneads. 

“Ah, yeah, baby girl, right there? Doesn’t it feel good?” 

You squeak as the water hits your clit through your thin shorts. You put your hand on his and wiggle. That only makes it more intense. Does he know what’s happening? 

“Please...” you gasp. 

“What did I say? Relax,” he continues to rub his fingertips into your thigh. “You’re all tense, baby girl. Let it go.” 

Your eyes round and you contort, trying to take the pressure off your clit. It doesn’t help. You puff out and grab onto his arm without thinking. He needs to let go. You can feel a throbbing inside of you. It hurts. Please, stop. 

The sensation crests and coils through you. Your muscles clench then release all at once. You squeal in shock and shame as your body twitches. You think you just... orgasmed? 

“Baby girl, what is it?” Bucky leans into you. 

“I...” you heave. “I-- nothing.” 

“Mmm, nothing?” His hand crawls up your leg and over your stomach. He twists and bends his arm, cradling your head and turning you to face him. You shiver as he cups your chest through the wet fabric and runs his thumb over the hard bud beneath. “Cause I think you just came in this nice clean water.” He leans in closer until you feel his breath against your lips, “baby girl, I thought you were going to be good for me?” 

[femininenachos]

Thank you so much Queen for the vacation au update, much appreciated 🫡 Clarke is a lot of talk no action w that p eating tho

Ye of little faith…

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Once again, Clarke finds herself led by the hand through a warren of side streets, the irregular-shaped stone paving burning beneath the cork soles of her flip-flops. She’s still flying high from the exhilaration of the boat trip, but between the blistering afternoon heat and the effects of low blood sugar, she feels flushed and a little light-headed.

As though she read Clarke’s mind, Lexa pulls them to a stop under the shaded awning of an unassuming bakery. The aroma of freshly-baked bread, hot out the oven wafts from the open doorway. 

Lexa tips her head in invitation. “Want to grab a bite to go?”

“You did make me work up an appetite.”

And if things shake out like Lexa implied back at the cove, Clarke will definitely need to carb-load for what lies ahead.

They trade smirks as Lexa tugs them over the threshold. 

If it’s oppressively hot outdoors then it’s like stepping into a blast furnace inside. Even so, Clarke is drawn straight away to the pastries and savoury treats in the display counter. Emerging noisily from somewhere out back, a great, bearded bear of man enters carrying a large tray of bread rolls. He sets them on the cooling rack before ambling over, a broad smile in place.

“Leksa! Ha yu?” He glances between the two of them, a kind twinkle in his eyes. “Chon ste oyu brana lukot?”

“Dishe ste Klark.” Then in English, “Clarke, meet Gustus. My uncle.”

“Aulana?” He scrutinises Clarke for a second, an eyebrow going up. “American?”

What gives it away, she wonders, a little paranoid that she has a neon sign above her head that screams ‘obnoxious Yank’ in star-spangled red, white and blue.

Still, she pastes on her most winning smile, keen to make a good impression.

“Thanks for letting us borrow your boat this morning. We had such a great time.”

He says something in his own language, most of which Clarke doesn’t catch except “sadrona” (which she makes a mental note to look up later online), but she observes with interest that Lexa’s eyes slide away to fixate elsewhere while a rosy tint stains her high cheekbones.

“What can I get for you?” He directs the question at Clarke, his voice a warm rumble.

She adjusts the sunglasses perched on the top of her head and peers at the array of delicious-looking bakes through the glass. “Hard to choose when it all smells so amazing.” 

“Try the fleivatous,” Lexa suggests. “It’s a Polisian speciality, and my favourite: a flatbread stuffed with spices, nuts and dried berries.”

“Can’t beat that glowing recommendation.”

Gustus loosens a chuckle. “Lexa has always had a sweet tooth.”

“That’s not all that’s sweet about her,” Clarke says, low enough only for Lexa to hear. Secretly pleased when Lexa’s face reddens further.

To Gustus, Clarke says: “I’ll take two slices, and a couple of...” She points at a stack of parcel-shaped golden pastries with a beautifully shiny glaze. “What are these?”

”Fetabeik. Phyllo pastry layered with cheese.”

“Oh, yum. Yes, please.”

“I like this one, Lexa,” Gustus says with a wink as he boxes the pastries together.

Lexa sends him a forbidding look that only results in a hearty laugh. For her part, Clarke feels weirdly at ease and unflappable in the face of this man’s gentle ribbing. It’s all she can do to stop herself from beaming at the scowl on Lexa’s face. 

“How much do I owe?” Clarke asks.

Gustus holds up his palms, backing away. “No charge.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he waves her off, saying, “No, no. I insist. Just be good to my niece and that’s payment enough for me.”

“Uncle,” Lexa says, groaning.

She snatches the box off the counter and grabs Clarke’s hand too. “We’re going now.”

“Bye!” Clarke tosses over her shoulder with a small wave but she’s already halfway out the door, his laughter trailing after them. 

“He was nice,” she says with an impish grin as they continue walking.

Lexa’s lips are pursed, but she says nothing. So Clarke bumps their shoulders and squeezes the fingers entwined with hers. Wraps her free hand around the bend in Lexa’s arm, stroking the soft, warm skin beneath her thumb. “Has anyone ever told you you’re cute when you’re embarrassed?”

It earns a grudging sigh, but then Lexa glances at her and relents. She rolls her eyes a little. 

“Wait until I visit you in DC and the shoe will be on the other foot.”

For a moment Clarke imagines introducing Lexa to her own nearest and dearest and how that might go. It doesn’t fill her with as much apprehension as she might expect.

“No risk of running into my family there. My mom teaches at Cornell in upstate New York and my dad’s in Texas for work. They divorced when I was a kid.”

Lexa offers a soft look of sympathy that Clarke meets with a reassuring smile.

“It’s fine. Fortunately, it was amicable.” She pauses. “I mean, it was still confusing and upsetting for me as an eight year-old, but they’re the best of friends now. Both remarried. We spend Thanksgiving and the holidays together.”

“So… what I’m hearing is I should come in late November or December.”

Clarke’s mouth twists. “Do you crack under interrogation? Because my mom won’t give you an easy time.”

“Parents adore me. I’m polite and respectful and very attentive to their daughter.”

“‘Attentive.’” She eyes Lexa amusedly. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

~*~

At the farthest edge of the town new residential developments have sprung up, modern buildings that are more or less in harmony with the surrounding traditional houses: all whitewashed walls and cobalt blue shutters, the flowering hanging baskets that frame the doorways providing vibrant pops of colour in purple and pink. A backdrop of rugged, scrub-covered mountains looms in the distance while a slice of jagged coastline is visible to the west, and it all feels pleasantly removed from the historic quarter where the tourists flock in their droves.

“Here we are. This is my home,” Lexa says, nodding toward a two-storey apartment block.

“Any roommates?”

“No, I live alone.”

“Good.” 

The look they exchange makes Clarke’s skin prickle and her pulse kick up a notch. 

They climb the stoop and two flights of stairs and Clarke follows Lexa inside. The place is small, the kitchen opening out into a sparsely furnished lounge area, but the high ceilings and sunlight flooding in through the double aspect windows gives it a bright and airy feel. The kitchen window is cracked open, just enough to allow a faint sea breeze in, and the wind chime that dangles above it tinkles musically every now and again.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lexa says, putting the pastry box on the counter. 

There’s a solitary coffee mug by the sink with a spoon in it—rinsed out already. Try as she might, Clarke can’t pick fault or see anything else that’s out of place. 

“If this is what qualifies as quote-unquote mess then I’m doing adulthood all wrong. My apartment looks like a bomb site compared to yours.”

“Blame military service. Some parts of the regimented lifestyle are difficult to let go.”

“Now you’ve got me picturing you in uniform, and I’m not mad about it.” 

A coy little smile sits on Lexa’s lips, and the sight of it propels Clarke forward. She crosses the tiled floor to wordlessly crowd Lexa against the counter and kiss her, both hands gripping the back of her neck as they open their mouths. Warm, sure hands roam down Clarke’s sides to grasp her by the hips and before she knows it, Lexa has her spun around. 

Pinned between the counter and Lexa’s frame, back to front, Clarke feels humid breath ghost over her ear, her neck, the join where it meets her shoulder, lips hovering close yet still withholding, and it’s enough to make her knees buckle slightly.

She reaches behind to guide Lexa’s mouth back to hers, greedy for more. A blissful sigh escapes when Lexa runs her palms up, curving around her breasts, only for Clarke to be frustrated by the inconvenient layers of cotton and spandex between them.

They need to be naked. Now. 

Driven by that imperative, Clarke twists back around and yanks Lexa’s button-down off her shoulders. The tank top swiftly follows, landing in a heap at their feet, and their lips remain fused while she walks Lexa backwards until they bump into the couch. 

Clarke shoves Lexa down and remains standing, gratified by the wide, hungry eyes staring up at her. 

Too impatient to put on a performance, she whips off her t-shirt and steps out of her shorts. They’re still caught on her ankle when Lexa grabs her by the waist, pulling Clarke onto her lap and back to her waiting lips.

While their mouths are busy, Clarke lets her hands travel over Lexa’s chest. Feeling her way. Circling hard nipples with her thumbs. A whimper catches in Lexa’s throat and it thrills Clarke to the core. The tugging ache of arousal hasn’t left her since they fled the cove and her belly twists sharply with want as she slips to the floor on her knees between the spread of Lexa’s legs. 

Clarke kisses down Lexa’s abdomen, smirking as muscles twitch and contract under her lips, still able to taste the sun and sea on Lexa’s skin. She doesn’t abandon her grip on Lexa’s breasts until her chin grazes the waistband of Lexa’s shorts and she hears the deep breath Lexa draws in, feels her tense in anticipation.

Hooking her thumbs under the elastic, Clarke looks up the length of Lexa’s body, eyes fastening on her chest and the tempting jut of her nipples. Unable to resist, she leans up and takes one between her lips. Runs her tongue around the pebbled areola. Slow swirls at first then faster as she narrows in on the tip and sucks hard. Lexa’s low groan, how she arches into it, fingers sinking into Clarke’s hair, gathering a fistful at her nape, only adds to her excitement.

She meets Lexa’s lidded gaze and the air seems to sizzle, those darkened eyes burning, hungrily watching Clarke’s every move. 

Under that rapt attention, she switches to Lexa’s other breast. Mouths all around, eyes remaining glued to Lexa’s while she licks a wet path to the straining nipple, catching it on the flat of her tongue, flicking the tip before sucking it into her mouth.

For the next long while, Clarke gorges herself on every inch of soft flesh until Lexa’s tits are shiny with saliva and a stream of breathy little moans are dropping from her lips. She keeps moving her hips, rocking into Clarke in the pursuit of friction, sighing heavily when she edges away.

Feeling much too smug about the effect she’s having, Clarke wants to grin ear to ear, but she briefly smothers her smile in the curve of one breast. Flattens her hand between their bodies and slips inside Lexa’s shorts.

They both groan as Clarke skims through the wetness, gliding over Lexa’s clit and making her hips jump.

“What do you want first?” Clarke asks, swirling the tip of one finger at Lexa’s entrance. “This or…?”

Lexa’s throat works before she replies with, “Mouth. Please.”

“So polite.”

There’s a teasing undertone, but Clarke has no desire to drag this out and make Lexa beg, not when she’s so tightly wound herself. It’s for both their sakes that she quickly shuffles to the side and tugs the shorts down Lexa’s impossibly long legs. 

Clarke can’t help but stare, soaking up the sight of all that glowing tan skin on display. In the haze of lust, she moves on autopilot. She trails her hands up Lexa’s shins to grip her knees. Gently pushes them apart and situates herself between. Her breath catches when her eyes settle low, on Lexa, wet and swollen for her. 

It’s Clarke’s new favourite view this island has to offer.

Lexa opens her legs wider.

All the encouragement Clarke needs to hook her hands under Lexa’s thighs and drag her to the edge of the couch. The air is thick with the heady, musky scent of arousal and Clarke breathes it in, filling her lungs. Powerless not to flow forward, to press her open mouth there and drink from the source.

A shiver racks Lexa’s body and she bites off a curse when Clarke’s tongue eases in. Hands tangle in her hair, winding tighter against her scalp, and Clarke relaxes her jaw to work deeper, curling her tongue to draw more wetness into her mouth, the tang filling every space as she emits an appreciative groan. Maybe it’s a product of the local diet, but Lexa is by far the best flavour Clarke has ever had on her tongue.

Pulling back an inch, she pins Lexa by the hips and licks her slowly, deliberately, dragging her tongue up to trace patterns around Lexa’s clit. She mixes firm laps with gentle suction and little nudges with her nose, sometimes lifting her mouth away just to breathe on Lexa while she strains to get closer.

All the while Lexa is practically writhing on the receiving end, gasping and stifling a moan each time Clarke presses her tongue inside, limited by its reach and the growing ache in her jaw to just a few shallow thrusts that Lexa urgently rocks down to meet. 

And when Clarke’s eyes flick up to watch, she’s mesmerised by Lexa in the throes. Her hair has dried into a mass of marvellous curls, and Clarke is wholly infatuated with it. That, and the way the sunlight pouring through the windows paints her golden skin, catching the beads of perspiration that dot her throat and chest as she arches her spine and spreads herself even wider, directing Clarke by the grip on her hair. 

Lexa’s calves tremble with exertion as she picks up the pace, her gasping breaths becoming thinner and more ragged as she chases the pleasure.

Sensing the unspoken need, Clarke reaches for Lexa’s clit, using the soft pad of her thumb to rub tight, firm circles while she extends her tongue, pushing in as far as possible. Her jaw has gone numb but she powers through, determined not to falter.

As Lexa rocks her hips and Clarke plunges in and drags back out, their eyes lock and hold. In that moment of connection, Clarke sees her name form on Lexa’s lips before she throws her head back against the cushions and stiffens sharply, shuddering into Clarke’s mouth and flooding her tongue.

Lexa is near silent for the big finish, except for the gulping breaths she pulls in as she clenches and shivers and scrapes her nails against Clarke’s scalp.

After a few more lazy thrusts, Clarke withdraws with a rude slurp and takes her thumb off Lexa’s clit. She bends close again, intending to lick up the spill, but a weak tug on her hair draws her focus up. Lexa looks dazed, her mouth hanging open as her heavy eyes search Clarke’s face. 

She doesn’t even get a chance to wipe her chin before Lexa urges her up onto her lap and into a deep and dirty kiss, a muffled groan vibrating between them. Palms scorch up Clarke’s ribs to cover her tits, kneading, teasing her nipples while she shamelessly grinds on Lexa. 

It’s good, but not enough.

Breaking off the kiss, Clarke sits back on her haunches and reaches for the top piece of her swimsuit.

“Help me out of this?”

Together, they pull it up and over Clarke’s head.

She almost laughs at the reverential look on Lexa’s face once her tits are freed, like Lexa has been blessed with the greatest gift to lesbiankind. Clarke isn’t so conceited as to believe her breasts are a quasi-religious experience, but Lexa sure makes it seem that way.

After a second, Lexa snaps out of her trance and slips her hand behind Clarke’s neck to reconnect their lips. They both whimper into the kiss as they crush closer. The graze of their nipples feels electric, lighting sparks under Clarke’s skin and sending another jolt between her legs.

The muggy heat inside the apartment is stifling by now. Their stomachs and thighs stick together, slicked in sweat, but neither are inclined to separate, locked in a fervent makeout. Clarke is breathing hard by the time Lexa rolls her over and peels the rest of her swimsuit off.

Unselfconscious, Clarke lets her thighs fall open, and Lexa needs no greater incentive to drop to her knees. A moan slips out before Lexa even puts her mouth on her, so hyper-aware is Clarke of the gentle fan of warm breath over her vulva. But at the very last second Lexa veers away to plant kisses on the insides of Clarke’s thighs and she isn’t capable of containing her huff of frustration. 

She feels the stretch of Lexa’s smile, but before Clarke can vocalise any complaints, Lexa turns her face and licks up the length of her. Unprepared for the shock of direct contact when it’s been sorely missing, her hips fly off the couch, almost colliding with Lexa’s nose.

“Oh, fuck,” Clarke croaks, a hand shooting out to clutch Lexa’s shoulder, the other grabbing a fistful of the cushion behind her head. “Fuck.”

“I will,” Lexa says, a glint in her eye when she catches Clarke’s. Then she holds Clarke down by the hip bones and lowers her mouth once more.

Clarke’s breath escapes her in a rush, eyes slamming shut. Her body reacts, engulfed by sensation. All scorching heat and the soft, wet glide of Lexa’s tongue as it weaves up through the slick, circles her clit, before dipping low to drag over her again and again, keeping Clarke squirming for minutes on end, rotating her hips in a frantic grind.  

She peels her eyes open to look, craning her neck to witness the complete and utter rapture on Lexa’s face. She’s covered in Clarke, lips and cheeks all shiny. And her tongue... Clarke shivers and clenches around nothing at the glimpse of pink muscle lapping at her with purpose, heat coiling tighter in her gut with each deft stroke. Every now and then Lexa presses inside, just far enough to make Clarke choke on a moan and rut her hips up in a useless attempt to force Lexa deeper. When Lexa retreats she uses a little less pressure on the next lick, too gentle and fleeting to give Clarke what she craves. 

“Lex,” she pants, a hint of aggravation bleeding into her tone after the fifth or sixth time it happens. She squeezes Lexa’s shoulder.

“What?” Lexa asks lightly, her parted lips brushing against Clarke so intimately that she feels the question breathed into her body.

She stifles a noise of pure need and grits her teeth.

Nearly howls when Lexa takes her mouth away.

“You only have to ask, Clarke.” Dark, dark eyes hold her gaze. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

It’s clear Lexa isn’t toying now. There’s something in the depths of her eyes that speaks of sincere devotion, like it’s her true calling and sacred duty to surpass herself and give Clarke the best damn orgasm of her life. From anyone else, that intensity might be a little frightening, but coming from Lexa? It’s the biggest turn-on, and Clarke is more than willing to put her through her paces.

She throws down the gauntlet with all the cocky confidence she can muster in her current position.

“Isn’t it about time you brought out the strap?”

~*~

The ceiling fan rattles and whirs overhead, merely stirring the soupy, sweat-saturated air around the room. Despite having all the windows thrown open, the scant through-breeze does little to alleviate the dense humidity or disperse the scent of sex that hangs potent and heavy in the air.

Laid flat on her back on twisted sheets, Clarke sweeps the tangle of damp, frizzy hair out of her face with one hand, still trying to get her breathing under control. Her chest is heaving and her thighs haven’t stopped shaking in the aftermath of their last energetic tryst, the second since Lexa brought out the harness and a sparkly purple dildo and proceeded to screw her into the mattress with smooth, deep thrusts and small, quick jogs of her hips until she came with a strangled shout. Now Clarke’s mind is mush and her body aches in the best way, worn out and thoroughly sated—for the time being, at least.

Meanwhile, Lexa is stretched out alongside, flaunting a lazy half-smile as she unbuckles the harness. The bulbous head of the toy slaps wetly against Clarke’s hip bone before Lexa scoops it up and tosses the whole kit over the side of the bed to be dealt with later. 

Propping her temple on her fist, Lexa trails her fingers down Clarke’s side, following the curve of her breast and the slope of her ribs down to the dip in her waist, retracing the same path on the return journey, and Clarke can’t control the way her body responds to the stimulus, goosebumps rising on her skin despite the unbearable heat. 

Every involuntary twitch makes Lexa’s little smirk edge wider, like she has a newfound fixation with testing Clarke’s reactions, laughing when Clarke finally squirms away from her touch.

“Are you ticklish?”

“Are you?” Clarke threatens, trying and failing not to be charmed by Lexa’s easy half grin, how she giggles and scrambles backwards when Clarke pretends to lunge. “Don’t make me fight you.”

Then she flops back against the pillows and kicks away the covers. “Ugh, it’s way too hot. I feel like I’m melting.”

“Water?”

“Please.”

Lexa slips off the bed and slinks out the room, fully nude and without a care in the world, and Clarke’s eyes stay trained on that audacious bubble butt as she goes, amazed not for the first time that Lexa is carrying all that junk in the trunk. Really, her perfect tush should be a serious contender for the number one visitor attraction in Polis. Clarke almost mourns its disappearance when Lexa turns the corner.

Left alone to examine her surroundings instead, Clarke lets her gaze drift around the room. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s neutrally decorated and spotlessly clean; everything put away. No ornaments, photographs or other personal touches that reflect Lexa’s taste except for a framed piece of art that depicts a lonely, ruined tower surrounded by lush forest. On the wall above the door hangs a distinctive ward that’s a staple of the island’s gift shops: a hand-painted stone with four concentric circles in the shape of a blue eye.

When Lexa returns from the kitchen with a large glass of water, Clarke levers up on one elbow and takes it from her gratefully. After a few greedy gulps, the cool liquid sliding down her throat, she nudges her chin toward the ‘evil eye’ symbol.

“Are you superstitious?”

Lexa joins her on the bed. Glances over her shoulder and gives a slight shrug. “It’s a peasant tradition going back thousands of years, but it doesn’t hurt to be protected from negative energy.” A faint smile graces her lips. “Especially Anya’s when I do something to piss her off.”

“I could’ve used something similar when I dropped by the taverna yesterday.”

“In her own misguided way, she tries to protect me too.”

“From who? Me?”

Lexa tilts her head side to side, neither confirming or denying. She studies Clarke for a moment, something indecipherable in her eyes. A muscle in Lexa’s jaw tightens, then she smiles again, if a touch more guardedly. “Mm. You have serial ‘heartbreaker’ written all over you.”

Clarke gapes at her, half shocked, half offended. She places the glass on the bedside table before she accidentally spills water on the mattress. 

She scoffs, “That couldn’t be further from the truth. One, because I work 80-hour weeks on average so how would I even find the time? And two—which is related to point one—the only people I meet are at the hospital, and since they’re either coworkers or patients under my care, they’re strictly off-limits.”

Lexa quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’re a doctor?” she asks, honing in on that part and ignoring the rest of Clarke’s protestations.

She runs her eyes over Clarke, like she’s the one fantasising about uniforms now, nevermind that a lab coat, surgical scrubs and a stethoscope aren’t in the same league as combat fatigues. 

All the same, Clarke wouldn’t be opposed to some steamy ‘on-call’ room role play, which does an effective job of neutralising her outrage.

She reclines again. 

“I am. Clarke Griffin MD, vascular surgeon in-training. About to begin my fourth year of residency.”

Lexa’s eyes, which had strayed below Clarke’s neck once more—so gay, so predictable—leap back up, widening a fraction. 

“Sha?” Her gaze turns admiring. “Beauty and brains.”

“And a helluva rack, to boot.”

“The full package.”

A flush on her cheeks, Clarke accepts the compliment, enjoying the flattery.

“Sometimes I question my sanity for putting myself through the stress and the endless grind, working nights, weekends, and holidays while getting paid peanuts. Oh yeah, and not forgetting the mountain of student loan debt I graduated with from med school.” 

With a doleful sigh, she stares off into space as she contemplates the decade of loan repayments ahead of her. But she snaps out of it and brightens up. 

“Being a doctor is all I’ve ever wanted to do, though. Helping people. Making a difference in their lives.”

Silently, Lexa bobs her head in understanding, but Clarke can tell she’s slipped into her own thoughts.

“What about you?” Clarke asks in a softer voice. She picks up Lexa’s hand and plays with her fingers. “After travel and adventure, what do you dream of doing?”

Lexa lifts her shoulder and lets it drop.

“There aren’t many career opportunities here. The economy is shit, so I’d go to Barcelona or Berlin. Maybe Copenhagen.” She purses her lips as she mulls it over. “I’d like to finish my degree in Political Science. I went to university on the mainland after my year in the army, but” — a flicker in her eyes — “I had to quit halfway through.”

Clarke waits for Lexa to go on, sensing she has more to say when her face cycles through a series of complicated emotions.

“My mother got sick and I came home to help my father and Anya take care of her.” Her jaw works side to side in a microscopic movement before she swallows visibly, lashes lowering. “It was cancer.”

Clarke’s heart clutches.

“God, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”

During her rotation in oncology, she’d witnessed firsthand the devastating effects of a cancer diagnosis on patients and their loved ones; seen battles hard won and tragically lost. To think of Lexa’s mom going through that same hell, the profound emotional toll it must’ve taken on the family, on Lexa herself… Lacking the words, Clarke gives the hand in hers a gentle squeeze, hoping to convey her genuine care and concern.

It appears to shore Lexa up. Taking a fortifying breath, she lifts her eyes and offers the slightest of smiles.

“She’s better now. How do you say it?” She casts about for the translation.

“In remission?”

A nod. 

“All clear for four years. And I remained in Polis. Too much time passed for me to return to university. But… I regret not completing my studies.”

Clarke feels for her. Lexa had to put her education and entire future on hold for her family and now she’s in limbo, her ambitions unrealised, hemmed in by circumstances and an income that’s reliant on seasonal tourism. Polis is a wonderful place, but it’s too small to contain someone like Lexa. 

Before Clarke can offer any platitudes, Lexa pulls on their joined hands. “Come. Those pastries are calling to me.”

~*~

Out on the terrace, a fresh breeze brings cooler air down from the mountains. A table and two patio chairs overlook the cliffs and the shimmering expanse of sea, the water lit up in streaks of red and orange as the setting sun hangs low on the horizon, the sky a glorious haze of yellow and gold.

Wrapped only in a bedsheet, Clarke nibbles on a fetabeik, the buttery flakes melting in her mouth. She hums in appreciation.

“Good?” Lexa asks, mid-demolition of her own slice.

Clarke catches a crumb on her lip and licks it off her fingers. “So good. I’m gonna have to go back and get some for Wells and Octavia to try.”

“Your friends, are they doctors too?”

She shakes her head, no.

“I was classmates with Octavia’s brother in pre-med organic chemistry. He had a crush on me, but…” She makes a face, enough to get across it was entirely unreciprocated. “Junior year, I got introduced to O at a party on campus and we just clicked. Instant ride-or-die. Wells? He and I go way back. We grew up on the same street, went to high school together, shared some extra curriculars: mathletes, chess club. I’ve basically known him since we were rugrats and he hasn’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Lexa peers at her, nonplussed. “Mathletes?”

“It’s like, competitive math as a team sport. Facing off to solve equations against the clock.” It occurs to her that she just outed her teenage self as a giant nerd and now she has reputational damage to repair. “We won at Nationals three years in a row. Even got featured on the local TV news.”

The smile on Lexa’s face only gets bigger while Clarke digs a deeper hole for herself.

“It’s cooler than it sounds. We had jackets!”

“I’m glad to see you didn’t let the fame and accolades go to your head.”

She huffs.

Shoots a faux glare in Lexa’s direction.

“And I bet you ruled the school,” Clarke says. “Probably had that effortless, cool, collected, zero-fucks-given attitude down as soon as you could walk.” 

Lexa dips her chin, still smiling. She plucks at the hem of the loose shorts that sit low on her hips. “Honestly, I was quiet and kind of a loner. It wasn’t until I joined the swim team that I found my confidence and my people.”

Clarke taps her knuckles on the table.

“So you were a jock. Called it.”

Those abs aren’t the product of a weak workout regime.

“Years ago.” Lexa’s lips take on a proud tilt. She catches Clarke’s eye. “But I still like to stay in shape.”

Brazenly, Clarke lets her gaze travel over a trim, toned stomach up to Lexa’s snug black sports bra and the biteable lines of her collarbones. 

She casts her mind back to the two rounds with the strap and clicks her tongue. “Well, I’m no fan of the gym, but luckily sex is great cardio. So, in my professional opinion, we should do more of that.”

“How much more?”

She tilts her head, pretending to ponder it.

“Oh… a minimum of two orgasms at least once a day.”

Lexa looks at her at length.

“And when you go? How am I supposed to cope without my fix?” 

Part of Clarke dares to hope Lexa isn’t just referring to missing her body once they’re thousands of miles apart.

A hint of nerves enters her voice. “I haven’t figured that out for myself yet.”

Lexa’s eyes don’t leave hers.

“Will you stay?” Off the flash of alarm on Clarke’s face, Lexa appends calmly, “Here, tonight.”

Right.

Of course that’s what she meant. It wasn’t an invitation for Clarke to fucking emigrate.

It takes several seconds for her heart to stop pounding and the heat to dissipate from her cheeks. She weighs the options: functional air conditioning and the guarantee of a restful sleep in crisp, cool sheets at the villa versus waking up in an unfamiliar bed, sweaty, hair in her face and her nose in the crook of Lexa’s neck. 

No contest, really.

“Depends. What are you making me for breakfast?”

[justarandomgirly]

Demi Lovato at 2023 VMAs

[keo-k]

i got my mind on ur bunger and ur bunger on my mind