#lionel always ruins everything

[raelis1]

#'why can't you see what's right in front of your face lex?' god. god. godddd.#I think there's a really interesting discussion to be had (with many potential viewpoints)#re: to what extent lex actually knew the truth either consciously or subconsciously at any particular time#and how much he was just in denial about it (and why)#I'm not really prepared to have that discussion in these tags but like#let's face it - lex figured out that clark had powers all the way back in 1x12#just because clark convinced him he was wrong at the time doesn't mean he just forgot that whole thing#and yet it seemed like the more seasons went on and the more obvious the truth became#especially the fact that clark was so heavily tied to all the alien weirdness of smallville#the more lex seemed to (subconsciously?) push back against accepting or recognizing that truth#I mean that's literally what he's doing in the 4x21 scene with jason#so it's like he both desperately wanted to know clark's secret but also didn't want to know at all#and that's just SO interesting#I mean jesus the 7x20 scene is supposed to be peak evil lex and yet he STILL has to be pushed into accepting the truth#and he does so with his eyes glistening because yeah he wanted to know clark's secret once upon a time but he never wanted THIS#(remember when lex told jonathan in s1 that he just wanted clark to have a happy normal life bc clark was such a good person?#and then he's told in 7x20 that to save the world he has to KILL clark and take that life away from him hahaha [crying] it's fine I'm FINE)#wow I really said 'I'm not prepared to have this discussion' and then just. proceeded to have it anyway huh. lmao oops (via @fairyroses)

He was about to kill you, Lex. Or divulge something you didn't want me to know.

— SMALLVILLE, "Forever" (4.21)

+ bonus from "Arctic" (7.20):

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 3

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella X fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 6.6K

A/N: Enjoy my loves 💜🪻no smut warning for this chapter but next part will include smut so as always MDNI xo

You don’t want to cry here. Not in front of Whisky. Not in front of all of them.

It’s not just the conversation- it’s everything. The secrecy, the loneliness of being someone’s hidden lover, the constant reminder that no matter how much Claire loves you, there’s always a wall between you, a door she keeps closed just in case. You swallow hard and clear your throat, forcing a small smile.

"Hey, uh... I think I’m gonna head back," you say, keeping your voice light, as if the idea has just suddenly popped into your head. "Probably take a nap before this huge dinner thing."

Whisky watches you closely, eyes scanning your face like she can see right through you. She tilts her head slightly, then nods. "Yeah, okay," she says. "I’ll come with you."

You exhale, relieved to have her with you, and nod in thanks. Your fingers grasp your glass once more to drain the rest of your drink before setting it down, the condensation leaving a faint mark on your fingertips. The bar feels suddenly too loud, the laughter from the others too sharp, the clinking of glasses grating against your ears. You push yourself off the barstool, but your body feels heavy, as if the weight of everything you’ve been carrying has settled into your bones. You brush your hands over your dress as if smoothing out wrinkles, but really, you’re just trying to keep yourself busy- to steady yourself.

You make your way across the bar to where Claire is sitting with Lionel and Birdie, deep in conversation. She looks more relaxed than before, her shoulders less tense, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine glass. It’s rare to see her like this, just being, without the weight of the world pressing down on her. For a second, you hesitate. You don’t want to pull her away from this moment- don’t want to be the reason the tension creeps back into her body. But the ache in your chest is too much to ignore, and right now, you just need to go.

She sees you before you can speak, her sharp eyes locking onto you immediately. You watch the ease in her expression flicker, something shifting as she takes you in. Her fingers still against the glass, her full attention now on you.

"Hey," she says, voice softer than before. "You okay?"

You nod quickly, smiling just enough to reassure her, though you know it’s not convincing.

"Yeah. Just tired," you lie. "I think I’m gonna head back to the yacht, maybe take a nap before dinner."

Claire’s brows pull together slightly, and before you can say anything else, she’s already moving, already starting to stand.

"No," you say quickly, reaching out to touch her arm, stopping her before she can fully rise. "It’s okay. You stay. I’ll take our stuff back, and I’ll just be sleeping anyway. You stay, have fun."

She doesn’t sit back down immediately. Her gaze searches yours, scanning your face like she’s trying to read between the lines, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

"Baby…"

"I’m fine," you insist, voice just a little too firm, too quick. You know she doesn’t believe you. You know she’s holding herself back from arguing, from pushing.

Her fingers brush against your wrist, a brief, lingering touch, before she finally nods. "Okay," she murmurs, but her voice is careful, measured. "I’ll see you soon."

You squeeze her hand gently before stepping away, making your way toward the docks with Whisky at your side. You can feel Claire’s eyes on you the entire time, tracking every movement, like she’s trying to piece together exactly what just happened.

And as much as you want to believe that when you wake up from your nap, everything will feel lighter, you already know this isn’t something sleep can fix.

The yacht looms ahead, sleek and glistening under the afternoon sun, the gentle sway of the water making the walkway shift slightly beneath your feet. You’re exhausted (emotionally more than physically) and all you want is to crawl into bed, close your eyes, and escape the heavy feeling pressing against your ribs.

But as you and Whisky step onto the deck, you’re immediately met with the sight of Miles coming down to greet you.

"Well, well, well, look who’s back early," he says, arms spread wide in mock surprise, his signature grin firmly in place. His sunglasses are perched atop his nose, but you know even without seeing his eyes that he’s already assessing, calculating.

Whisky sighs but smirks, tilting her head as she places a hand on her hip. "And look who’s working so hard."

Miles chuckles, placing a hand over his chest like she’s just flattered him. "Hey, running an empire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes."

You blink, looking between them as the air between them shifts almost immediately. There’s an ease there, a practiced rhythm to their back-and-forth, and Whisky’s body language changes too- leaning in slightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Poor baby," she teases, voice lilting as she takes a step closer. "All alone on this big yacht, handling all the responsibilities."

"It’s a lot," Miles says, exhaling dramatically. "But you know me, I make it look easy."

You glance between them, pressing your lips together.

"Uh, okay, well..." You shift the shopping bags in your hands and force a small smile. "I’m gonna go take that nap. I’ll leave you guys to... this."

Miles barely acknowledges you, already too absorbed in Whisky, who lets out a soft, tinkling laugh at something he murmurs under his breath. You shake your head slightly, exhaling as you turn toward the entrance, already feeling the headache forming behind your eyes.

You don’t even care what they’re doing. Right now, you just need to get away, to let yourself be alone for a little while, before you have to put on a face again for tonight’s dinner.

~

You wake up slowly, feeling the weight of her before you fully process anything else, Claire’s body pressing against yours, warm and soft, her scent surrounding you, something expensive and distinctly her. A kiss pressed just below your ear, down the column of your throat, another against your collarbone, then one at the center of your chest and then up again, nuzzling against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear.

"Mmm…" You stir, barely awake, shifting under her as you blink against the dim golden light of the cabin.

"Baby," Claire murmurs against your skin, her voice low, affectionate, and just the slightest bit loose from alcohol. "My pretty, sleepy baby."

She’s kissing you again, slow and indulgent, like she’s savoring you, like she has all the time in the world. Her hands tangle in your hair, nails scratching gently against your scalp as she coaxes you fully awake. Her knee is between your thighs, pressing just enough to make you shiver, and there’s something almost worshipful in the way she’s touching you, like she needs to feel you everywhere.

"Claire," you murmur, voice thick with sleep, blinking up at her.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her expression soft and fond, her eyes slightly hazy from whatever she drank at the bar. "You okay?" she whispers, brushing your hair back with careful fingers. "You left, mommy missed you."

You sigh, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she kisses the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead.

"I was just tired," you say, but even you can hear how weak that excuse is.

Claire hums, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t push, not yet. Instead, she kisses you again, deep and slow, her fingers threading through your hair, grounding you as she sighs into your mouth. "Missed you," she breathes. "Missed my baby."

You blink against the dim golden light filtering in from the yacht’s cabin, trying to wake up properly, but she isn’t making it easy. She’s everywhere- her body against yours, her lips at your throat, her knee pressed between your thighs.

"Claire," you manage, your voice thick with sleep and need, your hands finding her waist like you need something to hold onto.

She hums again, nosing along your jaw before pressing a kiss just beneath it. “Hi, baby."

"You’re drunk," you say, blinking up at her, and she just smiles against your skin.

"A little," she admits, and her fingers comb through your hair again, gentle and affectionate. "But I’m here now. Missed you."

You sigh, and she takes the opportunity to kiss your lips, her tongue invading your mouth making you whimper into her. You can feel her warmth, the slight weight of her on top of you, the way she’s pressing into you like she can’t get close enough. She dips down and kisses you again, deep and slow, like she’s trying to make you feel her in the places you’re pulling away.

"You sure you’re ok?" she murmurs against your lips, and her knee shifts between your thighs just enough to make you inhale sharply, your fingers digging into her waist.

You nod, but you know she doesn’t believe you. Not entirely.

Claire stays like that for a moment, her forehead resting against yours, breathing you in, her fingers still threading through your hair. Her lips brush against yours once, twice, not quite a kiss but something close to it.

"I love you," she whispers.

You swallow hard, eyes fluttering closed for a second, and God, you want to be mad still, to hold onto it, but she’s touching you like this, looking at you like you hung the damn moon, and it’s so hard.

"You promise?," you could help but ask as you looked up at her, unable to dispel the pangs of doubt festering away in your chest.

Claire freezes.

You feel her whole body tense above you, shifting to pull you up into her lap, the warmth of her hands going still where they rest against your back. The haze of affection in her gaze flickers, replaced by something sharper- concern, confusion.

"Baby," she says, voice careful, “I do. You know I do."

But your throat is tight, your mind looping back to what Whisky had said, the way the words had struck something deep inside you, something raw.

"Then why won’t you let anyone know?" Your voice wavers, cracking just slightly, and you hate it, hate the way you sound small, vulnerable.

Claire's frown deepens, and now she’s shifting, her hands pressing against your hips as she adjusts her position, as if preparing for a conversation she doesn’t want to have. The mood between you shifts instantly, the heat that had been building between you dissolving into something colder, heavier.

"Baby," she says, firmer now, "we’ve talked about this."

You shake your head, pulling back slightly, arms crossing over your chest as a shield, trying to create space between you even as Claire keeps her grip steady, like she won’t let you run.

"That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt."

Her jaw tightens. "That doesn’t mean I don’t love you."

"Whisky said you’d never come out," you blurt, and you see the way Claire’s entire expression shutters, her spine going ramrod straight, her politician mask slipping into place before she catches herself.

"Whisky said that?" Her voice is sharp now, laced with irritation, but you barely register it through the fog of emotions closing in on you.

"Yes," you say quietly, still unable to look at her.

Claire shakes her head, scoffing. "That’s not her business to comment on."

"She wasn’t wrong, though," you murmur.

Claire exhales sharply, her frustration palpable. "Baby, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. She doesn't know us."

"She knows enough."

Claire’s fingers twitch against your skin. She’s trying to keep herself calm, but you know her too well. She’s pissed. Not at you but at Whisky, for putting doubt in your head, for saying something Claire clearly thinks she had no right to say.

"And what?" Claire huffs. "Whisky is suddenly the voice of wisdom now? She’s clearly fucking Miles behind Duke’s back, but she gets to lecture you about our relationship?"

"She just said what I’ve already been thinking," you whisper, voice unsteady. "She just confirmed what I already knew deep down."

Claire’s jaw clenches. "That’s not fair."

You finally lift your gaze to meet hers, your chest tightening at the look in her eyes. Desperation. Frustration. Worry.

"Isn’t it?" you whisper. "Tell me right now, Claire. Will you ever come out?"

She doesn’t answer right away.

And that hesitation is enough. Your heart cracks wide open, something inside you fracturing.

Claire sees it. Feels it.

"Baby-" she starts, but you shake your head, turning away, trying to pull out of her lap.

She doesn’t let you.

"No," she says, voice almost pleading, her arms tightening around you. "No, c’mon, don’t do that. Don’t pull away from me."

"Claire…”

"I love you," she cuts in, voice fierce. "You know that."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to swallow back your emotions. "But you’re ashamed of me."

Claire’s face crumbles, her whole body going still beneath you.

"No," she whispers. "God, baby, no-"

She moves before you can react, hands gripping your jaw as she surges forward, kissing you hard, desperate, like she’s trying to physically force the words out of your head, like if she kisses you deep enough, you’ll feel the truth she can’t bring herself to say out loud.

"C’mon, baby," she mutters against your lips, fingers tangling in your hair, trying to pull you closer. "Let me touch you, let me show you how much I love you-”

You shake your head, turning away, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Claire freezes, her breath coming in short, unsteady pants. She’s never been able to handle seeing you cry.

“Oh, baby," she whispers, voice breaking. "No, no, please-"

Her hands go soft, no longer gripping, no longer trying to convince- just holding you. She wraps you up in her arms, cradling you close against her chest, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair, her lips trembling against your skin.

"I’m sorry," she murmurs, over and over, rocking you slightly. "I love you. I swear I do. I will come out, I will- just… just not yet."

You close your eyes, curling into her warmth, because it’s the only comfort you can take right now. But deep down, you don’t believe her. Not really.

~

The soft hum of the yacht’s speakers crackled to life, and then Miles' ever-smug voice filled the room.

"Alright, my beautiful people, I hope you're all ready for a night of extravagance. Dinner will be served soon, so slip into your finest and meet me on deck for a night you'll never forget."

You sighed, still curled in Claire’s arms, your body draped over hers like you belonged there. In a way, you did. But after the conversation you'd just had, after the way she'd hesitated, something inside you still ached. Claire had tried to soothe you. She’d cradled you, rocked you a little, whispered soft apologies into your hair. But the words didn't quite reach where they needed to. Not yet.

You shifted, pushing up from the bed, and Claire’s hands instinctively followed you, her fingers stroking the bare skin of your back, almost like she was trying to tether you to her.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it,” she murmured, voice still husky from the remnants of sleep and wine.

You shook your head. “No, I’ll go. It’s a big thing, and I don’t want to give your friends any reason to dislike me even more than they already do.”

Claire scoffed, rubbing a slow hand over her face. “Only Birdie dislikes you, but she dislikes anyone who’s younger and prettier than her.”

You huffed a small laugh, but it was quiet. You stood up fully, stretching, before you turned toward the wardrobe where your shopping bags sat neatly lined up from earlier. The sight of them made your stomach twist a little- earlier today had felt so nice, so easy.

Claire was watching you, you could feel it. Her gaze was heavy, like she was studying you too closely. You knew she was still thinking about your fight, still worried.

“I should start getting ready,” you said softly, pushing past the lingering tension.

She nodded, but she didn’t move. She just kept looking at you, thumb pressing thoughtfully into her bottom lip. You hesitated, and then turned back to her, tilting your head.

“…Would you like me to do your hair? And your makeup?”

Claire blinked, slightly taken aback, before she let out a small chuckle. “You want to do my makeup?”

You gave a soft shrug. “You always have someone do it for you when you need to wear it for events. I thought… if you wanted, I could do it instead.”

Her expression shifted, something softer replacing the surprise. She sat up slowly, resting her arms over her bent knees. “Yeah? You sure?”

You nodded, stepping closer. She was watching you so intently, her head tilted just slightly, those dark eyes of hers running over your face like she was searching for something.

Then, slowly, she reached out, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into her lap. You let out a little noise of surprise as you settled against her, your bare legs straddling her thighs, hands resting on her shoulders as she held you close.

Claire exhaled like she was breathing you in, her lips grazing the dip of your collarbone. “Is my baby girl gonna make me pretty?”

You felt your heart squeeze at the nickname, at the warmth in her voice, the way she still needed you close even after everything.

You shook your head slightly, brushing your fingers through her hair, pushing back some of the loose strands. “You’re already pretty, Mommy. I love you.”

Her breath hitched just a little at that, like she wasn’t expecting you to say it so easily after earlier. But she tightened her arms around you, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

For a moment, you just stayed there, resting against each other, her lips tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin, her hands smoothing up and down your spine like she was trying to remind you, over and over, that she was here. That she loved you. That she didn’t want you to slip away from her.

Eventually, you sighed, shifting back just enough to cup her face in your hands. “Gotta grab my makeup bag..”

Claire smirked, squeezing your waist before finally letting you go to grab . “Alright, baby. I’m all yours.”

Claire positioned herself at the edge of the bed, her legs spread slightly, her hands resting warm and firm on your hips as you straddled her.

The last time you had been in this position, it had been so different.

She had been gripping your waist, guiding you, murmuring praises in your ear as you rode her strap, voice wrecked and needy, your body trembling from the pleasure she was coaxing out of you.

That night, she had kissed your tear-streaked face, whispering about what a good girl you were for her, how beautiful you looked when you fell apart for her, how she had you- how she’d always have you.

Now, though, you weren’t crying from pleasure. Now, there was something fragile about you.

Something in the way you were touching her face, in the way your fingers skimmed over her cheekbones with a kind of reverence that made her throat tighten. Claire stayed still, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you moved with gentle precision, your fingertips smoothing foundation over her skin, brushing pigment onto her lips.

It was so quiet. So intimate.

You weren’t speaking, but you didn’t need to. Your fingers moved with care, almost like you were memorizing her, and Claire felt the weight of it settle in her chest. Your expression was soft. Loving. But there was something else there, too. Something that made Claire’s grip on your hips tighten. She could see it- the way your lips pressed together when you thought she wasn’t looking, the slight crease in your brow as you focused too hard on a simple brushstroke.

You were still thinking about what Whisky had said. Still hurting. Claire exhaled shakily, closing her eyes as your fingers traced over her eyelids, pressing shadow into the creases.

The way you were touching her felt like worship. Like devotion. Something inside her cracked. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

You gasped softly. “Claire?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and your face was immediately full of concern, your hands cupping her cheeks, thumbs swiping at the wetness there.

“Claire what’s wrong?”

Claire let out a small, shaky breath. God, she loved you. And she was so, so afraid.

Her fingers flexed against your waist. “Shit, baby…” Her voice wavered, raw and thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you. Please.”

Your breath hitched.

Your lips parted, eyes softening as you shifted closer, pressing your forehead against hers. “I’m not going anywhere, Claire.”

She closed her eyes, breathing you in, hands gripping your waist tighter. “But you were so upset earlier,” she whispered. “I could feel you pulling away from me, and I- I can’t let you do that.”

You exhaled against her lips, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, lingering there.

Claire felt herself unraveling.

“I love you,” you murmured, fingers threading into her hair.

She shuddered.

Then, after a long moment, she whispered, “What about after I get Senate?”

Your brows furrowed. You leaned back slightly, searching her face. “What?”

Claire swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold your gaze.

“When I get Senate,” she said firmly, because she refused to believe she wouldn’t. “After the campaigning is over, after I win… what if I come out then?”

Your entire body tensed. Your breath caught, fingers going slack against her skin. For a moment, you just stared at her, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

Then, in a small, breathless voice, you said, “Oh my god. Really?”

Claire exhaled shakily, nodding once. “Yeah, baby. I swear.”

A stunned, breathless laugh left you. “You- You’d really do that?”

Claire cupped your face, her thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, her own eyes wet and searching. “Yes. For you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time they weren’t from sadness. You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, wrapping your arms around her tightly, burying your face in her neck.

Claire exhaled, relief hitting her in waves as she held you just as fiercely.

For the first time, the future didn’t feel like an impossible dream.

It felt like a promise.

~

You were giggling like a school girl as Claire’s hands wandered over you, hands roughly grabbing the flesh of your breasts before her fingers skimmed along your waist, smoothing over your hips as she guided you down the hall toward the dining area.

“Claire,” you whispered, trying to suppress a grin. “People are gonna see.”

She hummed, entirely unbothered, her fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress as she leaned in close. “Let them.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered at her attention. She hadn’t been able to keep her hands off you since you finished getting ready. Every time she looked at you in that deep red dress, it was like she was seeing you for the first time. And you didn’t mind at all. Her presence was grounding. Especially after everything earlier. And now, as you stepped into the open space where the rest of the group had gathered, you were grateful for her warmth.

Because suddenly, you had the undivided attention of more people than just your girlfriend. Birdie, standing near the bar in a dramatic, over-the-top gown, was staring at you with something close to jealousy. Miles, standing nearby, had his eyes locked onto you, expression unreadable, but the appreciation was clear.

Claire noticed immediately.

Her grip on you tightened, fingers spreading possessively across your lower back, pulling you even closer. You felt a small rush of satisfaction at that.

Then, Birdie gasped dramatically and turned to Claire, eyes wide. “Claire!!!” she practically shrieked. “You look amazing!!”

Lionel, who had been sipping his drink nearby, turned toward Claire as well, his expression warm. “You clean up well governor,” he said with an approving nod.

Claire, clearly not used to getting this kind of attention from her friends, cleared her throat, shifting slightly. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” she said, feigning nonchalance, but you could see the slight pink on her cheeks.

You grinned, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to her cheek. She turned her head slightly toward you, her lips brushing your temple. Birdie made a noise like she was about to say something, but before she could, Miles clapped his hands together to Center the attention back to himself.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, beaming as he spread his arms wide. “Before we dive into the festivities, I just wanna say something.”

Claire exhaled softly beside you, already bracing herself.

“You know,” Miles continued, placing a hand on his chest, “at my core, I’m just an old hippie. I believe in energy, in connection, in the kind of bonds that transcend the material world. And looking around at all of you- my closest friends, my inner circle- I feel it. This,” he gestured vaguely around the room, “is healing for the soul.”

Lionel took a sip of his drink, clearly biting his tongue. Birdie, already a few drinks in, clapped enthusiastically. Whisky gave a dazzling smile, nodding like she agreed with whatever he was saying. Duke, arms crossed, grunted approvingly.

Miles grinned. “So, before we feast, let’s drink, let’s dance, let’s celebrate being here together.”

He gestured toward the waitstaff, and suddenly, glasses of expensive champagne were being passed around.

Soft music began to play, and the mood shifted instantly- lighter, freer Birdie wasted no time grabbing Lionel hands and dragging him toward the center of the space, already swaying to the music. Duke took a drink and immediately pulled Whisky closer, his hands on her waist as they moved toward the impromptu dance floor.

Peg, shaking her head with a small smile, took another sip of her drink.

And Claire? Claire stayed close, her hand never leaving your waist.

You turned to her, tilting your head. “You wanna dance?”

She exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “Not yet.”

You smiled. “Wanna drink, then?”

She leaned in, her lips brushing just below your ear. “I’d rather just watch you for a minute.”

Warmth flooded your chest. You knew she meant it. Claire wasn’t here to impress anyone. She wasn’t here for the pretense, or the social game, or the spectacle of it all. She was here for you. And no matter what else the night held, that was enough.

The opening notes of a soft, dreamy melody rolled through the air like warm honey. You turned to Claire, her champagne glass still in her hand, her sharp eyes scanning the room in quiet observation. But when you reached for her, fingers gently sliding over hers to take the glass from her grasp, her attention snapped to you.

“Dance with me,” you murmured, setting her drink aside.

Claire exhaled a soft laugh. “Baby…”

“Please?” you pressed, tilting your head, voice sweet and persuasive.

Claire sighed, shaking her head like she was already caving, already hopeless to resist you. “Alright.”

You grinned and pulled her toward the dance floor, the slow, hypnotic beat filling the space between you. Claire had expected something easy, something playful. But as soon as your bodies connected, she realized you had something else in mind. You pressed close, rolling your hips against hers in slow, teasing movements, your arms sliding up around her neck. The way you moved- it wasn’t just dancing. It was deliberate. It was a seduction.

Claire swallowed hard, hands instinctively finding your waist as you swayed together. You could feel her breathing shift, hear the subtle hitch in her breath as you twisted against her, the warmth of her hands tightening around you.

She was in awe of you.

Of the way you moved, the way you looked at her like she was the only person in the room, the way your body molded so effortlessly to hers. She’d always known you were beautiful. But watching you like this, lost in the music, your body moving in a way that made her mouth go dry, her heart slam against her ribs- fuck. You turned in her arms, your back pressing against her front, rolling against her as your head tilted back onto her shoulder.

Claire groaned under her breath, gripping your waist tighter. “You’re gonna kill me,” she muttered, voice rough.

You smiled, turning back to face her, your hands sliding down her arms as you leaned in, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Then, just as the song swelled, you kissed her. Slow, deep, sensual.

She melted into you instantly, her hands tightening around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as her lips moved against yours, tasting the remnants of champagne and something sweeter, something you. The room, the music, the people- they all faded into nothing. It was just you and her, lost in the moment, wrapped up in each other.

As soon as Claire pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed from your kiss, Lionel approached with a thinly veiled urgency. His eyes flickered between you and Claire before settling on her.

"Claire," he said, voice tight, "can I talk to you for a second? Privately."

You sighed. Of course.

Claire tensed, immediately picking up on the energy. She hesitated, squeezing your waist before pulling back. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

You watched as Lionel whisked her away, his hand hovering just slightly behind her back, guiding her toward the edge of the deck out of Miles Bron’s eye line.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head, and reached for another drink from a passing server.

"Okay, damn I see you," Whisky's voice came from beside you as she sidled up, drink in hand.

You glanced at her. "Hm?"

She nodded toward where Claire had disappeared. "She was all over you out there. Didn’t think Claire had it in her."

You smirked slightly, taking a sip. "You should see her behind closed doors."

Whisky rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, I bet." She took a sip of her drink, then looked at you a little more closely. "You feeling better?"

You hesitated, swirling the liquid in your glass before answering. "Alcohol helps," you admitted.

She hummed in understanding. Then, maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the fact that you’d just been forced back into loneliness while Claire ran off with Lionel, or maybe it was just that the question had been burning in your brain ever since earlier…

But before you could stop yourself, you turned to Whisky and asked, "Are you fucking Miles?"

Whisky nearly choked on her drink. "Jesus, what?"

You arched a brow, staring her down, emboldened by alcohol. "Well? Are you?"

Whisky gaped at you for a second before she laughed, shaking her head. "Wow, you really don’t hold back, huh?"

You just waited, eyes locked onto her expectantly.

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip before sighing dramatically. "Look, it’s not what you think."

"So that’s a yes."

"It’s a complicated yes."

You blinked at her, trying to wrap your head around what she was saying. "Complicated? What does that even mean?"

Whisky sighed, looking away for a moment as she swirled the liquid in her glass. "It just is, okay?"

You stared out at the ocean “poor Duke” you muttered, mainly to yourself.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, clearly debating whether to tell you more. Eventually, she gave in, shaking her head. "Look- not ‘poor Duke.’"

That made you frown. "Not poor Duke? Whisky, you’re cheating on him."

She huffed a humorless laugh and gave you a knowing look. "It was Duke’s idea."

Your eyes widened. "Wait… what?"

She sighed, taking a long sip of her drink before setting it down with a clink. "Twitch banned him for life."

You nodded. "Yeah, I heard about that."

"And Miles wouldn’t help."

"Okay…"

"So Duke suggested that maybe Miles would be more inclined to help if it came from me." She gave you a pointed look, letting the words settle. "And if he got something in return."

You reeled back slightly, gripping your glass a little tighter. "Are you serious?"

"It’s not so bad," she said with a small shrug. "Miles is using his money to buy shares in YouTube, to promote Duke’s streams. Revenue is going up. Duke’s putting me on his channel more. I’m building my brand."

You stared at her, heart sinking. "So… Duke pushed you to do this?"

She frowned. "I chose to do this," she corrected. "Because unlike Duke, I actually think long-term. I’m making a name for myself. Getting more sponsorships, more followers. Miles can be a creep sometimes, sure, but he’s useful."

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. "Jesus, Whisky."

She tilted her head, studying you. "What? It’s no different than what Claire’s doing to you."

Your breath hitched. "Excuse me?"

Whisky just raised an eyebrow. "I mean, let’s be real- Claire’s keeping you a secret because it benefits her. And you’re going along with it because you love her. Tell me how that’s different."

You turned to Whisky sharply, your head spinning- not just from the alcohol but from the weight of what she was saying. "It’s different," you shot back, your voice tight. "Claire’s going to come out when she gets Senate. She promised."

Whisky snorted, shaking her head. "You believe that?" she asked, amusement flickering across her face. "Please. After Senate, it’ll be the next political goal, then the next. She’s never going to stop."

Your stomach twisted. "No, it won’t," you said firmly, gripping your glass a little too tight. "You don’t know her. You don’t know us.”

Whisky gave you a pitying look, like she was watching a car crash in slow motion. "Please." She rolled her eyes. "I know plenty."

Your breath hitched, emotion rising thick in your throat. "Fuck you," you snapped, blinking rapidly as tears burned behind your eyes. "She might be complicated, but she doesn’t…" Your voice caught, your chest tightening. "She doesn’t fuck her way to get what she wants."

Whisky smirked at that, shaking her head in something almost like disappointment. “Doesn’t she?" she challenged. "The whole reason she’s where she is is because of her loyalty to Miles."

Your heart stopped. "What are you talking about?"

Whisky tilted her head. "She cut Andi out of her life," she said simply. "Became team Miles to keep him bankrolling her campaigns. If she’d stood by Andi, she’d have nothing. No career, no money, no power."

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

"We’re all selling ourselves for him," Whisky continued, her voice quieter now. "We all have a price and he’s a billionaire. At least I’m honest about it."

You stormed away from Whisky, your pulse hammering in your ears. Your breath came fast and sharp, the alcohol amplifying every emotion. You needed to find Claire, needed her arms around you, needed her to make sense of all of this because right now, it felt like the world was tilting sideways.

But before you could get far, a hand caught your arm, fingers pressing lightly into your skin. You turned abruptly, only to see Miles grinning down at you, his touch lingering just a second too long. His other hand slid casually to your lower back- not inappropriate, not *quite*, but enough to send a small, instinctive shiver of discomfort down your spine.

"Hey you," he said smoothly, searching your face. "You good? You look kinda upset."

You swallowed, shaking your head quickly. "Yeah, I’m fine," you lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just need to find Claire."

Miles didn’t let go. Instead, his expression shifted, something shrewd flickering behind those perpetually relaxed eyes. "Hey, you’re a writer, right?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "*Uh… yeah, I am.*"

His smile widened. "How’s that going for you? Your publicists doing a good job with your sales?"

You frowned slightly, feeling a little off balance. "I mean… I guess? They’re fine?"

Miles nodded like he was considering something, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel conspiratorial. "I actually bought your latest book on my iPad last night," he said, tapping his temple like he was in on some private joke. "And let me tell you-" He grinned. "-it should have a lot more attention than it’s getting."

Your lips parted slightly. "Wait… you read my book?"

"I consume culture, babe," Miles said grandly, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his drink. "And you? You’ve got something special. But you’re not getting the push you deserve."

You felt a strange mix of flattery and unease creep up your spine. "I mean… publishing’s tough," you said cautiously. "I’m doing okay-"

"Okay isn’t enough for talent like yours," he cut in smoothly. "Look, if you want, I’d love to pay for you to have the best of the best. Top-tier marketing, real PR muscle. We’re talking global reach, bestsellers lists, late-night interviews- you’d be a household name. A younger, hotter Stephen King."

You blinked at him, a strange weight settling in your stomach. Miles smiled easily, like he’d just handed you the world on a silver platter. But the way his fingers brushed idly against your back made you feel like there was a price tag attached- one you weren’t sure you wanted to see. Your eyes narrowed as you studied Miles, every alarm bell in your head going off at once.

"What’s the catch?" you asked, your voice a little steadier now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and lingering frustration.

Miles just smiled, lazy and knowing, like he had expected the question. "Hey, no catch," he said, spreading his hands in a show of innocence. "A friend of Claire’s is a friend of mine."

Your stomach twisted, something bitter rising in your throat. You gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "She’s not my friend," you said coldly, tilting your head. "I don’t let my friends fuck me.”

The words hung in the air between you, deliberate, pointed- a clear jab at him and Whisky. And for the first time, you saw the briefest flicker of something in his expression, a tiny crack in that unshakable, self-satisfied grin. But just as quickly, it was gone, smoothed over into that same easy, confident smirk.

"Still," he said, voice warm and dripping with charm. "I’d like to help you. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen. No pressure."

His gaze was steady, waiting, like he already knew what your answer would be. Like he was certain you’d come around. And maybe, in another life, in another moment, you might have. But right now, all you wanted was to get away from him and find Claire.

Your jaw tightened, and you forced a small, polite smile. "I’ll think about it," you said, though you already knew your answer.

Miles just grinned wider. "That’s all I ask, babe."

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet

[supercap2319]

Mirror Me

Pairing: Clark Luthor x Tess Mercer. Clark Kent x male reader (indirectly).

“Tess Mercer, if your little stunt ruined my credit …” Y/N trails off as he sees her typing on the computer, a giant virtual image of the earth filled the space of Watchtower. Wow.” Y/N exclaims. He knew that the Watchtower had high-tech toys, but he never imagined this.

“All this for a primitive busy signal.”

Subject: Batman is unavailable.

Subject: Flash is unavailable

Subject: Wonder Woman is unavailable

“Damn it.” Tess curses.

“Okay, I'm not really sure what you're doing, but I'm perfectly willing to run around and frown at technology if it'll lend a hand.” Y/N said.

“Considering that I can't successfully round up the troops, I just assumed that Watchtower was the safest place in the city.”

“For who?” Y/N asked.

“For you.”

“ From who?”

“From Clark.” Tess answered.

“Wait. My Clark? Why would my Clark wanna hurt me?” Y/N asked.

Tess’eyes darted around nervously. She was obviously stressed about something. Something bad. And something important. “Not exactly. And it's only a matter of time before he realizes that I'm not his Tess.”

“Will you cut the blonde speak? What the hell is going on here, Tess?” Before she could respond, something fast flew over the vicinity of Watchtower, like a jet plane. “He found us.” Tess and Y/N look at the skyline. Something comes crashing down towards them, and the impact is strong enough to knock both of them down. Y/N goes crashing over a nearby couch, and Tess hits the walls with a bunch of files spilling on top of her.

Y/N lifts his head up to see that it was Clark who was the one who came crashing down unexpectedly. Only he didn't look like himself. He wore a nicely tailored suit and his eyes were cold and calculated. Y/N had no idea who this guy was, but he wasn't his Clark. The Clark in the suit looks Tess’ way. “Get up, Tess.” She trembles in fear.

“Are you deaf? Didn't you hear me? I said "Get up!” Clark's voice echoed through Watchtower.

“Leave her alone.” Y/N said.

Clark turns to Y/N with a sneer. “Oh, look. There's my slave boy. You seem more confident than my Y/N, but you'll learn your place eventually.” He turns back to Tess. “It's remarkable what you can hear when you stop to listen.”

“You can't stay here.” Tess tells him.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” Clark tells her as he slowly walks towards her. “I'm not going back to Lionel's world. Cause that's exactly what it is ... Lionel's.” He bends down so that he's eye level with Tess. “This world will be mine. Give me the Mirror box.” He holds out his hand.

“And if I don’t?” Tess challenged.

Clark smiled. “I’ll kill you, and the pretty boy over there.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Tessa said.

Clark sighed. “Fine. Have it your way, sis.”

Faster than a blink of an eye, Clark had his hand around Y/N's throat, and slammed him against the wall. Y/N struggles against the Kryptonian, but it was in vain. There was no way that Y/N could overpower Clark with human strength. “Cla–”

“Clark?” Clark mocks as he squeezed. “ Is that who you're trying to call out for? Well, I'm afraid Clark has abandoned you.”

“Leave him alone. He has nothing to do with this.” Tessa stood up.

“Oh, no? Clark looks at Tess. “I always get what I want, sis. And if I don’t…I get angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry, right?” The sounds of Y/N gasping for air was a good indication that he wasn't playing around. “I know everything about you, Tess. Every move you make. So, make the right one. Give me the box, and I spare this insignificant, yet sexy little worm. Then we can have some real fun.”

Tessa nods. “Okay. Meet me at the Club of Aces tonight, and I'll bring it.”

“Excellent.” Clark put Y/N down. Y/N coughs and gasped air as Tess knelt by his side. She looks up at Clark. The Kryptonian smirks down at her. “And remember, sis. If you try to weasel out of this, I'll kill you and kill Y/N. And I promise it will be slow and bloody.” In a blur, he was gone.

Tessa looks at Y/N. “Y/N? Come on. Get up. We need to find–”

“We need to find Clark.” Y/N said.

[spidybaby]

Stressed

Summary: When he's stressed and worried about work, that's the only thing on his mind.

Warnings: angst because I'm a sucker for it 😤

A/N: So I'm inspired, and you already know I love angst, I breathe angst, I eat angst. (Okay, I'm done exaggerating), but lemme know how you are? Are you drinking water? Hope you're fine 💐❤️

Since Kylian sent that letter to the higher-ups of PSG about not wanting to stay until 2025, everything is drama.

The french tabloids, for some reason, want him to look bad, want him to look like this ungrateful man.

He's experiencing too much pressure, Sergio leaving, Lionel leaving, possibly Verrati leaving. It was a mess. The whole teams is.

Especially now that this dumb reporter, her name is Sam, she's all over him about the whole side of him about the leaving, the selling, the quitting of Galtier. He's done with her, with the other reporters, with the ultras hating him for even breathing.

"Don't worry, Kyky, everything's going to be fine." Sergio pat his back, Kylian was one of the first ones to know about his retirement of the club. "Don't let that chick got to you."

"I just want her away from me." He drinks too fast for what he's used to. "Can't she cover something else?"

"Look, hermano." Ney says, he had to deal with the same reporter a few months before. "Just tell her something completely different from what she's asking, and she'll leave."

He knows she just wants to write something before anyone else, something that comes from his own, not for speculation. "Lie to her."

He scuff, it's not that easy to be away from her when she's also part of the PSG press people. She has access to everywhere. That makes him uncomfortable.

"Mira Kylian." Leo says. He's not new to this whole press drama. "Just don't mind her, ignore her, saying you have to be somewhere." He smiles, nodding to his advice.

Leo and Sergio are the ones he trusts with this media hate. They're goats, and they come from a long road. He can't deny that even Neymar is an expert. But he's been there for his own stupid mind, even tho he denied it.

He followed the advice Leo gave him, always ignoring her, saying the usual bonjour or a revoir. Nothing else.

That made her mad. She even asked Galtier for his number, not caring about writing him. That took him to the limit. He couldn't escape her. She was everywhere and anywhere at the same time.

"Don't stress, mon amour." You say kissing his cheek. You're massaging him, wanting to help him relax. "I know it's hard, but I'm here for you. It's only you and me."

You tried everything for him to relax, you didn't know the whole story. He never told you about this reporter. So you only think it's because of the whole letter drama.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

"Bonjour, Kylian." Sam says, looking at him. She's blocking the door of the lockers. "Can we talk." She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm busy." He tries to pass her, but she's not moving, and the last thing he wants is touching her or making any type of contact. "Please move."

"Just five minutes." She says, begging him. "And I'll leave you alone forever."

"I prefer you to leave me alone now." His voice is this deep tone. He's done with her games. "Get out of the way." He ask nicely.

"Four minutes." She begged again.

"Sam, out of the way."

"Three."

He breathes deeply, and he's losing his temper. "I'll say it only one more time, and believe me, that I hate repeating myself." He grabs her arm, not hard but the right amount of pressure to move her gently. "I'm busy." He's mad. His whole day is ruined, thanks to her.

He enters his car, asking the driver to take him home. He's supposed to go to his mother's house, but he's too mad for that.

He arrived home funding. His train bag is now on the floor, you're home early, and you notice the noise, thinking maybe he fell.

"Are you okay?" You ask from your bedroom. Maybe he's hurt. "Ky? Amour?" You talk louder this time.

After a few minutes, you hear the footsteps on the stairs. A very agitated Kylian enters the room. "Hi, handsome." You say, opening your arms to him.

"Remember how you said you can take the stress out of me?" He sais breathless, you nod smiling. "Do it."

You throw the covers away from you. Ready to attack your boyfriend with kisses and attention. Your lips feel heavy on his own. He's tense. You can feel him.

There was no other reason for his mind to be elsewhere, hes uncomfortable by the fact that he has Sam on the back of his head, tunning after him, basically harrassi him.

There's no other reason for him to focus on anything other than you. The way your lips feel on his neck, the way your hands are touching the right places, the way you're making him feel good.

His hips are moving to a very fast pace. He's not one to take his frustration on you, but the way you're moaning his name and how your nails are scratching his back is making him lose control.

He doesn't know how, but it happens. He can't take her name out of his mind, now even when you're taking him so well.

When he dips his hips at a certain angle, the back of your head digs further into the pillow, and he attacks the exposed side of your neck. He's leaving red marks, marking you as his. The groan that's escaping his lips are pornographyc.

You could feel nothing but him, the weight of his body over yours, the thin layer of sweat on his back under your fingertips and on his forehead, making the hair close to your neck to stick to it.

What's making the entire situation so much worse is the fact that no matter how much he tries, he can't stop thinking about her. Not in a sexual way, but angrily wanting her to go away, to leave his mind alone.

His hand is griping your waist so hard. He knows he'll leave a mark. Moans coming out of his mouth. “Fuck, you feel so good.” he goes faster, knowing by the sounds you're making that you're close.

"Sam-" that's when he stops. His whole body stop. He doesn't know why he's saying her name. His eyes are open in a panic.

"Get off," you say out of breath. Your heart is beating as fast as if it's going off your body. "Get off of me."

You push his shoulders for him to get off of you. He pulled out and tried to explain. "Y/n, please, I didn't mean to do that."

Your mind is lost, one moment you're under him, holding him closer, kissing him and enjoying him.

And now you're pushing him away, not wanting him to touch you. You grab the covers of the bed. You wrap it around your body before running to the bathroom.

"Amour, please." He tries to grab your arms. "Amour." He almost catch you, but he's not fast enough.

The next thing he knows is you slamming the door in his face. He can hear the way you're breathing and how you sob. The sound is making his heart hurt.

"I promise I wasn't-" he can't even think of an excuse. He's fucked up, he's hearing the way you're crying and can't think of how to solve it. "Listen, she's a reporter that has been harassing me. She's always on me, and I".

You open the door, interrupting his explanation. You're standing there, tears running down your face, blanket around your body, eyes sad.

"Mon amour." He doesn't know if he can touch you. He doesn't want to make you more uncomfortable than what you already are. "I promise it's not what you think."

You pass him, walking to the room to get your clothes, dressing yourself again, hurried to get away from him.

"Please don't go." He says, hand grabbing your arm. "Please, let me explain." He feels like crying, not wanting to let go.

"Not now." You get off his hold. "I can't do this. Please get away from me." You push him lightly.

"Don't go, I'll go, but you don't have to go." He dresses himself, not wanting you to leave. "I'm fucking sorry." Your back is facing him. You can't look at him in the eyes.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

The past week, you were running away from Kylian, leaving extra early for work and returning while he was still training.

For him, it was hard not being able to speak with you. But you needed time, and he's willing to let you have it. Even if that hurt him in the process.

For you, it's been weird. You can't wrap your mind around the fact of what's going on. For you, it hurts that he didn't trust you enough to talk to you about what's happening, and the other part of you is your ego being hurt by him naming another girls name.

You were sure with a talk and being honest, you both can make up. You trusted him when he says he has never been with her, but you also needed to know the whole story.

The sound of keys jiggling is the way you know he's home. When he walks he sees you sitting on the couch.

He's tired, everyone is hating on him for the stupid tabloids, and he can't even find comfort in your arms because he hurt you without intended to.

"Can we talk?" He swears the sound of your voice is magical. He missed it. He missed you. He nods and takes a seat next to you. "Who's Sam?"

He didn't hesitate to detail the whole thing. The things his playmates advised him. "Kylian, why didn't you report her to the management?" You're mad, not with him but with her for being such a bitch and harass him about a stupid football news.

"Because I thought she was going to leave me alone." He yells, frustrated. "I can't do this anymore."

You hug him, caressing his back and him cry his frustration. His not crying about her. He's crying about the news, about the hate, about the media not leaving him alone.

"I'm here, don't cry." You kiss the top of his head. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you before."

"It's not you, I'm the one who made the mistake of letting her abuse her power." He let you dry his tears. "I'm so done."

"It's not your fault. Don't say that." You kiss his cheeks. "You're fine now, I'm not letting her or anyone hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable." You hugged him. Promising you'll never let him feel that way again.

[hornymggstan]

After all this time?; Cristiano Ronaldo

Two years had passed since you last saw your best friend. He had left Portugal for Spain to expand his football career and join a team. You yourself recommended it to him after watching him play throughout his life trying so hard to go far, because you also trusted what he could do. You also recommended it to him, because you hadn't thought about all the time you weren't going to see him. You lied when you told him not to think so important and that you didn't miss him madly.

Cristiano and you have known each other for more than ten years and throughout your life you have been asked many times if you were a couple, you always denied it with a certain disgust, as if it was crazy, but deep down you knew that you would not dislike the idea of dating the attractive soccer player you had as a friend. Clearly you never confessed it to him because it could go very wrong and ruin your relationship, so in that time when Cris wasn't around, you tried to meet new people to distract your head, and, why not, find a part-time lover.

When you entered university you met a boy named Lionel who sat next to you. The both chatted a couple of times from the moment he went to class wearing a T-shirt from your favorite band "The Strokes" If there was something you liked in boys it was that they have good musical tastes, and this was the case with this boy. A few days ago the teacher had given the instructions for a work in pairs and you had no better idea than to do it together. Leo would go to your house that afternoon to meet, what you didn't know is that someone else had also planned to go to your house that afternoon, but as a surprise.

Half past three in the afternoon and the doorbell rang at your house. You finished accommodating the books and went to open the door. By the time you could see what was behind it, you had to hold on to the frame "Have you missed me darling?" There he was, your best friend was back. "CRISTIANO" You said as you detached yourself from the door to jump into his arms. You didn't remember hugging him so tight ever, you really missed him. "What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Spain? "Well I missed my family and I also wanted to tell you that-" "Wait, let's go home because it looks like it's going to rain and I don't want you to catch a cold"

When the both entered you noticed that he had a confused face "Did something happen?" You asked curiously "Why is everything so arranged and why is there a snack for two prepared? Were you expecting someone else?" "Actually-" You were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell "Yes, I invited a friend to do some university work at home, I hope you don't mind" You told him as you reached the front door, which you opened with a huge smile,naccording to Cristiano, who had changed his expression from confused to furious.

"I brought yerba to drink mate, it's a very common drink in Argentina and I think you'll like it" "Awww leo thanks, now let's go inside because it's cold and raining" As soon as you closed the door you noticed the tension that existed among your guests, but you decided to ignore her "Well, let me introduce you, Cris this is Leo, a friend from uni and Leo this is Cris, a childhood friend" "BEST friend, you mean" the Portuguese plaintiff corrected. Both, Leo and you, looked at each other being complicit in a clear scene of jealousy "Well, let's get to work"

This is how the afternoon passed, Leo and you did what you had to do. You laughed and drank mate with biscuits while Cristiano watched the scene from affair, although they offered him several times to join the conversation, he just shook his head.

"Well, thanks for coming leo, I had a lot of fun, see you on Monday!" "I'm saying the same y/n, greetings to you and your friend!" Your coworker said as he walked out the door.

"May I know why you laughed so much with him?" The Portuguese blurted out "Because at least he spoke, not like others who sit with an ass face judging with their eyes, oh and I didn't like that little scene you did at the beginning Cristiano, nothing at all" "And how do you want me to react if MY best friend just replaces me as if nothing?" "SORRY? AS IF NOTHING? YOU WERE THE ONE WHO DIDN'T WRITE TO ME FOR TWO YEARS CRISTIANO, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I MISSED YOU AND HOW MUCH IT HURTS ME TO SEE THAT YOU NEVER REMEMBERED ME" You were furious. Like nothing? He didn't know how much you missed him? "DO YOU THINK I HAD TIME TO WRITE YOU? I COULDN'T EVEN WRITE TO MY PARENTS" They were both silent "I missed you a lot too, more than you can imagine, I missed your hugs, your face, your voice, seeing your eyes, god I missed you so much y/n, and when I saw that another person arrived I was afraid, I was afraid because I thought I had lost my chance" "Your chance for what?" "From this" And before you could react, he grabbed you by the waist, attracting you to him and the both melted into a passionate kiss. You separated due to lack of air and once ecovered it, you kissed again. It was as if the both could finally demonstrate that desire that they had.

They separated and looked into each other's eyes, and the only thing they could say was "I love you".

[cobrakatharsis]

johnny lost his childhood stuffed toy when he was twelve.

it was a lion plush his mother had bought for him, some time soon after he was born. when he was very young, she’d said it was because he’d had this little wild tuft of baby blond hair, like a lion’s mane, and in part too it had reminded her of his father’s hair. wild and golden. so, a lion. his name was lionel, at first - his mother had named him, but johnny as he learnt to talk couldn’t quite pronounce the name, so it was “ryan” then, based off of his slurred pronunciation.

lionel-ryan was his best friend. his only friend, really. a classic comfort item, held tight throughout every argument he heard, sometimes through the walls and sometimes right in front of him. cuddled through everything he shouldn’t have witnessed, and all the money troubles, and all of his mother’s nights spent drunk and crying, and his father leaving, and moving to a strange new place with a man johnny didn’t like and who didn’t particularly like johnny either.

after the first time sid broke one of johnny’s toys - tore apart an action figure he’d tripped over after johnny had left it on the floor - he learnt to keep lionel-ryan hidden away in his bedroom.

sid still knew, though. and when johnny brought forth his argument, age twelve, to start taking karate lessons - join cobra kai - sid looked hard at johnny. “if you’re grown up enough for karate,” he’d said, “then you’re far too grown up for stuffed toys. don’t you think?”

and he’d made johnny go and get lionel-ryan, pulling him out from where he’d been tucked carefully into johnny’s neatly-made bed. he’d told johnny that he could take karate in exchange for proving he was mature enough for it, proving this wasn’t another passing interest of a child, proving that johnny was grown up now, and the way to do that was by giving up his silly ugly bear.

(sid always called lionel-ryan a bear. johnny learnt to stop correcting him.)

johnny had thought about kreese, about what he wanted from johnny and what johnny wanted from himself too, and he’d agreed. and though he’d cried as sid tossed the stuffed animal into the fireplace and lit it like kindling, made johnny stand there and watch the fur burn until there was nothing recognisable left, he’d let johnny join cobra kai.

like most things about johnny’s life, daniel learns this far too late. it’s one of their late night conversations, when it’s dark and they’re curled together in bed and johnny can close his eyes and stomach his vulnerability solely by pretending he’s not really speaking the words out loud, and like most things about johnny’s life it makes daniel nauseous. nauseous and blindingly angry, imagining johnny as a helpless child, crying as his comfort item is burned.

(he suddenly understands why johnny doesn’t like fireplaces.)

he wants to ask, the next day and then again a few days later, for more details about what exactly the plushie had looked like, what brand it had been, but decides that that might ruin it - if he asks johnny. but there’s nobody else to ask (and god, that thought makes daniel nauseous again) so he goes in blind.

the lion he gets from the toy store is a distinctly modern stuffed animal, with baby-safe eyes and a mane of wild fur and a smile on his little cartoonish face. nothing like the one johnny would have had, but daniel hopes it’ll be better this way. he’s not trying to replace anything, just honour it, and he thinks maybe he made the right decision when johnny comes home and sees it on the kitchen island and bursts immediately into tears.

he cradles the lion in his arms and sobs into its mane. he keeps crying, crying hard, even when daniel rounds the island and takes johnny into his arm, the plush toy held between them, and daniel soothes him but doesn’t try to make him stop. he lets johnny cry for as long as he needs to, for his child self and everything he lost in those years, everything that people took from him.

and a little while later, when johnny’s all cried out and still holding the lion plush tight in his arms, daniel gets out his phone and - at johnny’s behest - types “badass names for a lion stuffie” into safari.

[mik-mania]

hiiii question for mun/newest characters. how do you think condes, zander, and lionel describe themselves compared to how others("others" being like friends/acquaintances/colleagues) would?

BITING YOU AFFECTIONATELY....THANK YOU.......

i'll go ahead and say this first, condes and lionel dont really have..................................friends. due to the whole Condes Being A Militant Dictator thing. it kinda limits the friend pool.

Condes:

firstly, he sees himself as the best fucking thing since sliced bread. he's strong and powerful. he is above everyone else and makes sure they know it. his confidence is off the fucking charts.

he and Lionel have a..... complicated relationship. to where I wouldn't call them kismesises or matesprits, but Vacillates. cus. yknow. they vacillate a lot. i'll be honest, their relationship is toxic as hell! theyre so tangled up in each others messes that the two of them are a package deal. lionel would love to see condes killed, or even kill the man himself, but at the same time he wont ever let him die. he would let himself be killed to defend the guy. its a special sort of stockholm that's progressed past "poor Lionel" to "well, you didnt have to commit warcrimes about it."

zander..................hates condes' guts. she thinks hes a nasty piece of work and she can't believe that the two of them ever used to be on good terms (although it was a long, long time ago). she remembers when Avatakra wasnt war-torn planet filled with death and ruin, before condes went on his campaign to ruin their world. before he killed Dabria. now all she wants is his death.

condes has a pretty strong empire beneath him. i say empire, but it's more of a large totalitarian militia. while he has control of nearly half of the planet, it's a struggle for complete control between him and various other groups vying for power. other leaders find him despicable, powerful, and mendacious. those beneath him view him as terrifying. they may not like him, but he has witchery he can punish them with. no one is sure how to defeat him because nobody knows where he's gotten these powers from.

LIONEL:

lionel hates himself. deep, deep down, he despises himself and is the same scared kid he used to be. but that was long, long, long ago. he views himself as despicable and twisted. his senses have been all switched up by sweeps and sweeps of abuse to the point that pain and suffering are simultaneously gratifying to him. he's given up on the notion of being a good person. anyone who can write off their own humanity (trollmanity?) like that is a dangerous person, because they no longer have any limits to what they're willing to do. and he is willing to do whatever Condes wants.

Condes views him as a pathetic plaything. he has the urge to control everything the man does--he wants him all to himself. i feel like his desire to control and hurt and destroy lionel comes from their childhood attachment to each other. Condes used to be a sweet kid, believe it or not. they both used to be. but condes got into some dark, dark magic shit and it changed him. and he changed lionel. he sees lionel and he wants to kill him, but he cant quite make himself do it. it pisses him off that lionel is a living reminder of his past self. no matter how much he disfigures and remakes this man, the reminder will still always be there. and Condes hates it.

zander... doesn't feel much for lionel tbh. she used to feel bad for him. she's tried many, many times to help him escape. to bring him with her and save him. but you really cant help a person who doesnt want to be helped. she used to feel conflicted about him, watching as he only descended into being Condes' tool and weapon. conflicted that that used to be her friend, that he refuses to fight her, but wont join her either. then, she pitied him for a long time until it slowly fizzled into complete apathy. the man known as Lionel Farlow today is not the boy she once knew. and if that means eventually cutting him down in front of god and everybody, then so be it.

lionel isnt thought of much by his and condes' subordinates, nor is he a thought in the mind of other world leaders. those under him view him mostly with a mix of pity and disgust. to see such a pathetic violet blood be mistreated and slapped around by a small jade blood is something of an upset. lionel is effectively a traitor of the empress' empire at large and the entire social hierarchy that's been established for milennia before Avatakra's existence. but those on the planet lack any method of contact to reach out to the rest of the universe, let alone even leave the planet. so in lieu of any other sort of action, lionel receives the collective brunt of society's resentment.

ZANDER:

she doesn't think much of herself. in all honesty, she tries not to. she doesn't have much of a sense of self and feels that most of her died along with her childhood. introspection only reveals one thing to her: she wants things to change and she is willing to fight for it.

Condes hates her. she is yet another reminder of his past that just seemingly wont go away. while "her" forces (how he views them--zander is not part of an organization) are nowhere near as strong as his, she is a constant thorn in his fucking side. she's sneaky and she knows him well enough to get around any defenses he may set up. she's come close to killing him a handful of times and vice versa. she has a few nasty scars from the man and he remembers every single one of them proudly. if Condes ever takes her captive, he will take extreme satisfaction in her prolonged torture.

Lionel... feels guilty when he thinks about zander. so he tries not to think about her very often. when it's come right down to making the decision whether or not to kill her--he has decided against it, every single time. which is saying something, considering how often he's had the advantage over her. he cares about her in a nostalgic way, wishing that things could go back to how they used to be. but he's already chosen where his heart resides and there is no going back, regardless of how zander tries to convince him. the least he can do is refuse to kill or capture her--even if it earns him severe punishment from condes every time.

zander lives covertly in a small community just outside of Condes' territory. the community is mostly like-minded rebels such as her; trolls who have no loyalty to any of the rising powers in the world and only wish for freedom. they're brought together by the radical ideals of abolishing the social hierarchy, seeking to live in equality all together. condes is not the only power they rebuke, but he is the largest and the closest.

despite their ideologies, most of trolls in the community aren't active members. most people there only wish to live their lives, living off the land and depending on each other. zander has good standing in the community, being known as somewhat of a loner that lives a bit farther from the town. she spends her time building relationships with the trolls there, helping with development of the settlement. it's a fulfilling day-job and she earns companionship and food in return.

although she knows the handful of folks in town that actively rebel, she refuses to work with them. their rebellion is very small-time, targeted toward wandering foot-soldiers and hostile threats. zander refuses to involve them in anything more dangerous, as it would lead not only to their deaths, but most likely the whole community. she intentionally has no deep relationships with any of the townsfolk because when the day finally comes that she disappears for good, she doesnt want anybody to come looking for her.

[aparticularbandit]

IDK how you’d feel about this for the physical affection prompts but…7, 9, 15 (feel free to choose one or mutiple) for Lionel and Claire (Post-movie. Platonically? Romantically? Something in-between?)?

physical affection prompts! 7) squishing their cheeks 9) wiping away someone’s tears 15) the biggest, warmest hugs

I combined them all into one longer thing, so I hope that's okay! Sorry it took so long for me to finish!

It has been the most harrowing three days of Claire’s life.

Actually, that’s not entirely true.  Claire has had a lot of singularly harrowing days, and while she wants to say these particular three are the most harrowing she’s ever had in sequence, that’s not really true either.  The trial was.  She couldn’t numb out the trial.  She couldn’t numb out—

     Look me in the eye, Claire!

Claire shivers, rubs one of her arms, and turns away from the window.

Devon hasn’t been able to join them in Greece because the kids haven’t been able to join them in Greece.  They’d decided this together; an international murder investigation didn’t seem like something Rowena or Mark should be involved with.  Besides, they were perfectly happy to stay cozied up at the house, perfectly happy to see their mom in Zoom meetings when they happen to all be awake at the same time (the eight hour time difference is horrible, but they can get around it if they try hard enough).  She’d needed to see them, after.  Needed to see their smiling, happy, enthusiastic faces.

Helen still thought they were all shitheads, but she’d…oddly warmed when she caught Claire with her kids.  She had, of course, assured her that she still didn’t like Claire one bit and insisted that it was just the kids she liked, but that was fine.  Is fine.  Claire hasn’t – isn’t – trying to patch things up with Helen.  She doesn’t deserve her forgiveness and won’t try to get it.

     If we’d only gotten there earlier, she thinks to herself sometimes.  If I’d only let Duke pound the door in.  If we hadn’t—

But regrets and wishing couldn’t bring Andi back.

Regrets and wishing couldn’t—

Claire and Lionel don’t share a room.

For a lot of reasons, really, one of which being that it doesn’t matter exactly how open her marriage with Devon is, they still need to keep some protocol.  They’re all under investigation, even with the truth coming to light, because that’s how these sorts of things work, especially with Miles’s team of lawyers, none of whom any of them can use now like they had during Andi’s—

     She’d just needed oxygen—

But they can’t forbid them from going to see each other.

Sometimes, the three of them who are left – and Peg, of course, because Peg should always have been included with them, even when Miles pretended she shouldn’t, and Whiskey, too, who was turning out to be much better of a woman than Claire had assumed based on how Duke treated her, which really just reminded her that she shouldn’t assume anything about anyone and maybe if she hadn’t—

     Which really just goes down the regrets and wishing train again—

They gather around the hotel pool sometimes.  They don’t go swimming, probably because they all think of the last time they were swimming, when Duke had been so blatant about something and they’d all just missed it, but they stand and stare at the pool and then sometimes go back to one of their rooms for drinks, except that it’s hard to drink now because all of their favorite drinks have been ruined by that last party, by what Miles had used Duke’s drink to do, by…by everything—

     Maybe, if they’d gotten there earlier, if they hadn’t turned on Andi, maybe they would still all be there—

Birdie and Peg share a room.  Whiskey spends a lot of time with them.  Spends a lot of time with Peg, spends a lot of time with Helen.

     She hadn’t thought Andi could actually die.

They have a community room they all share sometimes.  It’s less sharing and more they’re all there at the same time.  Every now and again, Claire thinks she should go talk to Helen, but every time she gets that thought Benoit is there, and she just…doesn’t.  That’s not the worst thing (although Birdie would say it was, Duke would say it was, in that aggravating streamer way of knocking the actual worst thing for something lesser as a sort of joke (and she tries not to think about how he will never, never, never be able to do that again)), but she’d spent so long following Benoit’s cases – particularly after he’d gotten married to Phillip (that, too, had made the news, and she’d thrilled because he was, he was like her, and she’d thought he was and Devon wouldn’t fucking believe her, he was like them) – that she’d built him up as someone who would understand her, who would look at her and know and say, “Guhvanuh Debella, you are uhn uhmazing womuhn,” in that wonderful southern accent of his, and to be honest, he probably does know, given how easily he’d read that shitty murder mystery game Miles set up, given how he’d figured out everything Miles was doing when none of them had even—

She wants to talk to Helen, not to apologize, but just to…to talk.

But Helen terrifies her.

Benoit does even more, the way he sits next to her like the cutest little Pomeranian guard dog with ascot (a different color every day because he’d planned for this, hadn’t he, while the rest of them were still trying to figure out how to get everything clean.  Claire is able to use the hotel’s washer because she has children and everything she has needs to be able to go straight into the washer without worry because Devon isn’t going to pay attention and neither are the children, but Birdie….  Birdie’s just sending someone out to buy her new clothes every day.  It’s going to get old.  She’s going to run out of money.  They’ll be gone before that happens).  His eyes always seem kinder when he notices Claire, but part of her is convinced that’s just a lie.  Once, out of the corner of her eye, she catches him keeping an eye on her chess game with Lionel.  She bites her lower lip and stares at the board and thinks maybe – maybe – she will impress him.

It is the only time Benoit places a hand on her shoulder, and Claire freezes, expecting him to offer a word of advice or the potential next best move.  Instead, he says, in that adorable accent of his, “If you really want to challenge your mind, you should play Go.”

Claire flinches, freezes, unable to speak, but Lionel looks up, leans on his hand where his elbow rests on the table, and asks, “Do you have a board handy?  We haven’t been able to play in months.”

“Why don’t you ask your benefactor—”

Helen’s voice, then, cutting through their idle conversation, and Claire’s phone vibrates with the call from Devon that led to speaking with her children, that led to Helen peeking in and meeting them.

(Andi’s sister might hate all of them, but she loves children, and like Lionel, she peeks in every now and again and, crossing her arms, barks out a correction when Claire teaches them something wrong.  It’s a small thing, but it’s…but it’s something, maybe.)

Three days of feeling sick and horrible and the worst of the world only made worse because she is the worst of the world, isn’t she, aren’t they all, because if they hadn’t—

     Andi could still be—

And Claire finds herself alone in Lionel’s room.  It isn’t that she’d gone there alone; Birdie had been there, too, briefly, because Peg invited Whiskey to their room, and she hadn’t been particularly comfortable with all of that.  But she’d barely been with them ten minutes before heaving a huge, disappointed sigh and storming out of the room, leaving them both there, alone, while she stomped back to her room.  Lionel stared at her through the window, let out a huff of a laugh, and let the curtains slide shut again as he turned back, “Looks like someone doesn’t like to share—”

But it’s the weight of it all, crushing into Claire’s chest, and suddenly she can’t breathe.  Tears prick at the corners of her eyes.  She sits down hard on the edge of Lionel’s mattress, unable to look at him, unable to look out the window, unable to look at the shitty hotel artwork that’s hanging on either side of the flat-screen tv because every time she does, she just thinks about the stupid college poster Mona Lisa that Miles hadn’t had in his fucked up Glass Onion, unable to look at anything, really, and so she looks down at her thighs where they’re brushed together because her hands are clenching the mattress on either side of her.

“Claire, Claire, hey—”

It’s only a second, and Lionel is crouching in front of her with those knees that he always complains really can’t do this anymore (and yet always, always he still kneels before her), one hand reaching up to gently wipe away her tears with the soft pad of his right thumb.  “It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay, Lionel; she’s dead.”

Claire can’t help the way that she spits it out – she shouldn’t be spitting it out at him because Lionel certainly doesn’t deserve her vitriol – Miles does, but she couldn’t spit at him the way that she can spit now – and, really, she isn’t mad at Lionel, she’s mad at herself.  “She’s dead, and Helen was right – we killed her.”

“No,” Lionel counters, voice as gentle as he can make it.  “No, Claire.  We didn’t kill any—”

“We killed her when lied for Miles over—”

“Miles killed Andi, Claire.”  Lionel’s hands move to her knees, and he gives them a gentle squeeze.  “We couldn’t have known that he would—”

Claire pushes herself off of the bed, away from Lionel’s touch, and starts to pace, arms crossed.  “He wouldn’t have even known that she’d found it if you hadn’t—”

Lionel’s face contorts.  “Now, Claire, be reasonable.  None of us could have guessed that—”

“We shouldn’t have had to guess!” Claire hisses out, turning back to him, arms spread wide, tears streaming down her face.  “We should have stuck with—”

     Look me in the eye, Claire!

The words lump in her throat, choking her, and Claire can’t get them out.  She wraps her arms around herself, and her gaze drops, head lowering.  She feels like a child again, only when she was a child everyone loved her because they didn’t know who wrong she felt in her own skin.  How wrong she feels now, but for an entirely different reason.

Lionel crosses the distance between them again and brushes her tears back with both thumbs at once.  “It’s okay to be mad, Claire,” he says as soothingly as he can.  “It’s okay to try and think of things we could have done, but we didn’t know, Claire.  We were trying to—”

“—to save ourselves,” Claire finishes for him, and she rubs at her tears with the back of one hand.  “It’s exactly like Helen said.  We’re all shits.  All of us.”

“I think the term is shitheads—”

Claire punches Lionel’s shoulder.  Then she leans forward, rests her forehead on his shoulder.  “We fucked up.”

“Then we need to do our best to make it better.”  Lionel shifts again, lifts Claire’s head, squeezes her cheeks.  “You’re allowed to be cute while we try to save the world, Claire.”

“We’re not saving anything, Lionel,” Claire says, although with her cheeks squeezed like they are, her words sound muffled, wrong, and she laughs at the sound before pulling herself away.  “We’re just saving ourselves.”

Lionel offers her the gentlest of smiles.  “Sometimes saving the world starts with saving ourselves.”  He reaches forward and boops her nose with the tip of one finger.  “So we stood up to Miles too late.  We learn.  We do better next time.  And maybe nobody dies.”

“Nobody should have died this time—”

But before she can finish, Lionel wraps his arms around her.  He always was good at giving hugs, and this time is no different.  She crumples in his embrace, buries her head against his chest, and lets herself cry – glad that he apparently brought trashy clothes with him so that when she gets snot all over his shirt, it won’t be a problem.  He strokes her hair gently, and when she’s finished enough, she murmurs into his chest, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lionel doesn’t ask her to stay with him because with the police and journalists who are likely to be swarming the place and waiting for something like that, she can’t risk the further blow to her reputation.  But she stays for as long as she believes she is reasonably able, curled up against him, letting herself rest.

[thevindicativevordan]

Hey Ive been reading your stuff, and first of all loving it, I'm a massive Supes fan and i agree with a lot of your takes. Wanted to ask you, DC tend to give Lex Luthor a complicated backstory of either him growing poor and bulding himself from the ground up (Byrne) or him growing rich and having an abusive dad (Smallville) What do you think is the better option for Lex

Blending the two the way they've merged Byrne's billionaire mogul and Pre-Crisis mad scientist Lex is the best option. Make it so the Luthors were rich, but that Lionel caused them to fall from grace for various reasons, forcing them to leave Metropolis and move to their last remaining relic of their lost wealth: the mansion in Smallville. Lex is the one who ultimately puts them back on top, restoring the prestige of the family name and fortune. That way you get Lex always believing he was supposed to have more growing up, and that knowledge feeding his entitlement and superiority complex. He could've grown up in the lap of luxury, but his dad had to go and ruin everything. But hey, he's not a privileged trust fund baby like Wayne or Queen either, he "earned" his wealth through hard (if not honest) work.

Then you get both the old money arrogance and the new money god complex in Lex. That makes him a great way to talk about the nature of billionaires, both those who inherited their wealth, and the "self-made" ones.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

Supercorp - 49 please

Jess has been with her ever since the beginning of time. It might sound like an exaggeration but it really isn't.

Jess was already assigned with her ever since she was the Junior VP of LuthorCorp's Research division back when Lionel was still alive.

And when Lex inevitably drove the whole company into ruin and forced Lena into the limelight as CEO, Jess remained by her side.

So, really, Lena couldn't refuse Jess's resignation letter when it came, finally telling Lena that she wants to expand her horizons. Lena was beyond happy to hear that Jess was interested in going to grad school and finishing her Master's that's been put on hold. At the same time though, she also doesn't know how to let her go. It might sound a little selfish to keep Jess all to herself, but Lena's sure she's going to die the moment, Jess leaves her office.

But of course, Lena let her go, with a hefty final pay and a promise that Jess always has a place with L-Corp.

So truthfully, she doesn't have a problem with Jess leaving, what she does have a problem with, though, is Jess's replacement.

Jess made sure to choose the best of the best from L-Corp's array of eager interns.

Which means Lena has to work with the smartest, kindest, most fucking beautiful intern to ever grace her office.

How inconvenient.

"I'm her boss," she snipes at Sam, for the nth time that night. It's been 6 months of this. Of Kara coming into her office and making Lena's shitty day, less shitty. Of Kara being the most caring person in Lena's life. Of Kara somehow making Lena eat three full meals a day and getting her to sleep on time. Of Kara making her fall and fall, deeper and deeper.

Of Lena trying hard to suppress every little feeling she has when it comes to Kara by whining about it to her friends.

It's been 6 months of this and now it's Christmas and Kara is looking more and more tempting as the evening passes.

"Right, because that hasn't happened before." Sam rolls her eyes. "I haven't seen you look at another woman this way ever, Lena."

"Again," Lena stresses. "I'm her boss. As in, she works for me. She answers calls for me and she arranged this goddamn Christmas party."

"Then fire her," Andrea deadpans, taking a sip from her champagne flute, arm casually wrapped around Sam.

"Mm. I second that idea." Of course, they're ganging up on her. That's their favorite past time--making Lena's love life a source of entertainment.

"Remind me why I'm even talking to the both of you?"

"Because, you've fallen in love for the first time in your life and you don't know what to do because you're emotionally constipated due to family issues and it's Christmas and Kara's standing right there and I'm pretty sure you want to pull her under the mistletoe and we're the only ones who can help," Sam impressively lets out all in one breath.

"I hate you."

"We love you too, Lena," Andrea automatically responds. "Now, go tell Kara she's now unemployed because you want to rail her for the rest of the night."

"You can do it, sweetie. We believe in you." Sam raises her glass in solidarity.

"The both of you should be ashamed of yourselves." Lena glares at the both of them. "Christ, railing..." she murmurs under her breath at the same time she looks up from her drink and into Kara's eyes across the ballroom floor. Kara gives her a small wave, picks up her champagne float as if to toast, Lena raises her drink in turn.

Kara smiles. Lena flushes.

She's going to blame it on the alcohol when Andrea starts to ask.

Kara is on the other side of the ballroom floor, chatting up one of Lena's tech and bioinformatics staff, Wilfred? Winslow?

Whatever his name is, but Kara doesn't seem to be paying any attention, Lena keeps catching her looking at where she is every 5 seconds.

"Lena, for the love of God, stop with the eye-fucking already. If you aren't going to woman up, I'm gonna get Kara over here myself."

Lena knows Sam isn't kidding with her threat. Sam raises her brow in that 'Well, what are you going to do about it?' way that she always does.

"Fire her and get it over with. I heard Cat Grant is hiring."

"Oh my god, you two! Stop it already, I am not going to fire her, and I am not going to break moral code and for the love of God, I DON'T WANT TO RAIL KARA DANVERS, OKAY?!"

She breathes in deep, her heart pounding from her little outburst. Sam's eyes is twice in size and Andrea's lips bitten in an attempt to hold everything in, her left brow twitching.

"What?" Lena grits. "Why are you looking at me like-"

"Ms. Luthor." Somebody taps her on the shoulder and Lena is confronted with the reason why her friends are completely silent all of a sudden.

"Kara," she whispers in horror.

"Uhm." Kara fidgets with the her dress. "I was wondering if I could take a moment of your time? I want to talk with you about something."

Lena clenches and unclenches her fist and tries to rein it in. Fuck, did Kara hear?

"Is it urgent?"

"Uhm yes, sort of," Kara mumbles. And then more nervously, "I promise, it'll be quick!"

"Alright," Lena acquiesces, heart running a mile a minute. She follows Kara and doesn't dare glance back at Sam and Andrea. She doesn't really want to hear what they have to say about the whole turn of events.

Kara leads them out into the empty balcony, National City gleaming brighter than ever before them.

The jazz notes of the holiday serenade from the ballroom fades out and becomes replaced with the soft quiet of the falling snow instead.

"What did you want to talk about, Kara?" Lena dares to ask, goosebumps running along her arm at the cold.

"I, uhm promise me you won't be angry after I tell you?" Kara says, almost a whisper, a plea.

What could be so bad that Kara looks so afraid at the moment?

"I promise, Kara." The words waiting on the tip of her tongue. Eager to give Kara whatever she needs.

"Okay, okay here it goes, okay," Kara mutters under her breath, hands wringing nervously, clearly itching to fiddle with her glasses.

"I want to leave L-Corp."

Lena's heart plummets.

"What?"

Kara steps forward, looks down at the ground and then back to her.

"I- I want to resign. I want to leave L-Corp. I've been thinking about it for a few months now, and I've finally made up my mind. I wanted you to know in advance. I'll be passing a formal letter to HR in January."

Kara's eyes are so blue under the moonlight and her words are chasing each other around in Lena's head. Kara wants to leave. Kara has been thinking about leaving for months.

And here Lena was, expecting her to stick around for forever.

"Why? I thought you were happy at L-Corp? What could possibly be the reason for you to want to leave?"

I thought you were happy with me?

Lena can't help it, the question comes out of her lips without her permission and she can't take it back.

She thought Kara was happy spending time with her, working with her.

But what Kara says next turns Lena's entire world upside down in a heartbeat.

"You," Kara answers.

Everything slows. Time stops and all Lena can see is Kara and only Kara.

"I want to leave. I need to leave. Because of you, Lena. I'm in love with you, Lena."

Lena's first thought is, Fucking hell Andrea and Sam are gonna insufferable after this. Her second being, KARA'S IN LOVE WITH ME, KARA'S IN LOVE WITH ME, KARA'S IN LOVE WI-

"I'm in love with you. And I think you feel something for me too," Kara utters softly.

"And, I also know how much you value L-Corp and how everybody perceives you and I don't want to start something between us, if it would cost you more than it would cost me," Kara tells her reverently, finally closing the gap and taking Lena's shaking hands into hers.

"Oh, God, Kara, I love you too. God, this is crazy, I love you too. I'm so in love with you."

Lena doesn't even feel the cold, all she feels is this crazy, dizzying rush of happiness at finally being able to say what she's been feeling. And to hear it said back to her.

God, is this what it feels like?

Kara is smiling so wide and it takes a moment for Lena to realize that she is, too. She's smiling so hard her cheeks are hurting.

"I really want to kiss you now."

"I really want you to kiss me now, too, Ka-"

She doesn't even get to finish.

Kara presses their lips together and Lena tastes the cinnamon of Kara's lip gloss, because of course, she's the kind of girl who would wear cinnamon chapstick for Christmas.

They're both smiling too hard to kiss properly for the first time.

Lena breaks away for a moment, only to kiss her again for the second time. This time, deeper, more passionate. 6 months of pent-up emotions and want and love.

"To be clear, you love me, you're not going to fire me and you don't want to rail me??"

"I am never going to let Andrea and Sam near you ever again."

prompts list here

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 2

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella x fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 10.7K

Warnings: slight smut warning so as always MDNI

A/N: so this is very quickly becoming a series I’m on around 4 parts now…. Whoops? If anyone would like to be added to a tag list for this please comment on this post xo🪻💜

By the time Claire had done with you your legs felt like jelly.

You laid there for a while after, stretched out against the cool sheets, skin still flushed and sensitive as Claire ran her hands over your body like she owned it. And she did, at least in moments like this- where it was just you and her, no one else, no outside noise.

But reality hit quickly as soon as you heard the second overhead announcement for brunch. With them. Your stomach twisted at the thought. You had no idea what to expect after last night’s disaster.

"You’re nervous," Claire murmured, tracing her fingers down your arm.

You exhaled slowly. "Yeah."

Claire pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "It’ll be fine."

You didn’t answer, just rolled onto your side, forcing yourself to get up. You had no choice but to face them.

~

The black bikini was dangerous.

You knew it. Claire knew it. But that didn’t stop you from wearing it anyway, pairing it with a sheer black cover-up that barely covered anything, sunglasses perched on your nose, your lips still kiss-swollen from Claire’s very thorough apology.

Claire was practically drooling. She didn’t even try to hide it, either- her eyes raking over your body shamelessly, fingers trailing along your waist as the two of you made your way to the outdoor dining area where everyone was gathered.

"You’re killing me, baby," she murmured low in your ear.

You smirked. "Good."

The second you stepped onto the deck, all conversation seemed to pause- just for a second, just enough to make you feel it.

“Hey! There you are!" Before you even had a chance to react, Whisky was on you, throwing her arms around you, her long hair smelling like coconuts and salt water.

"You survived," she smiled, squeezing you tight. "Come on, let’s get some food before Duke eats everything."

Claire barely had time to react before Whisky was dragging you toward the buffet table, her toned arm looped through yours, her body pressed against your side. The jealousy that flared in Claire’s chest was immediate, burning, but before she could do anything about it-

"Claire!" Birdie’s loud, excited voice cut through the moment as she and Duke appeared, effectively cornering Claire before she could storm after you.

"Good morning future senator!" Birdie beamed, sipping something that was definitely not coffee. "Last night was crazy, huh?"

Duke let out a gruff laugh. "Shit was wild."

Claire forced a strained smile, her eyes darting toward you across the deck. "Yeah, totally."

She barely heard whatever Birdie was rambling about. Because across the deck, Whisky was leaning in too close, laughing at something you said, her hand lingering on your arm. She should be paying attention to Lionel talking about developments at work but instead, she was watching you, across the deck, sipping something out of a tall glass while Whisky kept talking to you, her body angled toward yours in a way that made Claire’s jaw tighten.

"You’re staring." Lionel’s voice snapped her out of it. Claire turned her head sharply, only to find him raising an eyebrow at her over his coffee.

She rolled her shoulders, forcing herself to look away from you. "No, I’m not."

Lionel hummed with a knowing smile, unconvinced, but said nothing else. Birdie, oblivious as ever, was positioning herself on a sun lounger as if she was shooting for a magazine. “Peg can you get me another one of these please?” She handed her empty drink to her bone tired assistant.

"So what do we think this trip is about?" Claire looked around at her oldest friends.

"I don’t know but I wouldn’t get too comfortable," Lionel muttered.

"Well I already sold my soul, so bring it on," Duke added through a mouthful of bacon.

Birdie scoffed. "Ugh, you guys are so cynical." She took a sip of Claire’s drink, "I mean, sure, last time he did tell us we had to cut Andi off, but like, that was different. It was a really bad time for us all. And he was just, you know, protect himself."

Claire shot her a look. "Jesus, Bird."

Birdie frowned. "What?"

"He wanted us to pick a side- his side.” Claire sighed “He wanted to make sure we knew who was in charge now.”

Lionel nodded, rubbing his temple. "And we let him."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Because they had let him.

They’d all been sitting in that same goddamn living room the night Miles told them so casually that Andi was out, that he had social network-ed her and if they wanted to keep their connections, their financial backing, their entire lives, they’d need to fall in line.

And they had.

Claire exhaled sharply, taking a sip of her kombucha despite the early hour. "So the question is- what’s he trying to pull this time?"

Lionel ran a hand down his face. "Nothing good."

"Ooh, maybe he’s finally gonna branch out into social media and wants us to promote it!" Birdie clapped her hands together. "I mean that’s like the only thing he hasn’t bought into yet right?"

Duke snorted. "If that was the case, I’d know about it."

Lionel side-eyed him. "Would you, though?" He doubted if that was the case, Duke would be the best candidate after he’d recently settled out of court for profiting off selling illegal boner pills to teenage boys on his twitch streams.

Before Duke could answer, a loud, self-satisfied voice rang out from the entrance of the deck.

"Good morning, my friends!"

Miles.

The man himself strolled toward them, exuding that same smug, self-appointed guru energy that made your skin crawl.

"Let’s eat!"

The table was long, stretching down the deck, draped in crisp white linens. The Mediterranean sun cast warm golden light over the scene, reflecting off crystal-clear glasses and plates of extravagant fresh fruit, smoked salmon, eggs, pastries- whatever Miles deemed luxurious enough for his closest friends.

Claire sat with Lionel, Birdie, and Duke, all of them picking at their plates while waiting- for what, they didn’t know yet. Claire watched as Miles took his seat at the head of the table, looking over the group like he owned them. And, in a way, he did.

She felt you before she saw you. You had followed the group to the massive dining table on the deck, but rather than taking the empty seat beside Claire, you let Whisky tug you toward the far end of the table, sliding into a seat beside her, still caught up in your conversation.

Claire’s grip on her glass tightened. She wasn’t sure what irritated her more- the fact that Whisky was treating you like her new best friend, or the fact that you were letting her.

Miles took his seat at the head of the table, clapping his hands together. "So!" He leaned forward, scanning the group. "Let’s get to it. Tell me- how are we feeling? What’s the vibe? Are we inspired? Are we challenged?"

Birdie beamed. "I feel amazing."

Duke grunted. "Hungover."

"Like I need more coffee." Lionel pinched the bridge of his nose.

Claire just hummed in agreement with Lionel as she took a sip of coffee.

Miles laughed, shaking his head. "Love this. I love you guys"

Then his eyes landed on you. "And you." His grin widened. "The new addition to our group. Tell us how you capture the heart of our dear Claire?"

The table went silent, all eyes falling on you. You blinked, caught mid-sip of your orange juice.

You lowered your glass slowly. "I don’t know, Miles." You tilted your head, voice light but pointed. "You’re the one who does background checks on all your guests. You tell me."

Claire smirked. Lionel made a sound that was somewhere between a cough and a laugh. Even Duke looked mildly impressed.

Miles just chuckled, swirling the green juice in his glass. "Ahh, I like you." He shot Claire a knowing look. "She’s quick, Claire."

Claire smiled over at you, resting her hand on the table closer to your side, even though you weren’t sitting next to her. "Yeah," she said, voice tight. "I know."

Miles just leaned back, contemplative, as Birdie launched into a whole monologue about her recent escapades in New York. And Claire- well, Claire was going to kill you for making her so goddamn obsessed with you.

Miles grinned, swirling his ridiculous green juice again. "Oh, don’t be like that," he said, all charm and calculated warmth. "I’m just making sure my inner circle is taken care of."

You barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. Miles acted like this was some generous act, some noble offering, rather than what it really was- a reminder that he knew everything about the people in his orbit, including you.

Before you could snap back, Birdie- who had been watching you this entire time, eyes flitting over your body with a jealousy glare. Birdie wasn’t used to someone younger and hotter than her getting the attention she craved.

"Well," Birdie said, tilting her head. "I don’t know how you two even met. Tell me, Claire."

Before Claire began she patted her lap. And you- already halfway through your second mimosa, warm and still buzzing from the way she had made love to you that morning- smiled, playing along as you got up from your chair and sank down onto her lap. Claire felt your warmth against her thighs, felt the way you curled into her so easily. She smirked, letting her fingers slide through your hair, nails grazing your scalp as she tucked a strand behind your ear.

Miles’ lips parted, her jealousy barely hidden behind an impressed expression.

"Mmm," Claire hummed, fingers tangling in your hair. "You wanna tell them, baby? Or should I?"

You gave her a soft, knowing smile. "You tell it better," you murmured.

Claire’s hand slid down, resting against your bare thigh under the table. "Well," Claire said, exhaling with a little laugh as she looked at you, softening at the memory. "It was-"

~ Flashback ~

Claire’s husband sighed, exasperated. "Baby, come to bed."

She barely heard him.

She was curled up on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, a half-empty glass of wine on the table beside her, and your book clutched in her hands. Her eyes raced over the pages, devouring each word. It was past midnight, she had an early campaign meeting that morning. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, her body begged for rest- but she just couldn’t stop. The story had wrapped itself around her, dark and sharp, pulling her in like an unstoppable tide.

"Claire." He ran his hands down the couch to her shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

She flicked a hand at him, not looking up. "Don’t you dare touch me right now, I’m reading."

Her husband let out a frustrated breath before giving up and going to bed alone. Claire didn’t care, she had spent years feeling suffocated. Years playing the role of the perfect wife, the ambitious yet composed woman beside her husband. Always supporting, always agreeing, always being who he needed her to be. But lately, she had been slipping away.

At first, it was little things- staying out later at the office, taking long walks just to be alone. Then, she found the library. This gorgeous, old-world library, tucked into a quiet street near their house. A safe haven. And then, she found your books. At first, she had picked up the first one on a whim. By the time she finished it, she was already rushing back to the library to get the next one.

Even at work, her mind wandered. Sitting in a meeting, nodding along as a colleague droned on, she found herself itching to go home, to pour a glass of wine and curl up on the couch, to lose herself in your world again. It had been so long since something had made her feel this alive.

By the third book, it was an addiction. She practically sprinted to the library that afternoon, heels clicking against the floor as she made her way to the familiar shelf, reaching for the next installment. But to her horror the space was empty. No book. Claire froze, her stomach plummeted. She turned, scanning the shelves as if it had been misplaced. Nothing.

Finally, she rushed over to the front desk, fingers drumming against the wood as she waited for the librarian to look up.

"Hey," Claire said, trying not to sound as frantic as she felt. "I’m looking for the next book in that series- you know, the one by Y/N Y/L/N?"

The librarian smiled knowingly. "Ohh, yeah. It’s not out yet."

Claire blinked. "What?"

"The third book won’t be out for another few months."

Claire’s stomach sank. "No. No, no, no…" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You’re telling me I have to just wait?"

The librarian laughed. "Why don’t you just ask her what happens?"

Claire frowned. "What?"

The librarian gestured toward the far side of the room. "She’s writing it over there right now."

Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she turned round and caught sight of you. Sitting at a corner table, laptop open, fingers moving across the keys, brows furrowed in concentration.

Claire stilled. You were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Her heart skipped. Her mind went blank. For weeks, she had been consumed by your words, your mind, your world. And now, you were right there. Sitting in the same room as her. A living, breathing obsession. She swallowed, pulse hammering.

And for the first time in a long time, Claire Debella felt completely, utterly out of control.

~ End of Flashback ~

Claire’s fingers traced lazy circles against your thigh as she smiled into her glass, still lost in the memory.

"Well," she finally said, dragging out the word, "it was a library, actually."

Duke frowned. "A library?”

Birdie snorted, taking a sip of her mimosa. "People still go to libraries? Claire, since when did you go to libraries?”

Claire shot her a look. "Since I found something worth reading.”

You felt her grip on your waist tighten, just slightly.

Birdie tilted her head, intrigued. "So what, you just bumped into each other between the shelves?"

Claire smiled, shaking her head. "Not exactly." She glanced at you. "I read her books first."

Lionel hummed, clearly amused. "So you were a fan first."

"A big one," you teased, nudging Claire’s jaw with your nose.

Her fingers dug into your thigh, and you knew that if you weren’t in front of everyone, she’d shut you up with a hard, claiming kiss.

Instead, she let out a low chuckle, pressing her lips against your temple. "Careful, baby."

Birdie sighed, sipping dramatically from her drink. "Ugh, I hate couples."

Duke gave an easy grin, ignoring the jab. "So Claire finds a book, gets obsessed, and just has to meet the woman behind the words? Sounds like a movie."

You bit back a smile.

Claire had deliberately left out the part where she had devoured your books like a woman starved. How she had dreamed about you before she even knew your name. How she had fantasized about you, your voice, your mind. How meeting you had felt like a collision course she had never seen coming. How within months she’d divorced her husband for many years and moved you into her home.

"Sounds romantic," Whisky said, voice sweet, eyes warm as she looked at you.

Claire tensed. You felt it instantly- the way her body stiffened, the subtle tightening of her grip on you. Possessive. Jealous. Whisky had barely said anything, and yet Claire was already bristling.

And Miles- of course Miles noticed. He leaned back in his chair, smirking, before turning to you. "So tell me, Y/N," he mused. "You swept our dear Claire off her feet- but what made you want her?"

And just like that, the whole table was looking at you. The whole table was waiting. Miles, with that smug, knowing grin. Birdie, sipping her mimosa with wide, expectant eyes. Lionel, barely paying attention, already tired of the conversation. Duke, lounging in his seat like this was some kind of show. Whisky, watching with a soft kind of curiosity. You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of Claire’s hand on your bare thigh, the way her fingers curled slightly, as if reminding you that you belonged to her.

Her eyes were flicking between you and Miles like she was waiting for him to twist this into something ugly. But he couldn’t. Because you wouldn’t let him. So you turned, shifting on Claire’s lap, meeting her gaze with a small smile before leaning in, pressing a kiss to her lips. Soft. Sure. A statement. Claire melted against you, her grip easing, her lips parting slightly in surprise. And then you pulled back, just enough to see the flicker of something vulnerable in her eyes before you spoke.

"Because Claire Debella is the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met."

"Her drive, her ambition-” you continued, voice steady, heart pounding. "She has dedicated her entire life to making the world better. Fighting for people who don’t have a voice. She stands in rooms full of men who have never taken a woman seriously a day in their lives, and she makes them listen." Your hand found hers, lacing your fingers together.

"She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." You smiled at her.

Claire sucked in a quiet breath.

"And I love her more than anything." You breathed.

A beat. The sound of the waves against the yacht. The warmth of her body against yours. Then Claire grabbed you, fingers tangling in your hair as she kissed you fiercely, swallowing the breath from your lungs.

Nothing delicate, nothing soft, just her- unapologetic, consuming, yours. When she finally pulled away, her forehead pressed against yours, her breathing a little uneven, you swore you could feel how hard her heart was pounding. There was nothing left to say. It was just you and her.

"Damn," Duke muttered, cutting through it like a dull knife. He leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily, as if he wasn’t about to let something dangerous slip out. "Bet your ex-husband Devon took the news real well- wife leaves him, becomes a lesbian-”

Claire froze. You felt the shift before you saw it. The way her body tensed beneath you, fingers twitching where they rested against your hip, the way her breath hitched- not in that breathless way she got when she kissed you, when she needed you. But like someone had just sucker-punched her. Like someone had just ripped something from her hands.

"Oh my god," Birdie gasped, eyes going wide, her mimosa sloshing over the rim of her glass as she clutched at Duke’s arm like she’d just made the discovery of the century. "Claire, you dark horse!”

You felt sick. Because Birdie knew. Not everything, but enough. Enough to put together the one thing Claire had worked so hard to bury. That Claire Debella- rising political star, defender of the people- had been unfaithful. And you had been the reason. Claire barely moved. Her expression- carefully neutral, but her grip on you was like a vice, nails digging into your bare thigh. Like she was bracing. You could see it- the way her mind was already working, already calculating. She wasn’t just embarrassed. She wasn’t just caught off guard. She was scared. And that terrified you.

"Wait so," Birdie was still talking, leaning forward now, one manicured finger pointing accusingly in Claire’s direction. "Are you telling me that you cheated? Claire Debella, cheated? Oh, wow, I love this. I feel so much better about myself now."

"I-" Claire finally opened her mouth, voice unusually stiff, but before she could say anything…

“Birdie, for fuck’s sake," Lionel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Can you not?" He asked, clearly aware of how this conversation was affecting his friend.

"What?" she blinked, genuinely confused. "I’m celebrating! Claire’s always been so moral- ‘Oh, Birdie, think before you speak! Oh, Birdie, you can’t tweet that! Birdie, child labor laws exist for a reason!’- but this? This is messy!"

"Jesus Christ Bird," Claire muttered under her breath, looking away, nostrils flaring slightly like she was fighting the urge to snap.

"But that is interesting," Miles finally spoke up, slow and smooth, leaning his elbows onto the table as he studied Claire like she was something he’d just uncovered. Something he could use. Your stomach sank.

"I mean," he continued, all faux-curiosity, "I know you two have been keeping things private, but... well, Claire, if I’d known you had a thing for pretty young creatives, I could’ve introduced you to some screenwriters in LA."

Her fingers curled tighter around your thigh.

"It wasn’t-" she started, then stopped. She was stuck. Because what could she say?

"So what?" you finally said, voice sharper than you intended, drawing their attention back to you. You kept your expression cool, gaze steady. "She fell in love with me. What does it matter how it started?"

Birdie snorted. "Because it’s juicy."

"Because," Miles cut in smoothly, "Claire’s whole thing is integrity. The hardworking, ethical politician. The moral compass. The people’s champion." He tilted his head. "And this doesn’t quite fit that image, does it?"

Claire’s jaw clenched.

She was furious but she didn’t say a word. Because she couldn’t. And Miles knew it. He had dirt on her now. Claire Debella was indebted to him. Financially. Politically. And now- Personally.

"Oh, relax," he said, waving a hand. "Your secrets are safe with me."

You felt Claire’s pulse pounding in her wrist as she wrapped her arm around you. "We’re done here," she muttered, standing abruptly, guiding you up with her, her grip on your waist unyielding.

Birdie giggled into her drink. Miles just smiled. And as Claire pulled you away from the table, heart pounding, teeth gritted, you both knew this wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

The wind was softer down on the lower deck, the salt air warmer, the distant sound of water lapping against the yacht almost enough to drown out the tangled thoughts in Claire’s head. Almost. She barely reacted when you pulled her into a kiss- deep, grounding, your hands framing her face like you were reminding her, like you were centering her in something real. And maybe she needed that, because she melted into you, her grip tight where it rested against your waist, like she was starving for something steady. It wasn’t desperate, not yet, but it was needy. Like a tether. Like if she held you tight enough, maybe the world wouldn’t collapse beneath her feet.

She pulled away just enough to exhale, her forehead pressing against yours, breath warm, body tense.

“Are you okay?" you murmured.

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "No."

Your fingers traced the nape of her neck, soothing. "Talk to me."

Claire sighed, shifting so she could lean against the railing, arms crossed, head tilted toward the ocean. "This isn’t good," she muttered. "They know. Miles knows."

You frowned, stepping closer. "Claire, it’s not like you killed someone. We’re together. That’s the big secret?"

Her jaw clenched. "You don’t understand."

"Then help me understand."

Silence. Her fingers tapped idly against her bicep, a nervous tick.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Claire, would it really be so bad if people knew about us?"

She turned to you sharply, something flashing in her eyes, but before she could protest, you pushed forward "I mean it." Your voice was quieter now, tinged with something fragile. "I get that we had to be careful at first, that you were still… figuring things out, that you then were going through a divorce, that politics is a whole... thing. But it’s been two years."

Her throat tightened.

"I pay rent for an apartment I never go to," you continued, voice wavering. "Just to keep up appearances. We live together, Claire. I wake up in your bed, cook in your kitchen, walk your dog, exist in your space. And I love it, but-" You swallowed. "How long do I have to be your secret?"

Her expression faltered, something wounded flickering across it. "It’s not like that," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what is it like?”

Silence. She turned back to the railing, hands gripping it, gaze fixed on the water like it had the answer she was looking for.

"It’s not just about me," she said finally. "You think it’d be good for me? Maybe. But it’s not just me. You have no idea what people will say about you."

Your arms crossed. "I don’t care-"

"Well, I do!" She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before turning back to you. "They’d tear you apart. They’d call you a gold digger. They’d say I manipulated you. That you seduced me for influence. That you’re too young-"

"I don’t care what a bunch of rich assholes think."

"It’s not just them," she said, voice strained. "It’s the media. It’s everyone. You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire life picked apart like carrion. You think you can handle it, but you don’t know."

You hesitated. She was scared. Not just for herself, for you. "Claire…"

"And what if this ruins me?" she asked suddenly, voice sharp, but her eyes… her eyes were uncertain. "I’m still a woman in politics. It doesn’t take much for the tide to turn. If people think I’m untrustworthy-"

"You were untrustworthy when you were married to a man and cheating with me," you snapped before you could stop yourself.

She stiffened. A muscle feathered in her jaw.

"That’s not fair," she bit out.

Your stomach twisted. "Claire I-”

"I know what I did. I know what that looks like. But this- this is different."

"Is it?" You sighed, rubbing your temples, feeling the remnants of your hangover creep in. "Look, I get it," you said, softer this time. "I get why you’re scared. But I’m scared too, Claire. I’m scared that I’m always going to be something you hide."

She flinched, just a little.

"I just... I love you," you whispered. "And I don’t want to feel like I have to prove that."

"You don’t," she murmured. And when she kissed you this time, it wasn’t out of desperation. It wasn’t trying to distract or silence or mask. It was gentle. Steady. Like a promise.

But when she pulled away, you still saw the fear in her eyes. The hesitation. The choice she still hadn’t made. And that? That told you everything.

You saw Lionel approaching before Claire did. The tense line of his shoulders, the focused pinch in his brow- it wasn’t unusual. Lionel always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world, and in some ways, he was.

“Hey Claire.” He smiled sympathetically

Claire sighed, already exhausted, running a hand through her hair. She barely looked at you before stepping toward him. Like this is more important.

Maybe it was.

But after that conversation- after seeing the hesitation in her eyes- you weren’t sure where that left you. So you stepped away. Your fingers ran absently along the yacht’s sleek railing as you put distance between yourself and Claire, a familiar ache settling in your chest. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that you needed space.

“Hey,” a voice called.

You looked up to see Whisky striding toward you, already sipping on something in a ridiculous crystal glass. She was wearing a tiny yellow bikini that left very little to the imagination, and you could feel Claire’s lingering possessiveness like a ghost at the back of your neck.

“Want one?” she asked, holding up a second glass. “Miles gave it to me, but it tastes like grass.”

“What is it?” You inspected the glass with her name engraved on it.

She wrinkled her nose. “Jared Leto’s hard kombucha.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Of course Miles drinks Jared Leto’s kombucha.”

“Want it?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “Sure.” You took it, taking a cautious sip. It was disgusting.

She grinned, like she knew.

“C’mon,” she said, nodding toward the pool. “Let’s go in.”

You exhaled slowly, glancing back toward Claire. She was deep in conversation with Lionel, brows furrowed, arms crossed. You nodded. Whisky beamed, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the pool’s edge.

You flinched when a gunshot cracked through the air. Duke laughed loudly before tucking his gun away and launching himself into the pool with a massive cannonball, drenching everything in his radius.

You blinked, completely thrown.

Whisky just sighed, shaking her head as she waded into the water. You followed, still watching as Duke resurfaced, shaking the water from himself like a dog and grinning like an idiot.

You glanced at Whisky, lowering your sunglasses. “Okay,” you said. “I have to ask- what do you see in him?”

She snorted, running her fingers through her wet hair. “Like, really?”

You nodded.

She tilted her head, watching Duke fondly as he wrestled Birdie off of a floatie, the two of them laughing like idiots. She sighed, shrugging. “I don’t know. He’s... good to me.”

You raised a brow. “Good?”

Whisky rolled her eyes, waving a hand. “I know, I know. But he is. You only see the ‘MEN’S RIGHTS, FREE SPEECH, GUNS’ version of him.” She mimicked his deep, obnoxious voice, making you snicker. “But he’s also just- dumb and loyal and... weirdly sweet. He makes me feel safe.”

You took another sip of your drink, considering. “Is that enough?”

She hesitated, expression flickering. Then she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It is for now.”

That answer didn’t sit right with you. But maybe you weren’t one to talk. Because as much as you loved Claire… you weren’t sure if you were enough for her.

The yacht pulled smoothly into port, the golden Sicilian sun casting long, shimmering reflections across the deep blue water. The coastal town ahead was breathtaking- old stone buildings stacked up along the cliffs, narrow streets winding like veins through the historic architecture, the scent of citrus and sea salt heavy in the warm air.

You stepped out of the pool, still feeling slightly unsteady from the events of the morning. Claire was behind you, wrapping a towel round your shoulders, her hand grazing the small of your back in a silent reassurance.

Then, with his signature obnoxious flair, Miles stepped forward, spreading his arms wide. “Ahhh, Sicilia!” he declared, like he personally owned the place. “I thought we could all use a change of pace- something different, you know?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. The others murmured in vague agreement, some more enthusiastic than others- Birdie gasped dramatically, pulling out her phone before Peg immediately snatched it back with a warning look.

Miles grinned. “So! Before we return to the yacht for a very special banquet, personally curated by my Michelin-starred chef-” of course he had to remind you all of that “-I thought I’d make things a little more fun.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black credit card. Or rather six of them. One for each of you.

“This is unlimited,” he said smoothly, tossing one to Lionel, then Claire, Birdie, Duke, and Whisky. Then, finally he handed one to you.

Your fingers closed around it uncertainly, feeling the cool weight of it in your palm.

“This,” Miles continued, “is a gift. A token of our friendship. Because that’s what this group is all about- loyalty, trust, taking care of each other.” His eyes gleamed knowingly, like there was a second meaning beneath his words.

You saw Claire’s jaw tighten.

“So,” Miles clapped his hands together, breaking the tension, “go all out! The card works for 4 hours so hurry to get what you need to get dressed to the nines tonight. The theme is opulence- expensive, extravagant, no limits.”

Birdie practically screamed. “Oh my God, Miles, you angel, you saint! Peg, let’s go!” She grabbed Peg’s wrist and practically dragged her off to get ready for an intense few hours of shopping before Peg could protest.

Duke whistled, flipping the black card between his fingers. “Hell yeah, brother.” He threw an arm around Whisky. “C’mon, baby, let’s find you something real nice.”

Whisky shot you a quick look before letting Duke pull her along.

Lionel sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, sure, why not? It’s not like this trip could get any more ridiculous.”

That left just you and Claire. You glanced at her, still holding the black card between your fingers. She wasn’t looking at you, she was looking at Miles. She wasn’t thrilled about any of this. You exhaled softly, reaching for her hand. Her gaze flicked to you, then to the black card you held. Finally, she sighed.

“Well,” she said, voice lighter than her expression. “If we’re going to play this game, we might as well win it.”

You sighed, intertwining your fingers with hers. “Let’s go be opulent.”

The door to your suite clicked shut behind you, sealing you and Claire into the cool, air-conditioned haven of your shared room. You stepped away immediately, running a hand through your hair, still gripping the sleek black credit card between your fingers.

Claire watched you closely, her arms folding across her chest. “You’re quiet,” she noted.

You shrugged, moving toward the suitcase you had barely touched since arriving. “I’m just getting changed.”

You felt her move before you saw her- the deliberate steps of her sandals against the hardwood, the subtle shift in the air as she neared you. Then, suddenly her hands slid around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against her. You inhaled sharply, feeling the familiar warmth of her body press into yours, the silk of her outfit cool against your bare skin.

“Baby,” Claire murmured, her lips grazing the side of your neck. “Don’t do that.”

You swallowed hard. “Do what?”

“Pull away from me.” Her hands wandered, palms sliding up your stomach, fingers brushing the undersides of your breasts as she kissed just beneath your jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“I know you’re upset,” she whispered, pressing her body against yours. “But we do have time…” She kissed the shell of your ear. “For me to make you feel good.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping the edge of the dresser. God, she was good at this. At unraveling you. At making the world outside her touch seem irrelevant. At making you hers. You turned in her arms, pressing a hand to her chest to keep some semblance of distance.

“Claire…”

Her lips were parted, her pupils blown wide with desire as she searched your face, desperate for a crack in your resolve.

You exhaled, smoothing your hands over her waist. “We better hurry,” you said softly. “Everyone’s waiting at the dock.”

Claire’s expression darkened for a split second- frustration flashing across her face before she masked it with a tight smile.

She hummed, straightening her spine. “Of course.”

Then, before you could step away she grabbed your chin, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. It wasn’t just a kiss- it was a warning. A reminder. That you belonged to her. That no matter how distant you tried to be, no matter how much you tried to pull away, she wouldn’t let you.

When she pulled back, her thumb brushed over your swollen bottom lip. “Put on something pretty,” she murmured. “I want to show you off.”

And with that, she turned on her heel, heading toward the bathroom to fix her hair, leaving you standing there, heart hammering, lips tingling, and stomach twisting with an emotion you weren’t sure you could name. You swallowed hard, shaking your head, and went to change.

~

The moment you all stepped off the yacht and onto the sun-drenched port, Birdie let out a delighted gasp.

“Oh my god,” she practically moaned, spinning in place to take in the picturesque streets of the Sicilian town before you. The cobblestone streets were lined with boutique shops, cafés spilling out onto the walkways with tiny iron tables and chairs, their tabletops adorned with vases of fresh flowers. Brightly colored awnings shaded windows filled with designer pieces, handmade jewelry, and intricate ceramics.

Birdie turned to Claire, eyes sparkling. “Okay, we have to find you something in a colour other than beige.”

Claire exhaled, giving her a flat look. “I wear colors.”

Birdie snorted. “You’ll look so cuuuute.”

Peg, who was already holding three of Birdie’s bags despite them just having left the yacht, sighed. “Can we focus?”

Miles clapped his hands together, the picture of a gracious host. “Alright, my beautiful disruptors- go crazy.”

“Fuck yeah man,” Duke beamed, rubbing the card between his fingers. “This is why you’re the goat.”

“Nothing but the best for my inner circle. Now go and have fun.”

“This’ll be so good” Whisky beamed.

“Try not to bankrupt me, kid,” he teased.

Lionel, however, was watching Miles carefully, brows furrowing. “So, you’re not coming?” he asked, arms crossing.

Miles flashed a casual smile, waving a dismissive hand. “Nah, I’ve got some business to sort out. You know how it is, the tiring responsibilities of being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire.”

Lionel’s frown deepened. “Right.”

Whisky, who had been adjusting the straps of her tiny sundress, turned toward Miles with a pout. “Well, I’ll miss you.”

Before anyone could react, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

Miles chuckled, his hands resting low on her back, lingering just a second too long.

Your eyebrows shot up. Claire, who had already been watching you like a hawk around Whisky, saw the whole thing and immediately rolled her eyes.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath.

Miles finally pulled back, brushing a strand of hair behind Whisky’s ear. “Don’t miss me too much,” he murmured.

You and Claire exchanged a look. Yeah. Suspicious as hell. Claire sighed, then grabbed your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours as she turned away from the yacht.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go spend Miles Bron’s money.”

As you walked off into town, the laughter and chatter of the group surrounding you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something about this trip, about Miles, was more than just a luxurious getaway. Something was off.

The town square was alive with movement, locals and tourists alike weaving through the stone-paved streets, the scent of espresso and fresh pastries lingering in the warm air. Birdie had immediately taken off, dragging Peg behind her toward a boutique with a window display that practically screamed exorbitantly overpriced.

Duke, meanwhile, had positioned himself in the middle of the square, holding court like he was on one of his live streams. He had one foot propped up on a fountain ledge, aviators pushed onto his forehead, a self-assured grin on his face as he talked to Lionel about how the woke mob was ruining masculinity and how he was in some kind of on-going Twitter beef with Jimmy Kimmel.

Whisky stood at his side, silent and poised, her usual charming smile plastered on as Duke kept her tucked under his thick arm like some kind of trophy.

You barely had time to process any of it before Claire grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a quieter street, away from the group.

“We’re leaving them?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

Claire didn’t break stride. “I cannot spend another second with Whisky.”

You frowned. “Wow. You really don’t like her, huh?”

The distaste was evident in the way Claire exhaled sharply through her nose, “Can you blame me?” she said, voice dry. “She’s so…” Claire made a vague, frustrated gesture. “ I mean her names Whisky.”

You snorted. “That explains nothing.”

Claire stopped in front of a store, glancing at the designer dresses in the window, but it was obvious she wasn’t really looking at them.

“She’s young,” Claire muttered. “And… naive. And uses it to her advantage.”

You crossed your arms. “So do a lot of people”

“Yes, but she… ” Claire exhaled, looking away, jaw tight.

You suddenly understood. “Oh my God,” you said slowly, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “You’re jealous of Whisky.”

Claire scoffed, turning back toward the window. “That is not- ” She cut herself off, arms crossed. “She weaponizes it. That whole innocent wide-eyed act? It’s bullshit. And you-” Her eyes flicked back to you, sharp. “She likes you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Claire’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And I don’t like that.”

Your smirk widened. “Aw. Is someone feeling territorial?”

Claire rolled her eyes, but you could see the way her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab you, to pull you into her and remind you exactly whose arms you belonged in. Instead, she exhaled and turned on her heel, heading for the store entrance.

“Come on,” she said, her voice still brimming with annoyance. “If we have to suffer through this trip, we’re at least going to look fucking stunning for it.”

You chuckled as you followed her inside.

The boutique smelled of expensive perfume and fresh leather, the lighting soft and flattering, making everything inside seem even more indulgent. Mannequins draped in shimmering gowns stood on pedestals, and elegant displays showcased delicate, lacy lingerie sets. The kind designed to be taken off slowly.

Claire hated it. Not because she didn’t appreciate nice clothes- she did. She just never really had the time to think about them. Her wardrobe had always been a careful balancing act. In politics, every outfit was a statement, and if you cared too much, if you looked too put-together, if you wore one thing that could be considered too expensive or too trendy, the press would eat you alive. There was a reason she let her campaign team handle her wardrobe for public appearances. And when she dressed for you- for date nights, for lazy mornings, for stolen moments in hotel rooms on the campaign trail it was either whatever she thought worked with the items provided… or whatever you picked out for her.

She watched as you trailed your fingers along racks of silks and satins, your sharp eye scanning through dresses, your mouth quirking as you lifted a hanger to inspect the dress. You knew what you liked. You owned it. And fuck, you looked good doing it. Her mouth watered as her gaze drifted lower, past the curve of your back, the line of your thighs.

Then you turned toward one of the displays of lingerie- delicate lace bralettes, garter sets, whisper-thin slips designed purely to be sinful. You reached out, picking up a set in a shade of deep red, and turned back to her with a playful smirk.

“What would you like to see me in?” you asked, wrapping your arms around her waist.

Claire exhaled, her hands settling on your hips as she met your gaze. “I think you know the answer to that,” she murmured, voice lower now.

Your smirk widened. “Do I?”

She glanced down at the set in your hand, then back at you, her eyes darkening. “You could wear any of these,” she said, fingers brushing along your lower back, “and I’d just want to tear it off you.”

Your grip on her tightened just slightly, and Claire smirked. “But this one…” Her hand skimmed the lace between your fingers. “This one would look obscene on you.”

You shivered, pressing closer. “Yeah?”

She hummed, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. “Get it.”

You grinned, tugging her into a slow, teasing kiss before slipping away to grab your size. Claire exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her pulse pounding. Yeah. She was completely fucked.

You began looking through the racks of dresses, holding them up against your body to check the fit. Smiling over at her and doing a little twirl. Claire had never been that kind of woman. The kind who enjoyed this. The kind who walked into a place like this and knew exactly what she wanted and didn’t feel fucking ridiculous about it.

She glanced down at the dress in her hands- plain, serviceable, easy. But before she could slip away to pay for it, you turned, catching sight of her choice. You frowned, stopping in your tracks.

"Baby, come on," you said, walking over to her. "You barely even looked at that."

Claire exhaled, rubbing her temple. "This is fine."

You gave her an unimpressed look. "Fine isn’t the point."

She shifted under your gaze, feeling exposed in a way she wasn’t used to. It was so fucking stupid, really. She’d stood her ground against senators and oil lobbyists. She’d stared down reporters who wanted nothing more than to rip her apart. She’d survived Miles fucking Bron. And yet- standing here, under the soft boutique lighting, with you looking at her like that- she felt out of her depth.

You must’ve seen it, must’ve felt her hesitation, because instead of pushing, you softened. You stepped closer, cupping her face in your hands, thumbs grazing her cheekbones.

“Hey,” you murmured, grounding, steady.

She let out a breath. "Hey."

You smiled softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. Claire sighed into it, letting her shoulders relax, letting herself breathe.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s find something you really like, yeah?”

She swallowed.

“We have time.” And something about the way you said it, the patience in it, the warmth, made her chest ache. Claire wasn’t used to someone giving her that kind of time.

She exhaled, nodding. “Okay.”

You grinned, taking her hand, tugging her toward the more extravagant gowns. Claire exhales, nodding, trusting you to guide her through this. And then there it is. A dress that catches your eye immediately. A stunning black sequined gown, structured yet dramatic, with that signature crisp white collar and cuffs. It’s bold, powerful, and effortlessly elegant, just like her.

You pluck it from the rack and hold it up between you. “This,” you murmur, watching her expression carefully. She hesitates, her lips pressing together like she wants to argue, but you see the flicker of something in her eyes. Interest.

“It’s-” she starts, shaking her head, but you don’t let her finish.

“It’s perfect,” you counter. “And you’re trying it on.”

A few minutes later, she steps out of the fitting room, smoothing the fabric over her hips. The way the sequins catch the light, the way the structure of the dress commands attention—it’s everything. You stare, unabashed, taking her in, and when your eyes meet hers, there’s a rare flicker of uncertainty on her face.

“Well?” she asks, a little hesitant.

You walk up to her, slow and deliberate, taking her hand and pulling her in just enough for your lips to ghost over her ear. “Baby,” you murmur, voice low and full of promise, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you tonight.”

Claire huffs a soft laugh, but you don’t miss the way her breath catches, the way her fingers tighten around yours. “You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, but you catch the small, satisfied smile she tries to hide as she turns back toward the mirror.

Yeah. This was the one.

Now it was your turn. You step out of the dressing room, the deep red fabric clinging to you in all the right places, shimmering under the boutique’s golden lighting. The delicate floral embroidery catches the light, giving the illusion of cherry blossoms blooming along your curves.

The moment she sees you, Claire freezes. Her mouth parts slightly, eyes darkening as they rake over you from head to toe. You watch her chest rise and fall with a sharp inhale, and before you can even get a word out she’s crossing the room in three quick strides, hands firmly on your waist as she practically shoves you back into the dressing room.

“Claire- ” You barely have time to squeak before your back hits the mirror, her lips already on your neck, hands roaming over the fabric of your dress like she can’t decide where to touch first.

“Oh, my pretty baby,” she murmurs against your skin, voice thick with adoration. “Look at you. Jesus Christ, you’re so-” She cuts herself off with a reverent kiss, pressing her body flush against yours.

Her fingers trace the neckline, dipping teasingly along the fabric. “Gonna lose my mind over you,” she whispers, pressing kisses along your collarbone. “How the hell am I supposed to let you leave wearing this when all I wanna do is keep you right here and kiss you everywhere?”

Heat pools in your stomach, your hands gripping her shoulders as she presses another dizzying kiss to your lips. “Claire,” you mumble between breaths, barely able to think straight, “we’re in a store.”

“Mm,” she hums, completely unbothered. “And?”

You huff a laugh, tilting your head back as her lips trail lower. “And we have places to be.”

She groans dramatically, but when she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her expression is soft and completely smitten. “Fine,” she relents, though her hands linger on your waist. “But, baby?”

“Yeah?”

She leans in, brushing her lips over your ear. “You’re so wearing this for me again later.”

You smirk, stepping closer and turning slightly to show off the gown. “You like?”

Claire swallows hard. “Understatement of the century.”

~

The sun is starting to set, casting a golden glow over the town square, the soft hum of conversation and distant music making everything feel warm and easy. You’re curled up in Claire’s arms on a bench, your ice cream slowly melting as you lazily watch the world go by.

It’s nice, just existing, just being. No glances over your shoulders, no hushed, careful distance. Just two people sharing ice cream, wrapped up in each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You sigh contentedly, shifting against her. “This is nice,” you murmur, licking your ice cream. “Not having to hide. Just being… another couple having ice cream.”

Claire hums, thoughtful. You can feel her hand tighten slightly around your waist. “Yeah,” she says softly, almost to herself. She’s considering something, you can tell. And for a brief second, a part of you wonders if she’s thinking about what it would be like to do this all the time. Out in the open, no secrets, no careful maneuvering. But you don’t push. You won’t. You know better than to hold onto something that might not happen.

So instead, you nudge her. “Lemme try yours.”

Claire turns her head slowly, unimpressed. “I knew you were gonna steal mine.”

You pout dramatically. “You can have some of mine?”

She scoffs. “I don’t want yours. I want mine.”

“Tough shit,” you say, swiping a bit of her ice cream onto your spoon.

She glares at you, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. And before she can protest again, you boop the tip of her nose with the cold ice cream, watching her jerk back with a startled laugh.

“You little-”

You don’t let her finish, leaning in and kissing the laughter right off her lips. She tastes like vanilla and caramel, her hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as she kisses you slow, deep, like she’s savoring every second.

When you finally pull away, breathless and grinning, Claire shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” you tease.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she wipes her nose with the back of her hand, eyes still crinkled in amusement.

And just like that, the world keeps turning around you. But for now, it’s just the two of you, here, in this tiny corner of the world, stealing ice cream and kisses like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You’re still tucked against Claire, savoring the last of your ice cream when you hear a familiar voice carrying across the square.

“Peg, come on, you’re moving like a sloth in a coma.”

You turn just in time to see Birdie strutting towards you, her signature oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, while Peg- poor, suffering Peg- is trailing behind her, arms overloaded with shopping bags. She’s carrying so much you genuinely think she might topple over at any second.

Claire lets out an amused snort, her chest shaking against your back. “Jesus, Bird. Got enough?”

Birdie waves her off dramatically. “Oh, please.” She gestures to one singular, tiny bag at the very top of the pile. “That one’s for Peg, so it’s not all mine.”

Claire side-eyes her. “Uh-huh. How generous of you.”

“Thank you Claire” she beams.

You shake your head, laughing, before pushing yourself up from the bench. “Here, Peg, let me help before you get buried under.”

Peg gives you a grateful look as you take a few bags off her hands, her arms finally free enough to stretch. “You’re a lifesaver,” she mutters.

Before you can respond, Lionel appears at your side, taking a few more bags without a word. You exchange a quick glance, sharing an unspoken understanding of what it’s like to be pulled into Birdie’s orbit.

Birdie, meanwhile, is entirely unbothered, already fussing with the strap of her bag. “Okay, now that that’s settled, who wants to go for drinks? I’m exhausted.”

Claire chuckles, sliding an arm around your waist as she stands. “Lead the way.” And with that, you fall into step with Claire’s little makeshift family, the easy warmth of the moment wrapping around you like the summer air.

The bar was dimly lit, the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses filling the space as you sat with Claire, Lionel, and Birdie. But after the first twenty minutes, you quickly realized you weren’t really in the conversation- just there. Lionel and Claire were deep in some debate, while Birdie was rambling about a designer she’d just met, not really listening to either of them. You had tried to chime in a few times, but it was like trying to jump into a double-dutch rope that never slowed down. Eventually, you just gave up, sipping your drink and zoning out. That’s when Duke and Whisky walked in.

The moment you spotted Whisky, relief flooded through you. You weren’t sure if she felt the same until her eyes landed on you, and her whole face lit up. She wasted no time making a beeline toward you.

“Oh, thank God,” she muttered as she reached you before nodding toward the bar. “Come with me?”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. “Absolutely.”

As the two of you slid up to the bar, you turned to her. “You and Duke have been together for a while right? How many of these things have you been to?”

She sighed, waving a hand at the bartender before giving you a knowing look. “Three.”

Your eyes widened. “Three?”

She laughed at your reaction, shaking her head. “Yeah. And trust me, they’re all like this.”

You groaned, letting your head drop against the bar as you pictured going through another 3 of these trips. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Whisky said dryly, taking a sip of her drink. “When they’re together, they’re kind of the worst.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Tell me about it.”

Whisky tilted her head, watching you for a moment before saying, “You know, I never did ask. Why’re you with Claire?”

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

“Come on,” Whisky said, grinning now. “You asked me about Duke, so I think it’s only fair that I ask you about Claire.”

You huffed a small laugh, swirling the ice in your glass. “What, you think she’s that bad?”

Whisky gave you a look. “Yes?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s the worst one of them- at least to me. I mean, Duke’s friends always see me as just some hot girl with no brain, but Claire?” She let out a dry laugh. “Claire hates me.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “She’s… not your biggest fan, yeah.”

Whisky scoffed. “No kidding.” She took another sip of her drink. “She acts like I personally ran over her dog or something. Like, I was actually excited to meet her for the first time. I mean, she’s Claire Debella, right? She’s a powerful woman in politics. That’s kinda inspiring.”

You frowned, surprised. “You were excited to meet her?”

Whisky nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I eventually want to get into politics myself- not at Claire’s level, obviously, but still. I wanted to talk to her about it, maybe even get some advice.” She rolled her eyes. “But it took, like, two seconds to realize that was never gonna happen. She made it very clear that we wouldn’t be friends anytime soon.”

You exhaled, guilt tugging at your chest. “I’m sorry,” you said, meaning it.

Whisky shrugged, then leaned forward on the bar. “So, back to my question- why Claire?”

You paused, thinking. “I know she can seem like the classic stressed-out politician, all hard-faced bitch sometimes. But that’s just…” You hesitated, then shook your head. “That’s just how she has to be for her job.”

Whisky raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue.

You smiled softly to yourself. “But she loves me.”

Whisky didn’t say anything, just watched you as you went on.

“You smiled softly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you thought about all the little things she did that made you fall in love with her, over and over again.

“She loves me,” you said again, but softer this time. More to yourself than to Whisky. Then, after a beat, you looked up, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

“She takes me on bookshop dates,” you began, your voice laced with fondness. “She never rushes me, even though I know she gets impatient. I can spend hours just wandering between shelves, reading the backs of books I won’t even buy, and she doesn’t complain. She just follows me around, letting me talk at her about why I love certain authors or why this particular edition of a book is superior. And she listens… like, really listens. She even started keeping a list of books I mention offhand, so she can surprise me with them later.”

Whisky’s expression softened a fraction, but she stayed quiet, letting you continue.

“She washes my hair for me in the shower,” you said, smiling a little at the thought. “Not just, like, quickly scrubbing and rinsing. She takes her time. She massages my scalp, runs her fingers through my hair so gently it makes me melt right there against her. And she does it every single time, like it’s just our thing. Like she wants to take care of me.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “She tells me she loves me every night before bed, no matter where she is. Even if she’s on the other side of the country, campaigning or working some insane hours, she always finds time to call me. And if I fall asleep before she can? I wake up to a voice note.” Your heart squeezed at the thought. “It’s never just good night, love you, either. It’s detailed. Like I saw something today that reminded me of you or I wish you were here because you would’ve loved this weird café I found. She makes time for me. Even when she’s exhausted.”

You paused, swallowing down the emotion creeping up your throat.

“She gives me confidence in my writing,” you went on, voice a little steadier. “When my publishers are being assholes, when I start doubting myself, she never lets me sink too far into it. She sits me down, makes me talk about what I’m writing, reminds me why I love it. She tells me I’m brilliant. That my words matter.” You smiled wryly. “And trust me, when Claire tells you you’re brilliant, you believe it.”

Whisky gave a small huff of amusement at that, but her eyes were still focused, still listening.

“Yes she’s older than me,” you said, a small, private smile tugging at your lips, “but she’s never made me feel small. She talks to me like an equal. Like what I have to say matters.” You let out a slow breath, shaking your head slightly. “She’s so smart, but she never makes me feel stupid. She’s opinionated, but she never makes me feel like mine don’t count. She challenges me, but she listens to me. She doesn’t just love me- she respects me.”

Whisky’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated.

You inhaled, looking down at your hands for a second before you met her gaze again. “She left her husband for me,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “That’s not something I take lightly. I know it’s messy, and it’s not something she’s proud of, but… she chose me. And she’s never once made me feel like I wasn’t worth that choice.”

You met Whisky’s gaze, feeling the weight of your own words settle in your chest.

“She’s a good partner,” you finished, voice thick with conviction. “A really good one.”

Whisky studied you for a moment, then nodded slightly, like she understood.

Then, after a beat, she tilted her head. “So why does she hide your relationship?”

The warmth in your chest chilled instantly. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t answer. Because that… that was the one question you tried not to ask yourself too often. Because it hurt.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink, the condensation slick against your skin. You don't answer right away, because the truth of it is so heavy, so dense in your chest that it feels like it'll crush your ribs if you let it out too fast. Instead, you focus on the ice swirling in the glass, your stomach twisting as you try to find the right words.

"Because she can’t right now," you finally say, your voice quieter than before, as if saying it out loud might somehow make it worse. "She’s planning to run for Senate. You know what people are like. If they found out about us, the homophobic assholes wouldn’t vote for her. It’s why she’s still using Devon’s last name. If people think she’s still that picture-perfect congresswoman with a husband and a kid, they’ll back her. She needs that support to even have a shot."

Whisky leans against the bar, looking at you with something softer than before- less curiosity, more pity. Her fingers trace circles against the rim of her glass.

"So..." she hesitates, watching the way your jaw tenses, the way your gaze stays locked on the drink in your hand. Then, quieter, almost like she doesn’t want to say it: "She’ll never come out then?"

And just like that, it feels like something inside you caves in.

Your throat goes tight, that burning feeling rising up, and for a second, you can’t breathe.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe that’s the part that keeps you awake at night, staring at the ceiling of an apartment you don’t even live in, wondering if she’ll ever really choose you, really claim you. Not just in private, in whispered I-love-yous before bed, in the way she pulls you into her arms when no one else is looking- but in public, where it actually matters.

You swallow hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. "I don’t know," you admit, barely above a whisper. "I really don’t."

And that’s the worst part.

Because you love Claire with everything you have. And you know she loves you. But love isn’t always enough. And what if this- this thing between you, no matter how deep, how real- never leaves the shadows?

What if you’re always the secret? The thought makes your chest ache, like something sharp twisting inside of you.

Whisky doesn’t say anything right away. She just watches you, her expression unreadable, before finally sighing and looking away. "That’s rough," she says eventually, her voice softer than you expected. "You deserve better than that."

And maybe she’s right. Maybe she’s completely right. But it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t want better. You want Claire.

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet

[tibby]

definitive ranking of all of the trr gang’s parents:

godfrey: sucks for a lot of reasons but he committed the worst crime imaginable: being from england. 0/10.

king kyle maclachlan: yeah yeah his name is constantine but looking like kyle maclachlan is his only redeeming quality so. lame, royal, didn’t care about his kids, slutshamed mc, died the cringe and fail death of being crushed by falling rubble. 0.5/10.

regina: is this old bat still alive? genuine question. 1/10.

lorelai lee: fuck you for how you treat(ed) hana. 1.5/10.

mc’s mystery parents: either dead or just don’t care that their daughter moved to a foreign country, got married, had several attempts made on her life, had a kid, became a duchess and possibly a queen, had a movie made about her, and obtained several fancy hats. if it’s the latter then they have the potential to be the funniest characters of all time but if it’s the former that’s just boring. 2/10.

barthelemy beaumont: as a person with morals and a bertrand stannie, i give him a 0/10. however, as a lover of chaos and comedy, i have to give credit where credit is due and award a full 10/10. he committed regicide, pretended to be in a coma for two decades so he could do evil schemes instead of raising his kids, bankrupted his family on said schemes and then claimed it was because he kept trying miracle cures, decided to come back onto the scene by crashing his son’s rehearsal dinner and announcing that he was cured, blackmailed and kidnapped various royals so he could obtain custody of mc’s child, and his weakness is crows. say what you will about the guy but he’s committed to the bit. overall i think that’s like, a 2.5 or something.

emmeline ebrim: was fun until it turned out she was part of the evil cult and therefore everything she did in the past few books made her fake as hell. still a milf though. 3/10.

lionel nevrakis: shitty dad and can’t even do a successful coup, but i respect the feminism of taking his wife’s name. also i really like his scar. 3.5/10.

milf adelaide: objectively too high in this ranking given that she gave madeleine about fifty complexes and betrayed you several times, but she was the first milf in the series and she’ll always have a special place in my heart for that. nothing like an older woman who just wants to party. 3.8/10.

camellia nevrakis: shitty mother but sexy as hell and hated king kyle maclachlan. credit where credit is due. 4/10.

xinghai lee: the whole “unconditionally supporting his wife” thing would be nice if it was for anything other than allowing her to mistreat hana. 4.2/10.

landon ebrim: absolutely useless in every situation and kind of two faced but he doesn’t seem to be actively evil. mostly he’s just dumber than a sack of bricks. a solid 5/10.

annabelle beaumont: dead and hasn’t appeared in any flashback scenes so it’s hard to know, but maxwell used to be a mama’s boy which is good enough for me. 5.5/10.

bianca walker: much like her daughter, she’s really fucking boring, but she seems nice enough and apparently makes good coffee. also i know that she had “”fallen out of favour”” and it was their choice to stay in cordonia but ditching her children in a foreign country not long after their dad died is kind of a low blow. however it’s also pretty funny. 6/10.

hakim theron: loses points for being friends with king kyle maclachlan for years and not supporting ezekiel’s vet dreams, but overall a nice man who cares about his kids. also one of the few parents in this series who hasn’t tried to ruin mc’s life. 7/10.

drake’s dead dad: all the flashback scenes suggest that jackson was a cool guy, even if i don’t support his choice in career. bonus points for his untimely death kicking off the comedy of errors that is drake’s life. nice ass, sorry you died protecting nobility. 8/10.

queen eleanor: we only get her in flashbacks but she has yet to disappoint. cared for her son but also his ragtag group of besties, something her cringefail husband couldn’t do. will be heartbroken if we find out that she was up to evil shenanigans in the royal finale. kind of shitty that it took a bunch of idiots stumbling onto things for someone to solve her murder but cordonia isn’t known for being competent. the secret daughter thing was kind of wild and i sort of hope we never get any context for it. hope she found a better spouse in the afterlife. 9/10.

joelle theron: loves her children equally, loyal to mc and everyone in the cordonian crew, doesn’t appear to be part of any secret groups and didn’t play a role in any fail coups, cares more about art than she does boring royal stuff, total milf. would hang up one of her paintings on my wall. 10/10.

[ladystrallan]

Most memorable fanfic scene! Monty looking between Phoebe and Sibella at the masquerade ball 😍

I love this one! This fic was a collab with ComingandGoingByBubble (@sibella-mysibella). I loved writing this part :) Thanks for sharing!

“Lionel always ruined everything.

Monty suggested him and Phoebe go watch the dancing after she expressed disinterest in participating herself. Phoebe wasn’t one for dancing. They set off arm in arm in the direction the Hollands had left in.

A small woodwind and strings orchestra commenced a waltz, and the various society couples began their dance.

Monty immediately spotted Sibella, hand and waist gripped by Lionel. Despite how graceful she looked from here, she undoubtedly was having her toes stepped on.

The sight brought Monty back to the time Sibella had brought Monty to her cotillion in her debutante days. It was a happy memory, despite the odd looks they had gotten from the other girls and their dates, wondering why Sibella had taken the son of the disgraced D'ysquith daughter and a penniless musician.

He tried not to cringe as he watched them, but the sight of another man holding his Sibella like that made his blood boil. His Sibella. After fights, and trysts, and marriages, and murder trials she was still his Sibella.

It was even worse that her husband was Lionel. Lionel who so obviously didn’t deserve her. Then again, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. It almost didn’t matter who she had married, he would love her the same nonetheless. And hate the man who stole his chance of marrying Sibella Hallward. Monty wasn’t sure he could ever deem any man worthy of his first love. He almost couldn’t bear the jealousy he felt when he heard her referred to as ‘Mrs Holland’.

He looked at her face; her eyes glazed over, and her lips curved in a performative smile.

Phoebe leaned over to him. “Marvelous, isn’t it?” Surely she had noticed his enthrallment in the waltz.

“Beautiful,” Monty replied. His eyes were still fixed on Sibella’s charming eyes, her delicate frame, her mischievous demeanor.

His focus on Sibella broke and he looked over at Phoebe. Heavens, did she look exquisite tonight. Their costumes had been her idea; and what a wonderful idea they were. He imagined Phoebe portraying Ophelia in some sort of London production of Hamlet. No doubt she would be a better actress than the late Lady Salome.

He smiled at her softly, watching her eyes glitter as they observed the festivities. How he adored her. Her kindness never failed to warm his heart in times of trouble.

He looked back at the clumsy sight of Lionel trying to waltz with Sibella.

Monty noticed how incredibly fitting Sibella’s costume was. She was a rose. Beautiful, yes, but accompanied by pointed thorns. He knew she meant no harm with her harsh words and cold attitudes; she only wanted to protect her heart. Phoebe was a daisy. Innocent and genuine, and softer than Sibella. Phoebe wore her heart on her sleeves rather plainly. Some would deem her as weak, hysterical; but Monty knew she had strength in her own right.

Monty could hardly see a flaw in Phoebe D'ysquith, whereas he could detect every minute flaw in Sibella Hallward. And every fault, every deceitful lie, every vain insecurity, every imperfection made him love her more.

He thought of what was said in Phoebe’s tales of romance. True love; two beings destined to be with each other no matter the peril that would befall them. He did not believe this to be true indefinitely. One precise detail was complete nonsense in his mind.

He was truly, inescapably, inordinately in love with Sibella and Phoebe. And the whole mess of it was meant to be.”

From All the World’s a Stage

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736011

[outlander-babes]

A Breath Of Snow And Ashes Thoughts

Those poor people

I don’t trust MacDonald

THE LASSIE REFERENCE OH MY GOD

Lmao I had to ask my dad when Lassie came out

I love fat raccoons but not when they’re eating stuff they’re not supposed to

I can’t fucking believe Bree hit Roger with a potato

They’re so cute lmao

Ian and Rollo are babies

IANS NAMED AFTER MURTAGH IM GONNA CRY

The Beardsley’s I love my boys so much

The McGillverays are as always iconic

Baby Jemmy is drunk lmao

Hmm Bobby Higgin’s backstory is making my American education act up lmao

This just in: I’m in love with Bobby Higgins

Oh noo Lizzie!!

THE BEARDSLEYS ARE SO CUTE THEY LOVE LIZZIE SO MUCH OH MY GOOOOOD

Bree’s gonna blow shit up and I love that for her

Jemmy and Roger have my whole heart

Jamie and Ian are SO FUNNY

HAVE I MENTIONED HOW MUCH I LOVE DUNCAN INNES

Phaedre is a QUEEN and I think if she didn’t have to protect Jemmy she would’ve decked Steven Bonnet

ROGER IS SUCH A GOOD DAD

Jamie’s fixation with Claire’s ass always makes me giggle

Malva’s so cute

Tom makes me laugh

Brianna is so cute and I’m so proud of her matches

That poor little baby she was so small

Why do we keep fucking traumatizing roger Jesus Christ

Marsali and her baby better be ok or so help me god

Listen I get it he didn’t really help her and Jamie made a good call but Tebbe should have been allowed to escape

Donner and Lionel Brown can choke

GOD DIANA GABALDONS PROSE IS SO GOOD

The way I literally got my favorite teacher to agree to read Outlander based off the back of this book and a snippet of prose

Roger is baby

I’m glad Claire finds Jamie’s naked women situation as funny as I do

MRS BUG IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

FUCK LIONEL BROWN UGH

Mrs Bug is a bad bitch and I love her

ITS WHAT HE DESERVES

THE BUGS ARE SO CUTE AHHHH

Fergus get your shit together

YAY THE BABY AND MARSALI ARE OK

I would DIE for Henri-Christian

Ian is baby I feel so bad

Roger is becoming the unofficial minister that’s so cute!!!

I love Mrs MacCallum

Mrs Wilson is HYSTERICAL

Bobby and Lizzie are so cute omg

YAY I LOVE THE TUSCARORA!!

Jamie baby it’s gonna be ok I believe in you

The old lady seems very nice

Jenny is into bdsm and I’m very proud of her

I love Malva she’s baby

MANFRED OWN UP TO YOUR SHIT

Lizzie sweetie I love you so much

NOOO DONT BE MEAN TO JOSEPH ITS NOT HIS FAULT YOUR SON FELL IN LOVE WITH A PROSTITUTE

Poor baby Aiden

Allen Christie can suck a dick

ROGER IS BABY SWEET BOY

I love Jamie he’s such a good dad

Jamie having a little crushey crush on Flora MacDonald is so cute!!

Yay Roger go be a minister!!

WINDY GOAT DONNER SUCK A WHOLE PENIS CHALLENGE

I would THROW DOWN for Dr Fentiman

I hope Mrs Slyvie is a reoccurring character I like her

Yay Roger’s a minister!!

Smh teenage boys out to ruin everything

Bobby’s so cute!!!

Nooo the poor baby and her mom 😭😭

Claire is such a good doctor

The fact that Claire was straight up on the verge of death, saw one (1) girl flirting with Jamie and went “HELL NO” is sO FUNNY

Roger blessing Henri-Christian was so sweet omg

NOOOO FERGUS MY SWEET BOY

Jamie only being worried about Claire’s ass is so on brand lord help me

“You look like a convict” MR CHRISTIE YOU CANT SAY THINGS LIKE THAT

Claire playing detective lmao

Jemmy and Germaine’s friendship is so wholesome

Mrs Bug carrying an entire spinning wheel on her back…strong queen

Ian and Bree are cousin goals

Poor Ian he just wanted to be happy

Listen I would DIE for Duncan and Phaedre

THEY DESERVE TO BE HAPPY

LIZZIE IS MY QUEEN!!!

Like yes girl get those identical husbands!!

ROGER IS JEMMY’S BIO DAD YAY!!!

Him shaving his head so they match is sO SOFT 🥺🥺

Lizzie and the Beardsley’s are so cute they love their baby so much

THE WAR HAS BEGUN!!!

The Christie’s can kick rocks

Stan Mary MacNab

Claire and Jamie are and have always been the power couple

Roger’s trying to be a good person

Oh sweet baby Ian don’t worry you’ll be happy one day

Yes!! Get that independence!!

“My malva” the way Claire has me in tEARS over this little girl

LET JOSEPH BE HAPPY

Stan Tom Christie

I would die for Sadie Ferguson

Mrs Martin is a vibe

STAN TOM CHRISTIE

Manfred and Eppie are so cute!!

Do I feel bad for Bonnet…HELL FUCKING NO JESUS CHRIST

YAY ITS PHADRE!!!

Brianna’s a bamf but we knew that

NOOOO JOSH!!!

I FUCKING HATE BONNET DROWN HIS ASS ITS WHAT HE DESERVES

Stan the Lindsey brothers

Ok ok ok they keep fucking up Lillywhite’s name and it’s sO FUNNY

Murtagh 🥺🥺

John babe wtf

Listen I love John I do but he fuckin pisses me off ok

MOTHERFUCKER GAVE AWAY HECTOR’S RING EVEN THOUGH HE HAD A DIFFERENT STONE

Hector I’m so sorry a bitch would do that

Brianna should have fucking told Willie the truth idgaf

Lowkey wishing Brianna let bonnet drown

Ian did the right thing

WINDY GOAT’S DEAD HALLELUJAH

Stan the Bugs

Listen I want to know the logistics of this 200 y/o chest

The way all the facts of that paper are false lmao

[kuiperblog]

Feel-good “bad ends”

Movie protagonists are often breaking the rules. This is true even when our protagonists are on the right side of the law: after all, nobody’s perfect. (And if they were, we probably wouldn’t like them as much: after all, it’s hard for a character to have a “growth arc” if they start from a place of perfection. And making occasional mistakes reminds us that, just like us, they’re only human: they’re more relatable.)

But when our protagonists break the rules, it often leads toward one of two different endings: either they get caught and punished for their transgressions (which can make for a feelbad ending), or they get away with it scot-free. Most movies opt for the latter, but it can often feel unsatisfying, because there’s a real sense in which we want to see our protagonists reap the consequences of their actions.

Usually, it’s not a problem for them to suffer the consequences if their transgression is minor. For example, if the main character says something mean to his love interest, he can get a slap in the face -- and having paid for his transgressions, he can then immediately be rewarded with whatever feel-good conclusion the audience is in the mood for.

However, sometimes the protagonist’s transgressions are more dire, and demand more dire consequences. Recently, I’ve found two movies that manage to end with something that is, in an objective sense, a very bad outcome for the main characters, and exactly in proportion to what they deserve for their significant transgressions during the film, yet still allows for a “feel-good” ending. Naming those examples would by itself probably be a spoiler, so...spoilers for an Edgar Wright movie and a Pixar movie (and a Rocky movie) below the fold.

Heist movies are the classic example of a movie formula where the protagonists break a ton of rules and, in the case of a feelgood ending, basically can’t suffer any consequences. Either they get caught and it’s a moral aesop about how crime doesn’t pay, or they get away with it and we’re happy that our characters, who are really quite morally virtuous apart from their tendency to commit acts of robbery, are able to enjoy the spoils they’ve absconded with.

Baby Driver is a movie that I think strikes the perfect balance.  In the end, our main character Baby doesn’t get away with his crimes. He’s committed a lot of crimes, and been involved in a lot of robberies. And not the non-violent kind, either!

At the same time, Baby was always “one of the good ones.” He was never the guy who held the gun; he was always the one behind the wheel. In fact, for basically his entire criminal career, he was blackmailed into it. Of course, the lazy method would be for the judge to have pity on him -- he was forced to commit crimes! But that would be ignoring the fact that the entire reason he got blackmailed in the first place is that he happened to steal a car from a criminal kingpin -- Baby was boosting cars well before a villain put a gun to his head and forced him to do it.

But as we see Baby marched to his prison cell, it’s intercut with testimony during his trial. Everything that we could have said in Baby’s defense is articulated by witnesses speaking in his defense:

“He got himself into a bad spot. I was just trying to get him out. I believe the defendant is of good character. He didn't deserve what happened to him.”

“It was the strangest thing. Before he drove off, he threw my purse right at me. Then he actually said ‘I'm sorry.’” (A delightful callback to a comedic moment earlier in the movie: Baby might resort to carjacking when he’s in a pinch, but he is the most polite carjacker you will ever meet. He doesn’t need your valuables; he just needs a getaway vehicle.)

“He made a mistake when he was younger, and it's haunted him ever since. When he tried to get out, he was pressured even harder. It was never his fault. He's got a good heart. Always has. Always will.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sky Ferreira’s cover of Lionel Richie’s “Easy Like Sunday Morning” is the musical bed for this scene, but there’s something about the scene that feels incredibly cathartic. Baby Driver might be our protagonist, but he’s not innocent in all of this. His actions have consequences, and he gets sentenced to prison time for them.

At the same time, we’re left with the distinct impression that he has a life waiting for him on the outside. At the very least, Deborah is there waiting for him.

We can rest assured that Baby has no desire to return to a life of crime -- he and Deborah will be content with a modest life together. Indeed, a “modest life” is never something that either of them would need to settle for. Having a quiet simple life has been their aspiration for as long as they’ve known each other. Baby ends the movie knowing that he has years of prison time ahead of him, but also knowing that he’s on the start of a path to redemption. It’s enough to put a skip in his step as he walks across the prison yard.  (Well, maybe not a literal skip in his step, but at the very least, it’s written on his face: he feels good about the path he’s on.)

Baby Driver came out in 2017, but I’ve already lost count of how many times I’ve watched it. I think the ending is a big part of what keeps me coming back to it. I love this ending -- there’s really nothing like the catharsis of seeing Baby held to account for his actions, while also having his virtues acknowledged. Those virtues might not be enough for him to avoid punishment, but in a way, his virtue its its own reward.  It’s a heist movie that ends with the main character getting caught and spending years behind bars, and yet it’s an incredibly feelgood ending that just leaves you satisfied for all the right reasons. (After all, we’ve seen the fate of Baby’s confederates: we know that he could have encountered fates much worse than prison.) There’s really nothing like it.

Well, almost nothing. Last night I finally got around to watching Monsters University.

It’s a fun movie -- the central plot is the classic “underdog sports story.” Mike Wazowski has no talent for scaring -- according to the bigshot jock voiced by Nathan Fillion, the only way someone like Mike could end up working at a place like Monsters Inc is in the mailroom. Of course, because this is a prequel, we know that Mike’s story ends with him and Sulley being best buds together working at the Monsters Inc scream factory, so the odds can’t be that stacked against them, right?  After all, the stakes are too high for them to fail: besides the fact that they need to be ready for the events of Monsters Inc, Mike is able to parley for a chance to get into the university’s scare program only because he makes an agreement with the Dean that if he fails, he’ll leave the school. With stakes that high, it seems only inevitable that Mike and Sulley will fulfill the classic underdog trope and lead a team of lovable losers to victory through sheer force of will (and the power of friendship).

Except, as we find out, force of will and the power of friendship aren’t enough to win you the big game when the thing you’re being tested on is talent and athleticism. Mike gets to experience the triumph of victory...but quickly learns that it only happened because Sulley cheated.

Mike and Sulley both bit off more than they could chew, and made a number of poor choices along the way. Sulley, unable to accept loss, cheated to achieve victory. Mike, unable to cope with experiencing loss, breaks into the university’s door department to mope around in the human world -- which is strictly verboten and extremely dangerous. 

But...in the course of solving the problem that they’ve created themselves (combining their efforts to escape the human world by using scare techniques the likes of which have never been seen before), we learn that Mike and Sulley do have what it takes. The Dean recognizes it, too. It almost feels like she’s about to offer them leniency. After all, this is a prequel movie: we know that all of this has to end with Mike and Sulley working at Monsters Inc in the scare department, right? That means the Dean has to let them back into the university’s scare program! Surely their acts of daring and bravery show they have what it takes to make it in the Monsters University scare program!

And so it comes as no surprise when, at the end of the third act, the Dean comes out just as they’re about to depart. We see what looks like a smile on her face for the first time in the movie.

Except, of course, it would be crazy if they got off scot-free. Mike broke into the human world, which is about the worst possible thing a monster can do. And if the cheating scandal weren’t enough to sink Sulley, there’s also the fact that he followed Mike into the human world (his intentions were noble as he wanted to save his friend, but still extremely dangerous and just as verboten).

The Dean has nothing but kind things to say to them. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to rescue them from the consequences of their actions.

The two get no leniency. We feel an odd mixture of elation and defeat. On one hand, they got the validation that they craved: the Dean, who thought it was impossible for Mike Wazowski to ever be a scarer, now admits that she may have misjudged him. On the other hand, their lives are ruined. They must now reap what they have sown. What will become of their dreams now? And maybe more importantly, how the heck are we supposed to get from here to the events of the original movie that takes place several years later in the Monsters Inc chronology?

And then, Mike remembers something.

“You know, there is still one way we can work at a scare company. They’re always hiring in the mail room.”

Mike and Sulley start at the absolute bottom rung of the corporate ladder. But there are worse fates than doing blue collar work. After all, the entire theme of the underdog sports story that got us to this point was to show that Mike (and, with Mike’s encouragement, also Sulley) are the kind of monsters who will do whatever it takes to achieve their dreams, simply willing it to happen through sheer enthusiasm and force of will and, of course, the power of friendship. After all, anything can be fun when you’re doing it with your friends. As Sulley says, “This is better than I ever imagined!” They approach the job with an enthusiasm that tells us that they’re on their way up within this company.

The rest of their journey is shown to us in montage: 

They’ve got that ambition, baby. This week they’re mopping floors, next week it’s the fries:

Of course, it’s only a matter of time before the company holds “try-outs” for the scare team, and from there, the rest is history.  Plus, if the original movie is fresh enough in your mind, you’ll appreciate the easter egg references to the girlfriend that Mike met during this time (and the constant beratement he constantly got over needing to file his paperwork): 

Over the course of the movie, they made some good decisions -- mostly the ones relating to the power of friendship and hard work. They also made some bad decisions -- mostly relating to playing fast-and-loose with the rules of their institution. Their college careers come to an unceremonious end.

And yet, even though the movie ends with them getting kicked out of college and spending “the best years of their lives” working blue collar jobs, it feels like an undeniably happy ending for the two of them. They reap exactly what they sow -- for worse, and for better. They don’t get to hide from the consequences of their actions...but that doesn’t mean things have to end on a dour note.

There’s something I really dig about that. It feels exactly like the first Rocky movie: Rocky is an athlete who trained and tried and fought as hard as he could -- and still lost. And yet, though he lost the big boxing match, there’s dignity in his loss. And in the end, he succeeded at the thing that really mattered.

In all three of these movies, it feels as though we as the audience are being set up for a specific happy ending. Of course Baby Driver has to end with the getaway driver getting away. Of course Monsters University has to end with Mike and Sulley graduating from the scare program. Of course Rocky has to end with our main character winning the big climactic boxing match. But in the end, we don’t get these “obvious” endings, because getting them wouldn’t really be a reflection of everything that led up to that point. And yet, we don’t walk away disappointed, because we somehow get something better. These characters may not get the “obvious” reward, the thing that they thought they wanted (and the thing that we, as the audience, thought that we wanted). But they get the things that really matter.

[cali-holland]

Family Getaways- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Requested by anon: hi! i love your writing so much 💗 if it’s not a big deal, could you please write a oneshot where tom proposes to the reader while on vacation with both of their families, fast forward to the wedding and their vows to each other just has everyone crying cause it’s so sweet?

Prompt: A joint family vacation in California leads to you and Tom seeking your own romantic getaway.

Word Count: 1600

Inspired by: From this Moment On by Shania Twain & the movie The Vow

A/N: So yeah I haven’t actually been to legit weddings, so my bad if I messed up. Also, I’m Californian and I’ve never been to Lake Tahoe so idk why I chose that...

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist  

*gif is not mine*

~~~

“You know, for how many times we’ve been to California, we’ve never been up here.” You pondered with a laugh as you and Tom stepped into your hotel room.

“I know, which is why I suggested it.” He replied, a smug smile on his face, pleased with his decision. The two of you set your luggage down at the foot of the bed and you wrapped your arms around his neck while his went to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“And to think we could’ve been on a beach in the Bahamas.” You teased.

“Hey, now,” Tom pouted, “Lake Tahoe is supposed to be incredibly romantic.”

“Oh really,” You smirked. He leaned down to kiss you, but stopped when a loud knock sounded from your door.

“Tom, can I use your bathroom? Harry’s blowing up ours, and I just really got to piss.” Harrison asked with a sense of urgency. 

“So romantic.” You laughed as Tom sighed, letting go of you to open the door for his friend. Leave it to Harrison (and Harry) to ruin the moment and bring you two back to reality.

“Thanks.” Haz said, immediately ducking into the en suite bathroom.

Ever since your family moved next door to the Hollands and you all became close friends, it was a tradition to take a joint family vacation (plus Harrison) all together at least once a year. And for the past three years, you and Tom had attempted to use this as your own personal romantic getaway, but your families made sure there was no escaping them- and they also made sure that you two didn’t share a room. That was, until this year at least, and you were not going to complain. Still, the large holiday was always one that you looked forward to. Normally, you’d all go to a resort on the beach or have some sort of nice private beach house, but this year Tom had suggested Lake Tahoe in California of all places; though it wasn’t your typical family vacation, you still saw the appeal of the destination.

You couldn’t really enjoy your alone time with Tom- once Haz had left, it was already time to reconvene with your families in the hotel lobby for dinner. Choosing the steakhouse across the street, all of you (you, the Holland clan, Harrison, your younger sister, and your parents) made your way over there and somehow managed to get a table rather quickly. Tom sat beside you and instantly brought your chair closer to him so that he could put his arm around the back of your chair.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Your mom asked.

“We haven’t even been here three hours yet.” You laughed.

“Skiing?” Sam suggested.

“Snowboarding!” Tom and Harrison cheered simultaneously. Everyone broke off into their own conversations, and Tom turned to you.

“What do you think about going on one of those hot air balloon rides?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

“Now, that sounds romantic.” You teased.

“And a good way to escape all of them.” Tom laughed, nodding back at your families.

“I also want to do some shopping in some of the boutiques.” You said and he jokingly frowned.

“That doesn’t sound romantic.”

“It doesn’t have to be with you.” You joked, making him shake his head.

“No, no, you’re not escaping me for the next week.” He leaned in further to kiss you.

“Hey, hey, not at the dinner table!” Harry called out as Paddy started to fake gage.

“Whatever.” Tom rolled his eyes at his brothers, shifting back into his seat but still keeping his arm around your chair.

It wasn’t until the third day on your vacation that you and Tom finally managed to break away from your families and take your hot air balloon ride together. After a few days of shopping, snowboarding, hiking, the works, you and Tom were due for your romantic getaway. The balloon lifted off the ground and you held tightly onto Tom’s hand, starting to wonder if maybe taking a relatively unstable floating device over Lake Tahoe was a good idea. Once it was steady in the air, you leaned on the edge of the basket in awe of the view.

“Damn, I’m so good at these ideas.” Tom said proudly, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“This is incredible.” You smiled, turning to kiss him. “You’re incredible.”

“Mm, I know.” He teased, “You’re pretty incredible, too.”

“Did you plan all this out?” You asked him, skeptically. You looked over at the small table in the balloon that held an assortment of fruits and cheeses, all things that Tom knew to be your favorite.

“What? You don’t think I could spontaneously suggest the perfect hot air balloon ride without any prior research into just how romantic it could be?”

“Considering romantic seems to be your favorite word on this holiday, I’d dare to say this wasn’t spontaneous.” You smirked, and he kissed you again.

“Just try the damn cheese.” Tom laughed. You turned to the table and helped yourself to some cheese blocks.

“Open up.” You said, holding up a cheese block for him. He opened up his mouth and you placed it on his tongue.

“Shit, that’s the good stuff.”

“Mhm,” You hummed, turning back to the table. You bit into a strawberry and went to turn back around to face Tom. You let out a small shriek,freezing, as he was down on one knee.

“Y/N,Y/L/N, you’re my best friend, and I love you more than anything in the world. You’re my soulmate, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” Tom asked with a hopeful smile on his face as he held out an open blue ring box, a beautiful diamond ring sitting in the center.

“You asshole,” You coughed, smiling and slapping his arm lightly. He laughed, confused by your reaction- he had definitely expected a ‘yes’. “I almost choked on that strawberry ‘cause of you.”

“So is that a-”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You smiled as he stood up to his full height. He pulled you in for a passionate kiss.

“Oh, shit, the ring.” Tom laughed, remembering he had to actually seal the deal. He carefully took it out of the box and slipped it onto your left ring finger.

“You totally planned this whole holiday around this.” You teased.

“I’ll never tell.” He shook his head as you pulled him in for another kiss.

A few hours later when you two met back up with your families, you could tell that they were all well aware of Tom’s intentions behind the hot air balloon ride, by the way everyone was eyeing you two so expectantly and faked surprise once you showed them the ring.

~~~

And just eight months later, it was the big day. Everything was set up perfectly in the small church near your homes in Kingston. You were more excited than nervous; your new life as an official Holland was just moments away from beginning.

Tom was waiting anxiously at the altar. His palms were a little sweaty and he was resisting the urge to mess with his hair like he always did when he was anxious. He was nearly shaking in anticipation as the music kicked on and his brothers and Harrison walked down the aisle with your sister and your bridesmaids- he was just one step closer to seeing you, his beautiful bride.

“You got this.” Harrison reassured him, from his position as best man. 

Tom nodded, and the music changed to an instrumental version of Lionel Richie and Diana Ross’ “Endless Love”. He let out a breath that he didn’t even realize he’d been holding as you emerged from the back of the church with your father leading you down the aisle. You smiled at him, trying to refrain yourself from crying; meanwhile, Tom not so subtly wiped away the tears that had slipped.

As you stood in front of him, you handed your bouquet off to your sister, your maid of honor. Tom took your hands in his and the two of you turned to the officiant. The ceremony went on, but you couldn’t focus on much. You were too focused on the fact that you were standing next to your favorite person in the world, about to marry him. When the time for the vows came, you turned back to fully face Tom.

“Y/N,” He started, smiling softly at you and you could still see the tears in his eyes. “I vow to always be there for you, to hold you whenever life gets hard, to help you throughout life, to always make you smile. From this moment on, I vow to love you for the rest of my life.”

“Tom,” You began, tears beginning to well up in your own eyes. “I vow to love you for the rest of my life, with every beat of my heart; I vow to always care for you, to always support you, and to always give you anything and everything you need. I vow to live within the warmth of your heart and always call it home.”

“And, now the rings.” The officiant announced and Harrison stepped up, handing over the rings to the two of you. You and Tom went through the “I Do”s and the exchanging of rings.

“You may kiss the bride.”

At the official words, Tom pulled you in for a passionate first kiss as husband and wife.