#summer vacation au

[ariespetal]

Prom drawings!

[bunnswxrld]

Espresso Smau

Synopsis: What happens when its summer vacation and this group of college friends are out at a summer camp together? Well they are about to have an interesting summer of their lives at this summer camp or so they thought.

warning(s): lots of swearing, some alcohol, mentions of cheating,partying, some slight horror, some slight violence, slight nsfw- some truth and confessions come out, some drama

listing(s): college au, summer vacation au, summer camp au, social media au, kpop smau, idolxidol, friend groups, close friend circle

PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS ALL FICTIONAL WORKS!! NONE OF THIS IS REAL!! ALSO THIS IS MY FIRST EVER SMAU SO PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT IT WILL BE A WHILE FOR A LOT OF STUFF TO COME OUT!!

Profiles 1: || Profiles 2:

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1

[chandelier-s-notebook]

TWB Bingo: Round 11, Prompt D4: “You’re a terrible liar.”

Summer Vacation AU by @itsmoonphobic. He’s literally not in the community anymore, but the original idea of this connected world stems from an idea he had long ago. We don’t talk anymore, but we were friends once upon a time. I miss you, but I’m not one for reaching out so that’s on me. Thank you for striking a chord with my creativity way back when. I have plans for more snippets from this AU, so if you still get Tumblr notifications I’ll be in there.

I hope life is treating you well.

For everyone else who didn’t scroll to this for sap, I present to you: Tommy Totally Ate The Last Cookie

--------------------------------

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m actually a very good liar,” Tommy snarked. “I am the best liar in the world.”

“See,” Wilbur said, clapping his hands together. “In order for you to be a good liar, I would have to believe you.”

Tommy growled.

“Now: did you eat the last cookie in the cookie jar while you were left here alone.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He puffed up his chest.

Wilbur looked around the kitchen. The empty cookie jar was soaped up in the sink; there was a pile of cleaned out ice cream cartons on the counter; and the salad bowl had left over lettuce and crouton bits suck to the side.

Tommy bristled in the silence of the room.

Wilbur sighed heavily. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Nothing. Because I didn’t do anything.”

“Right. Right. I don’t believe you. Those ice cream tubs were in the fridge when I left you here this morning.”

“Not my fault!”

“Then whose fault was it?”

“Tubbo.”

“Tubbo?”

“Tubbo.”

“Tubbo came and ate all of our ice cream and cookies?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad.”

“And you just said you were the best liar in the world, so how can I trust anything you say?”

A snicker filled the air.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Tommy said, glancing harshly at the cabinet under the sink.

Wilbur turned to it.

“So Tubbo ate the last cookie in the cookie jar?”

Another snicker sounded.

“Yes.”

Wilbur threw the cabinet open. “Ha!” He took a step back. “Why is Ranboo under the cabinet?”

Tommy shrugged. “They scattered when we heard you come home.”

Wilbur dropped down to Ranboo’s level. “Who ate the last cookie?”

“Tommy. Tubbo ate all of the ice cream.” Laughing his ass off, Tubbo then came tumbling out of another cabinet.

[harringroveera]

AU where Billy and Steve met when they were kids

[femininenachos]

Hello lovely. I’ve been thinking about vacation au. Please tell me Clarke runs into Lexa swimming in some crystal clear Grecian water and wells has to close her mouth for her.

(Not quite, but close!)

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

By mid-morning the narrow streets near the harbour are already swarming with island hoppers fresh off the ferry. More line the quayside, waiting to board the day cruise that takes in the larger, more populous archipelago further down the coast. So-called ‘jewels of the Aegean’, they’re feted for being playgrounds of the rich and famous, boasting a slew of luxury resort hotels, designer boutiques and staggeringly expensive seafront restaurants.

For all its charm and scenic vistas, at least Polis has one foot in the real world. Here, craggy-faced fishermen and dock hands in scruffy overalls are hard at work unloading the morning’s catch, doing their best to ignore the clusters of tourists floating around, or at least tolerating their presence with stoic indifference.

And—it’s possible Clarke might be biased—Polis has Lexa, currently leading the charge like a woman on a mission. Clarke sticks close, her hand in Lexa’s sure grip, hurrying to match her loping strides as they make a beeline for the marina. Along the way they pass an assortment of small motorboats in all shapes and sizes, from dinghies and jet skis to skiffs and cabin cruisers and everything in between, until a gleaming white single-masted sailboat comes into view at last. 

Clarke stops dead in her tracks on the cobblestones, fingers slipping from Lexa’s.

Her jaw drops.

“Is this yours?”

Lexa glances over and laughs at Clarke’s expression. “I make good tips, but not that much.”

She points to the modest vessel moored next to it, an open-top vintage deck boat with a walnut veneer interior and burnt orange leather upholstery that’s bleached from exposure to the sun and the salty sea air. ‘Spirit of Polis’ is written in blue cursive script on the hull.

“I mean, this one’s great too,” Clarke is quick to respond. She styles it out. “Not so flashy. Compact. Classic. Nice, uh, sleek lines.”

Lexa peers over the top of her sunglasses, lips subtly twisting to the side. “It belongs to my uncle, so you don’t have to worry about offending me or the boat.”

She puts down the cooler containing their provisions of cold drinks and extends a hand to help Clarke aboard. A little unsteady on her feet at first, Clarke holds on tightly for support while she finds her balance, shifting her weight to counteract the bobbing motion of the boat as water sloshes against the sides. Once she’s confident she isn’t going to fall flat on her face or, worse, into the harbour, she takes a few cautious steps to reach the small seating area at the rear. She shrugs off her tote bag to stow under the bench and situates herself, the sun-scorched leather burning hot against the backs of her thighs.

From this safe perch (and prime ogling spot), she watches Lexa collect the thick rope that tethers the boat, tossing it onto the deck before she gracefully hops across with the cooler and gets behind the controls. Full of poise at the helm, like it’s second nature to assume command, the signature pout in place as Lexa lifts her chin like she’s surveying her nautical domain. 

It goes without saying that the whole preppy, boat-captain vibe is one hundred percent working in her favour.

Shades on. Hair spilling down her back in glossy chestnut waves, the ends getting whipped around by the wind. Appealing in her pale pink button-down worn over a snug white tank. Shirt open and catching the light breeze, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a hint of muscle definition and the ink that encircles her bicep. Tight little navy blue shorts hug her hips and ass in ways that are about to cause a major international incident at sea, because Clarke is far from looking respectfully.

“Ready?”

When her eyes snap up, she spies the half-smile on Lexa’s side profile, as though she detects the unholy thirst emanating from mere feet away.

Clarke gives a slow, absentminded nod, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as her eyes make another involuntary sweep down Lexa’s form.

“Clarke.”

She gets a hold of herself, breathing in deeply, and with it the spell is broken.

“Mm? Oh, yeah,” she says, feeling a resurgent wiggle of anticipation about this mystery adventure they’re about to embark on together. All Lexa was willing to divulge when they met is that it’s Polis’s best-kept secret, a spot known only to locals, unreachable except by boat, and so far unspoiled by tourists. Clarke had feigned offense on the last point, but soon dropped the act when Lexa tilted in for a kiss that went on and on and made her stomach clench. Each time Clarke started to retreat, Lexa would chase her mouth and draw her back in for more. 

Her lips are still tingling.

(Both sets.)

“At least give me a hint about where we’re going?”

The enigmatic smirk that plays around Lexa’s mouth widens a fraction. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m also stubborn as hell and won’t take no for an answer, so jot that down.”

It earns a laugh, one Clarke is fast becoming enamoured with, and she can’t control the warm tingle that goes through her when she hears it or the rush of elation she gets from bringing a rare grin to Lexa’s face. 

“Good to know,” Lexa says as she reaches for the ignition key. Her next words are almost lost to the splutter and chug of the engine before it roars to life. “I like a challenge.”

~*~

Within an hour, they reach a small, secluded cove surrounded by sheer limestone cliffs, the ancient rock sculpted by wind and waves, where sparse scatterings of tall, rugged pines sprout precariously from narrow ledges in defiance of the elements.

It appears like a mirage, shimmering into view: a bay of dreamy, pristine, white-gold sands and crystal clear turquoise waters, serene and inviting, and there isn’t a soul in sight. The closest thing they had to company was the pod of dolphins they spotted off the starboard (Clarke learned) side about twenty minutes ago. She’d gasped and clutched Lexa’s arm, bouncing on her heels in sheer delight. But it was the look they shared, brimming with joy and something unaccountably softer and fonder, that made it all the more magical, the moment already locked into Clarke’s memory.

“What do you think?” Lexa asks.

Lost for words, Clarke shakes her head in silent awe.

She turns to Lexa, and the smile Lexa directs at her, eyes bright and glowing in the sunlight, leaves her just as speechless. When Clarke finds her voice at last, it comes out thick, clogged with emotion; touched and amazed by the incredible beauty of what she sees—the place, and the woman who brought her here. So moved that she’s dangerously close to shedding a tear, her vision glazing over. 

She blinks the moisture away.

“It’s…” She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. Lifts her eyebrows. “Wow.”

She doesn’t second guess the impulse to wrap an arm around Lexa’s waist, to plant a soft, grateful kiss on her jaw.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.” 

Full lips twitch at the corners. “My pleasure.”

With one hand resting on the wheel, Lexa drapes her free arm around Clarke’s shoulders. They remain like that, Clarke hugging Lexa’s side and taking in the spectacular scenery as Lexa guides the boat in at a steady rate of knots.

“I can’t believe this place has stayed under the radar. You’d think tour operators would be running excursions out here every hour until sunset.”

“Clarke.” Lexa grows serious all of a sudden, and that only makes Clarke want to kiss her again. Coax another smile. “You must promise not to tell anyone. It’s how we preserve it for future generations.”

Clarke schools her features, pretending to match Lexa’s gravity.

“Well… it’ll cost you. My silence doesn’t come cheap.”

The slight frown Lexa wears smooths out as soon as she catches on. A quizzical eyebrow flexes in a way that’s rudely attractive.

“Name your price, but don’t forget I work in hospitality.”

“I’m not interested in your money, Lexa. What I want” - Clarke trails her hand over Lexa’s hip and the perfect curve of her backside to give it a slow, purposeful squeeze, relishing Lexa’s intake of breath and the darkening of her gaze as she glances at Clarke’s lips - “is you.”

She meant to say “your body” but she doesn’t correct the verbal slip. Because, yeah, she does want to bend Lexa into all kinds of shapes like a pretzel, but she also has a deep desire to learn more about Lexa as a person, to find out what makes her tick, beyond what she likes to do in bed.

Lexa takes it in stride regardless, easing back into the confidence she has in spades.

Something about the slope of her smile signals she’s about to gain the upper hand. 

She shrugs.

“Okay, deal.”

The enduring gleam in Lexa’s eyes before she turns her attention back to the sea gives Clarke palpitations. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out the engine noise and the crash of the boat breaking the waves. 

~*~

They drop anchor a short distance from the shore, an easy swim from the dazzling white sands. Not yet ready to take a dip, preferring to bake in the heat for a while first, Clarke spreads a large beach towel on the deck for sunbathing. She senses Lexa’s attention on her as she shimmies out of her shorts and shucks her loose tee to reveal the red halter neck two-piece that Octavia helped pick out after breakfast. 

(“Hellooo, mama,” Octavia had drawled after Clarke emerged from the en suite and gave a reluctant twirl. She’d let out a low whistle as she ran her eyes up and down. “Almost wish I was tagging along just to watch Sexy Lexy’s head spin 360-degrees before it explodes. The twins ain’t playing.”)

At the time, Clarke had rolled her eyes and fought a blush but she’s glad she went with O’s suggestion.

Aware of her present captive audience, she proceeds to get comfortable on her back. One knee bent, an arm tucked behind her head as a pillow, showing off her best assets like a 1950s calendar pinup girl. Even behind the dark tinted lenses of her sunglasses, she sees Lexa’s eyes hungrily trace the shape of her body. Clarke basks in it, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, secure in the knowledge that she’s not just a snack, she’s the whole damn meal, and Lexa looks like she wants to devour every last crumb.

But Clarke’s smugness is short-lived, because in the next moment she’s the one left gawking when Lexa wordlessly strips down to the skimpiest pair of bikini bottoms and not a stitch else, brow quirking up as she peers over her shoulder then dives off the deck, slicing through the water with barely a splash.

Clarke quickly levers up onto her elbows to watch Lexa surface seconds later, hair slicked back and plastered to her skull, a sly little tilt to her lips as she treads water.

“Come on in. The temperature is perfect,” she calls out, looking every inch the siren that lures thirsty sapphic sailors to their deaths. 

Clarke tries to cling on to the last vestiges of composure she has remaining.

“Gonna work on my tan for a little bit.”

The pout returns and she laughs, “Soon!”

Grabbing the tube of sunscreen from her nearby tote, she squeezes a large dollop into her palm. While Lexa does slow laps around the boat, Clarke liberally reapplies the lotion, slathering it on until all the exposed skin within reach is covered.

Before long, she hears Lexa climb the ladder onto the swim platform, accompanied by the rush of water cascading off her body as she rises out of the sea.

The soft slap of wet footfalls draws nearer.

“Lex?” Clarke twists around. “Could you do my—”

She stalls mid-sentence, only cognizant of her fingers closing hard around the tube in her hand when a spurt of lotion shoots out, splattering across her thigh and the towel. 

She doesn’t even flinch.

All Clarke can do is gape and stare, watching rivulets of water run down the slope of Lexa’s bare chest. Eyes drawn inexorably to taut nipples and golden skin that glistens under the sun, to the long, lean lines of Lexa and the scrap of luminous orange fabric that sits low on her hips.

Clarke’s belly tightens, arousal flaring hot between her legs.

(A voice in her head that sounds disturbingly like Wells tells her to close her mouth.)

She has to remind herself to breathe. 

Is thankful for the oversized shades that partially mask her expression, because she isn’t in control of what her face is doing right now. But if Lexa’s lip-bitten smile is any indication, it’s a lost cause anyway.

Casually wringing the water out of her hair as she approaches, Lexa glances at the milky white streak on Clarke’s inner thigh. 

“Not the first time I’ve made a girl squirt.”

Clarke mutters a sarcastic “ha ha”, rubs the lotion into her skin, then wipes her hands on the edge of the towel before she reclines again. She fakes nonchalance when Lexa sinks down beside her, but it’s impossible to ignore the butterflies.

She rolls her shoulders and stares at the sky above, fixating on the solitary vapour trail that cuts across the endless blue.

“Speaking of previous liaisons... do you bring all your conquests here?” She’s mostly kidding, but there’s an undercurrent of needing to know too. She peers at Lexa. “Or am I one of the lucky few?”

A slow shake of Lexa’s head before she leans over on her elbow, closing in and partially blocking the sun, and Clarke’s skepticism must be plain to see, because Lexa looks so intensely sincere now, no trace of a smile or any disingenuousness when she says: “It’s the truth, I swear.”

Still, Clarke has her doubts. There’s no way Lexa isn’t tripping over hot women throwing themselves at her feet and this boat trip is too well-orchestrated not to be a tried and tested seduction technique. 

Clarke peels off her shades to look Lexa square in the eye, and that frank, steady gaze pierces straight through her.

“I mean it, Clarke.” 

The space between them shrinks. 

Lexa’s pupils dilate as her focus shifts to parted lips. “You’re special.”

Water drips off the ends of Lexa’s hair onto Clarke’s shoulder and chest, and whatever rebuttal she had dies in her throat. She’s the one to reach out, gripping Lexa by the neck to tug her the rest of the way and kiss her like Clarke’s been dreaming of all morning.

As soon as Lexa throws a long leg over Clarke to straddle her, knees bracketing her hips, she needs no further convincing.

It’s on. 

She dips her tongue inside Lexa’s mouth and slides both hands up Lexa’s rib cage to cup her breasts, a shiver running through Clarke when she feels the hard poke of nipples against her palms. She kneads, and the low, throaty noise it earns her sets her nerves alight, warm tingles suffusing her body.

They kiss deeply, greedily.

They kiss until Clarke has to drag her mouth away to gulp down some air, only to have the oxygen punched out of her lungs once again when Lexa uses the opportunity to shove her bikini bottoms off, scoop her mane of wet hair to one side and resettle against Clarke’s thigh. With her hands planted on either side of Clarke’s shoulders, Lexa holds herself up as she starts to work along the tensed muscle.

The slick, molten feel of Lexa, sliding against her skin, riding Clarke, makes her burn. She lurches up into the next kiss, hungrily reclaiming Lexa’s mouth, urging her on with a grip on her ass, and that shaky little hitch of breath in the back of Lexa’s throat whenever the friction gets her just right succeeds in getting Clarke wetter and wetter too. At this rate, she might come before Lexa does, and the odds only increase when Lexa takes Clarke’s hand and guides it between her legs. 

“Use your fingers.”

Another surge of heat floods through Clarke at the instruction, hearing the normally smooth, modulated tone of Lexa’s voice roughed by need.

Clarke studies Lexa’s face, watching for the tiny flickers of reaction as she runs her fingers lower, fascinated by each and every twitch and jolt and slight gasp as she explores. She dips in and drags the wetness up to swirl around Lexa’s clit and is rewarded by the sharp jerk of Lexa’s hips and quite possibly the dirtiest kiss of Clarke’s entire life. She needs no prompting to slide through slick heat to tease at Lexa’s entrance again, fingertips doing a couple of slow swirls before she pauses. 

For a beat they remain suspended in a freeze frame of anticipation. Each holding still, a breath caught in their throats. 

On the exhale Clarke pushes inside.

And fuck, she missed this. Touching yourself is great and all, empowering, fantastic for stress relief, et cetera. But nothing beats the sound another woman makes when you enter her for the first time, when you hear that shaky intake of breath and you feel her clench around your fingers.

“Good?” Clarke asks. 

Lexa nods, bottom lip held between her teeth as she looks down at Clarke with hooded eyes, the green of her irises nearly eclipsed by black.

Part of Clarke can’t quite believe this is her reality. That she’s buried to the knuckles and Lexa is moving on her, rolling to meet the steady pump of her wrist. 

She glances between their bodies and a groan escapes, another sharp twist of lust coiling in the pit of her stomach once her eyes fasten on her own two fingers coated with Lexa’s arousal, fucking into her. But Clarke pries her eyes away, roving over tight abdominals, taking in the curves of Lexa’s tits and the jut of her nipples, torn between wanting them in her mouth and watching her fingers disappear inside again.

It’s Lexa’s half-stifled whimper when Clarke’s thumb finds her clit that sharpens her focus. 

Winding her arm around Lexa’s lower back, Clarke sits them upright and swiftly brings their lips together. The abrupt change of angle has Lexa gasping hotly into her mouth. Again, louder, when Clarke’s palm rubs in. Lexa grips her by the shoulder and the back of her neck, blunt nails digging in as Lexa grinds down harder, faster, speeding towards the climax—the first of many, if Clarke has her way—sucking in short, sharp gasps while Clarke keeps pace, despite it being hell on her wrist.

They’re hardly kissing at all now, mouths hanging slack and sharing the same air, noses pressing into cheeks as they pant against one another’s lips.

She soon feels the first flutters, the growing tension in Lexa’s form, the choppy motion of Lexa’s hips and the careless scratch of her nails at Clarke’s nape. She curls the tips of her fingers on each partial drag out then slams back in, lifting Lexa an inch off her lap with each thrust. Clarke keeps the heel of her palm tight against Lexa’s clit, the pressure firm and constant, and in the next collection of halting, rapid breaths, Lexa’s whole frame pulls taut. A ragged cry is torn from her throat and she clenches hard, coming in a hot spill around Clarke’s fingers. Lexa shudders through it, a tremble in her jaw when she catches Clarke’s mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss, licking into her with a groan that makes Clarke gush in turn.

They remain in a heavy lip lock long after the tremors subside, neither inclined to separate. Restless hands weave through Clarke’s hair then seek out her curves, roaming down her chest with purpose, pushing under the top half of her swimsuit. She gives a low hum of approval when Lexa’s thumbs roll over the tight tips of her nipples, the ache mirrored in the dull, pulsing emptiness between her legs.

She feels close to orgasm already, like if she got even the tiniest bit of friction she’d go off like a rocket. Just a small shift of her hand to grind against her own knuckles would do it. But the way Lexa is touching her breasts, palms running all over, teasing her nipples into stiff, hypersensitive points, might be enough to get Clarke there.

And all the while, she’s still inside Lexa. Fucking her lazily with slow presses of her fingers, incapable of much more vigour when her wrist is screaming. She’s debating what to do next, whether to withdraw and flip Lexa onto her back for round two or continue like this, when a distant droning noise intrudes, faintly audible above the gentle lap of water, the thick, wet squelch of Clarke’s hand working between Lexa’s thighs, and their combined heavy breathing.

Growing more distracted by the second, Clarke draws her mouth away. She squints at the horizon beneath the shade of her free hand while warm lips meander along her jaw and down her neck.

She ceases her movements, despite Lexa’s meaningful buck of her hips and the subsequent small growl of complaint when Clarke fails to take the hint.

“What’s—” Teeth nip at the fading hickey on her throat and she gasps, hand flying to tangle in Lexa’s damp, curling hair. But as the object begins to resolve itself, Clarke tenses for a different reason. “Is that a boat?”

Lexa abandons her sulk to look too.

A white shape is rapidly approaching, throwing up sea spray, sunlight glinting off the surface and the waves and making it difficult to discern from this distance until… oh. Oh, yeah.

Letting out a string of (presumably) expletives in her native tongue, Lexa scrambles off Clarke to scoop up the clothes strewn across the deck. She pulls on her tank top, yanks the shorts up her legs, and has just enough time to arrange herself into a casual pose beside Clarke before the other boat reaches them. The occupants are obnoxiously young; late teens or early twenties, as far as Clarke can tell from a distance; a bunch of bikini-clad girls and lanky guys in board shorts hanging off one another as music blasts.

She sighs inwardly. Grits her teeth and refrains from giving them the middle finger while they whoop and cheer in passing, beer bottles held aloft as they thunder towards the wooden jetty.

So much for the sexy beach idyll. Clearly, not everyone has such reverence for the tranquility of this spot.

“Shall we stay a while or…?” Clarke hedges. 

Lexa purses her lips and casts her stormy gaze around, jaw working side to side in rotation, but a gentle touch on her leg pulls her focus back to Clarke. 

Consternation softens into regret.

“You didn’t even get a chance to swim or feel the sand between your toes.”

“I’ll cope. Besides…” Clarke wets her lips and drops into a huskier register. “It wasn’t a total bust.”

Lexa’s mouth twitches, clearly fighting a smile, and to Clarke that’s a win.

“Come on, don’t let these pesky teens ruin our hot date,” she continues in a playful tone. “I bet you have a few aces up your sleeve; other favourite haunts to wow the ladies with.”

One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “We do have the boat for the rest of the day. I could take you somewhere else. For lunch, if you’re hungry yet?”

Clarke gives a noncommittal hum, lightly trailing her wet fingers along the soft skin of Lexa’s inner thigh. “I could eat.”

The suggestive undertone isn’t lost in translation. Their eyes meet and Clarke dares to make it explicit.

“But lunch wasn’t what I had in mind… unless we’re counting pussy as a food group.”

Lexa loses the battle against keeping her smile under control. The tips of her ears are tinged pink. “Are Americans always so forward?”

“Um, I don’t recall any shyness on your part two nights ago.”

Dainty little ears burn brightly while Lexa’s smile grows, becoming toothier, and Clarke just wants to smooch that perfect face all day long.

“Anyway, I prefer the term ‘go-getter.’ As in, I see someone I want and I go get her.”

A pained groan. “I should leave you stranded on the beach for that.”

“Hey!” Clarke swats at Lexa’s knee in retaliation, but Lexa catches her hand, holding it captive. Clarke sniffs for dramatic effect. “I was going to let you strip me out of this bathing suit later, but now I’m strongly reconsidering.”

“If it helps sway your decision, I’d definitely appreciate seeing you naked again.”

“And how would you show your gratitude?”

“Mm. At least three times, and maybe twice more with the strap if you’re into toys.”

God.

“Okay. Alright. Well, lucky for you, I’m kind of dying for you to fuck me so I guess that clinches it.”

It’s about as far from playing it cool as could be, but Clarke doesn’t care. The truth is she’s soaked, aching for relief, and she isn’t picky about whichever method Lexa might use to get her off, as long as it happens soon.

Eyes flashing dark, Lexa cups a hand behind Clarke’s neck and pulls her mouth to hers. Clarke reacts without thought, already opening up to accept the slide of Lexa’s tongue before her brain catches up and she remembers they’re not alone.

Cracking an eye open, she’s relieved to see nobody on the other boat appears to be paying them any attention. She attempts to evade the next kiss, only for Lexa to pursue it more doggedly, and that makes Clarke smile even as she lays a palm on Lexa’s chest to gently hold off her advance. The mini pout on Lexa’s face when they pull apart is a treat, and Clarke can’t conceal her enjoyment of it. Unable to resist the lure, she steals one final peck. 

For a few indulgent seconds, she luxuriates in the softness of Lexa’s full bottom lip, until it dawns on her that an hour-long return journey stands between them and more orgasms, and she sighs. 

“Why isn’t teleportation a real thing yet? Having to wait a full 60 minutes to get you under me is so unfair.”

Slowly, with the greatest delicacy and patience, Lexa brushes their noses together, one side then the other, nudging the tip before she withdraws. Despite the sun beating down on her back, it gives Clarke chills, shivers running down her neck and arms. For the duration she just holds still and melts while her stomach flips, and the butterflies that had lain dormant return in full force. 

When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted by the slight, sloping smile on Lexa’s lips and her stomach does another somersault.

“I’m starting to think you’re only interested in me for sex,” Lexa says lightly.

Clarke lets out a small scoff. “You’re the one with a one-track mind. I was minding my own business, soaking up the rays, until you pounced.”

“Can you blame me?” 

Lexa’s heated stare roves over several inches of cleavage before she forcibly drags her eyes back up. 

“Actually… I have a confession to make.” She draws that plush bottom lip, still slightly swollen and red from kissing, between her teeth. “I dropped a tray of drinks at work yesterday because I had a flashback to you sitting on my face. Anya yelled at me and I didn’t even give a fuck that she deducted it from my tips.”

Heat rises in Clarke’s cheeks, triggered by her own vivid recollection of events. She won’t forget it in a hurry and she’s flattered to hear it was just as memorable for Lexa too. But also, it feels like a point of pride that she made Lexa’s cool girl veneer slip, even if she wasn’t there to witness it in person.  

“Now I feel partly responsible for this tragic loss of earnings and broken glassware.”

“I said you were trouble.”

They inch closer, eyes glued to lips, their breath hot on one another’s faces.

“How can I make it up to you?” Clarke asks.

“I have some ideas.”

Her mind can’t help going to the aforementioned strap.

All smiles, they surrender to the magnetic pull. The world around them recedes. There’s only Lexa’s mouth on hers, soft yet urgent, and the tingles that erupt all over, Clarke’s pulse accelerating when long fingers thread into her hair again.

And it’s sublime. 

Close to perfection.

She can almost hear the swell of imaginary violins soundtracking the moment—until a smattering of shrill wolf whistles pierces through the bliss. 

The kiss breaks on a huff of shared, quiet laughter. Clarke’s eyes slide across to the jetty, where they’re being enthusiastically toasted by their neighbours. She groans and drops her forehead to Lexa’s shoulder, breathing in the saltwater, sun-warmed scent of her before showing her face again.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Clarke says.

The long, lidded look Lexa favours her with, eyes shaded darker by desire and the hint of some deeper emotion that feels altogether too big, too soon to acknowledge, has Clarke battling the urge to launch herself at Lexa’s lips again, regardless of the unwanted spectators nearby.

“Keep that up, Lex, and they might really have something to holler about—and possibly livestream on the internet.”

A faint smile reappears. “What am I doing, Clarke?”

“Looking. Giving me those” - she gestures vaguely - “eyes.”

It loosens a small laugh. Lexa lowers her gaze and Clarke regrets mentioning it now, because it feels like the sun momentarily disappearing behind the clouds when Lexa’s thrilling, singular focus isn’t on her.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” 

Lexa looks up, and the restored eye contact makes Clarke’s blood pump faster.

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Maybe I like it more than I should, considering.”

“Considering…?”

“I won’t be here next week.”

Pragmatic; matter-of-fact. A reality check and a casual reminder they both need to hear before they throw themselves headlong into… whatever this thing is between them: it has an expiration date.

In the lull, Lexa scans every millimetre of Clarke’s face and she hopes the nerves don’t show through the front she’s putting on.

After a moment, the corner of Lexa’s mouth lifts into a smirk, but it seems slightly forced. Her eyes are more pebbly, neutral grey than green. “Then let’s make sure you have good memories to take home with you.”

[findafight]

Not me writing a prologue for a fic I'll maybe never write about Steve being on the Dream Team lmao. I saw a pro basketball player Steve post a while ago and couldn't stop thinking about it. Anyways-

At the end of March Madness in 1989, the scout for the Pacers has lunch with the head coach of a community college basketball team that somehow made it to the first round before being pulverized. They sit across from each other, the coach seemingly a bit overwhelmed but not outright surprised. That's good, it means Jerry, the scout, doesn't have to worry about him freaking out or babbling too much.

The team captain had caught his, and possibly others', eye. Good layups, a few three pointers, solid defence, and a helluva lot of potential add up to someone to keep an eye on, except they can't because the guy plays for a rinky-dink community college and only had one televised game. The only reason Jerry saw the kid is because the Roane County Community College Ospreys had put in a hell of a fight the past three seasons. Jerry wonders why the hell the kid hadn't been offered a scholarship somewhere...not Roane County. Doesn't matter though, because they're here now.

"so. You wanted to talk about Steve?" Says the coach, August Nearaly, a bit weary.

Jerry nods, sipping his coffee. "Yeah. Wanted to get a sense of him before I actually talked to him."

August sighs. "As a player or as a person?"

Raising his eyebrows. "Is he that different off the court?"

"no! No, not like how you probably think. Harrington's a sweet kid, but also incredibly...well, not weird, but. Peculiar? He's got quirks. Bit paranoid, but not in a conspiracy way. In a 'no one should walk home alone in the dark' or 'hey, where'd John go? He was right here and then I did a headcount and he's not?' kinda way. Y'know? Like, they're all adults, but he does headcounts and worries anyways."

"huh. Oookay?"

"it-- I'm not saying this to rag on him, to be clear. It just too a while to get used to. Honestly, it's been good for team building. Makes them think of each other not as individuals, but part of a unit that needs everyone healthy and whole to work."

"that's good. He's a team player."

"oh yeah. It's not surprising, really. He's from Hawkins." August says the name like Jerry should know what that means. It's a town, sure, but other than that... Jerry's at a loss. Maybe something a few years ago about a fire? "He has most assists in Osprey history. Some of the guys joke that he's allergic to the ball."

"He's good on the court?"

"Jerry. I know you're here because you saw the March Madness game. You know he's good. He'd be even better if he could afford those fancy prescription goggles Horace Grant wears."

"seriously? Why not contacts?"

"don't make them for his prescription. You didn't see his interview? Kid's got thick horn rimmed glasses. Too many concussions apparently. God knows how he tells players apart when the jersey colours are similar."

"shit. That's why he was squinting the whole time? I thought he was just stressed."

He shrugged. "eh. Probably a bit of both. He takes it seriously, but not too seriously. Y'know? Half the guys were shitting themselves from nerves and Harrington stands up in the locker room, hands on his hips, and gives a speech worthy of the most melodramatic underdog sports movie."

Jerry laughs. "No shit."

Waving his hands, August nods. "no shit! He says all this stuff like 'we worked hard...we deserve this...we may not win but let's do our damn best. The worst that could happen is we lose, and that isn't the end of the world. So let's go out there and play some basketball!' or something, his was better, and the boys cheer. Then they put in fifty points to one-thirty."

Jerry winces. "Must have hurt, huh?"

August grins. "No way. One of the best games they ever played. You saw it. You wouldn't be here if you hadn't. They played their goddamn hearts out." He leans forward. "My boys don't have the same facilities as the big universities, or the funding to offer scholarships. They're at Roane Community because they want a degree or certificate but have other responsibilities. Parents or siblings to stay close to, jobs to work, people to take care of. They joined my team because they like playing basketball, loved the game and wanted to spend some of their precious time playing it. They put the work in on the court and off it. And we made it to the NCAA tournament because of it. We put in fifty points against the goddamn Michigan Wolverines! The champs! And they knew that. I've never heard of a locker room after an 80 point defeat so happy."

"seriously?"

It's all pride when Coach Nearaly says "yep. They may not be the best basketball players in college, but my god, they're probably the best team."

"because of Harrington?"

"partly. They all contribute, make sure they do things right. It's not a one man show, that's the point. They rally around him, but they all are part of the team, and know it. That's what Steve makes sure. Why I made him captain."

"So, you think he'd be a good pick for the Pacers?" This is, after all, a business meeting.

August nods, picks at his pancakes. "I'll be honest with you Jerry. You're not the first scout to talk to me about Steve."

"really? Who?"

"you know I won't say. But, between me and you, Steve's Indiana born and bred. His wife's planning on getting some lib Arts degree in Chicago or Indy, and your offer might be the deciding factor for them."

Jerry blinks. "He's married? At, what? Twenty-one?"

August nods. "Just turned twenty-two. High school sweethearts or something. Obsessed with each other." He chuckled, a bit ruefully. "I'm a bit jaded but damn. You mention her name? He lights up like the fuckin Fourth of July."

Jerry whistles. "Honeymoon phase gets us all."

"for almost two years? Nah. It's just love." It sounds a little wistful, coming from August. "Anyways. I dunno if the other team is serious about him, and if they are, they'll probably be disappointed. Kid isn't moving out of the Midwest. He's got family here, and is getting a goddamn elementary education degree. He won't uproot his life for a chance at the NBA. But, if you offer. Well. He'd at least seriously consider it."

Humming, Jerry chews his eggs as he thinks. "You think he'd be up for the lifestyle? The road games out numbering home ones?"

There's an air of seriousness when August levels Jerry with a look. "If he doesn't want to, he'll tell you. You gotta give him time to talk to his family though. This offer? It'll come out of left field for him, even if I give him a heads up. You get that, yeah? You want to recruit a kindergarten teacher to the NBA without any build up. He needs time to process that and then see where the people in his life are at with it."

"I guess it is unusual."

"try being the community college basketball coach getting two goddamn calls from NBA scouts. Thought I was hallucinating."

Jerry laughs, counts some bills for the tip. "Thank you. For your time and insights. Let Steve know I'll call tomorrow?"

"will do. He'll still probably drob the phone on you, though."

"as long as he doesn't hang up!"

[greaserinlove]

[agentmarcuspike]

"your summer dream" by @swiftispunk

fresh on the heels of the worst breakup of your life, you find an unexpected kindred spirit in joel miller, who's agreed to tag along for seven days to a tropical resort with you and your parents.

[gentleerzulie]

We want SUMMER NAOW! Two glams in one with @ladyfrost80 <3

[namor-shuri]

“ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴏ̨ᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇɴᴅ ʜɪs ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ᴀɴsᴡᴇʀɪɴɢ.” x

[angelasscribbles]

Summer Vacation

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake x F!OC

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

Warnings for this chapter: Lemons

Word Count: 2,245

A/N: Screaming at the top of my lungs Happy Birthday @nestledonthaveone!!!! Sorry it's a little late but it's not midnight, so it's still your birthday!!!

My other stuff: Master List.

The mood board was made by @harleybeaumont specifically for this fic!

Jen’s summer vacation was going great. Europe was fun and the group of friends she was traveling with made it even better. They were supposed to be in Italy, but a train schedule mix-up had them stranded overnight in a country she’d never heard of. Cordonia or something.

But there was no use wasting a perfectly good night sitting at the hotel, so she found herself in a nightclub with her friends, waiting for the popular band they’d come to see play. The warmup band was one she’d never heard of before, but they were good. They had a weird name though.

“What the hell does Squid Whiskey mean?” Jen laughed as her eyes scanned the men on stage.

The drummer was hot.

Hell, they were all hot, but that drummer took the cake. She’d gotten a good look at him during the last break when he’d left the stage to get a drink at the bar. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular with chestnut brown hair falling almost to his shoulders.

He threw the drink back and then slammed the glass on the bar in front of him, his eyes meeting hers as he turned to go. He paused when he realized she was staring at him. A seductive smirk crawled across his face; he gave her a flirty wink before turning and striding back to the stage.

“I don’t know,” her best friend laughed back, “but I wouldn’t kick any of those guitarists out of my bed!”

“The guitarists, mm-hmm,” Jen agreed absently as her eyes stayed locked on the drummer.

Sweat flew from the tips of his hair as he tossed his head to get it out of his eyes, the drumsticks never pausing in their dance across the percussion instruments. Toward the end of the last song, he stood up, his arms moving impossibly fast as he played. She could see the muscles in his arms and chest rippling through his skin-tight, soaking-wet grey t-shirt. When the song ended, he twirled the sticks in his fingers before tossing one into the air and catching it again as his eyes lifted to take in the audience.

Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on her. She was sure it wasn’t on purpose; his eyes must have just randomly fallen on her, yet she found herself unable to tear her gaze away. It became apparent that it wasn’t a coincidence as his eyes stayed locked on her while the band took their final bows. Before leaving the stage, his mouth curved up into a smile as he pointed at her and then at the bar.

Her mouth went dry as she nodded.

She became aware of her best friend pulling on her as she squealed, “Did that just happen?”

“You saw it too? I wasn’t imagining that?”

“No, that was real! Are you going to do it? Are you going to meet him at the bar?”

“Hell yes, I am! Don’t wait up!”

She was waiting at the bar when a deep, rumbly voice spoke into her ear from behind, “Hey.”

Adrenaline, anxiety, and desire surged through her veins as she turned to find him standing extremely close. She tried for nonchalance as she replied, “Hey yourself.”

That sexy ass grin broke out across his face again as he took the seat next to her, “Can I buy you a drink? What are you having?”

“I wouldn’t turn down tequila.”

She studied his profile as he flagged down the bartender. His hair was still damp with sweat and matted to his forehead. The front of his shirt was similarly wet. He turned back and caught her staring. His fingers pulled at his shirt, fanning himself with it, “Sorry, I’m a mess right now.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him, “Somehow you make sweaty look attractive.”

Shit. Did she say that out loud?

The grin was back as he extended his hand, “Drake, by the way. And you are….?”

“Jen,” she took his hand, and bolts of electricity jolted up her arm and cascaded through her body.

Well, shit. She was in trouble. But it was the best kind of trouble.

“You’re American? Texan specifically, right?”

Her mouth fell open, “How’d you know that?”

“The accent,” he took the drinks from the bartender and slid hers over to her, “My mom is from Texas.”

“No shit?”

“No shit! Cheers!” He held his shot glass up to her and then downed it in one fluid motion.

He scooted his bar stool closer to her and leaned in so she could hear him over the next act that had just started playing, “So what brings you to Cordonia?”

“A train schedule mix-up,” she told him, “We were supposed to be in Italy tonight.”

“Remind me to thank whoever was in charge of the train schedule.”

Jen blushed as she stared down into her empty glass, “What exactly would you be thanking them for?”

“The chance to meet you, of course! Would you like another drink?”

“I really don’t think I should, I’m already a little tipsy,” she admitted. What she didn’t add was how much his very nearness was throwing her off balance. The strong jawline, the five o’clock shadow, the broad shoulders, the still damp hair, and the musky scent wafting around her all conspired to spike her heart rate and send her desire for him into overdrive.

As if he could read all of that in her body language, he gave her that sexy smirk again, and leaned even closer, his breath brushing across her ear as he asked, “We could do something else. I’m open to suggestions.”

“We could go back to your place,” she responded, surprised at her own boldness. She wasn’t usually so forward. Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the knowledge that she would never see him again and this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, or maybe it was the irresistible force that she felt pulling them together, the way her body heated under his gaze, the longing for his touch.

His grin broadened then faltered, “I would like nothing more, but I live three hours away. What about your hotel room?”

Jen shook her head, “I’m sharing a room with three other people.”

His brows furrowed as he scanned the club. His features brightened when his gaze fell on a hallway toward the back. He wrapped an arm around her and brushed soft kisses along her neck before whispering in her ear, “I have an idea if you’re up for it.”

She shivered as chills cascaded down her spine. She licked her lips as her eyes met his. The intensity in his gaze set off a series of electric shocks throughout her body. She nodded. She was going to say yes to whatever he suggested.

Taking her by the hand, he led her through the throngs of people to the hallway in the back. They slipped hand in hand down the corridor to a small door near the emergency exit. Drake glanced back down the hallway ensuring no one was watching then pushed the door open and pulled her through it.

The moment the door was shut, they were all over each other. Her hands ran across his chest and shoulders, traced up his back, and skimmed along the back of his neck to run through his hair. She wasn’t sure which she’d wanted to do most, touch his hair or taste his lips. She did both as his tongue pushed into her mouth and his hands explored her body.

His touch trailed fire along her skin as his fingers slipped under the hem of her blouse and glided upwards to wrap around her ample breasts.

Her body arched up into his touch and her head fell back against the wall as his lips moved from her mouth to the hollow of her throat. He quickly divested her of the blouse and bra. She tugged at his shirt, but her fingers were trembling. He stepped away from her long enough to jerk the shirt over his head and toss it somewhere behind them.

She ran her fingers through his hair again then released it so she could give proper attention to the rest of him. Her hands ran appreciatively across the hard planes of his body, every muscle taut as he struggled to hold himself in check.

His lips moved from her throat down her chest to the valley between her breasts, pausing long enough to lavish each one with attention. His fingers joined his tongue to twirl and tease at her erect nipples before moving lower to slip into the waistband of her skirt and panties, easing them down her body as his lips continued their downward trek.

“Oh, my God….” She moaned, threading her fingers back in his hair as he settled on his knees in front of her.

His eyes lifted to lock on her face as his tongue made contact with her center.

“Fuuuuuck!” Her body pitched forward as tendrils of pleasure snaked through her being, coiling and pooling in her core.

His tongue worked her expertly as her body twisted and writhed against the smooth coolness of the storeroom wall. His mouth continued its relentless assault, licking, sucking, and flicking between her legs, humming as he pulled her clit into his mouth again and again until darkness blurred the edges of her vision and she jolted forward, screaming out his name, her hands pulling his hair as waves of pleasure surged and crested over her.

He retook his feet with a cocky grin on his face, licking his lips as he told her, “You taste amazing!”

Jen was too busy gasping for air to answer him. The aftershocks from the orgasm still pulsing through her. She lifted her gaze to watch as he slowly unbuttoned and pushed his pants and underwear down. Her eyes widened in appreciation when she saw what he’d been hiding in there.

His cock sprang free, rock hard, the tip glistening with precum. He lowered his lips to her ear, “I’m going to fuck you now unless you have any objections to that.”

She couldn’t help the smile that flooded her features, “I have no objections to that, sir!”

“Good girl,” he crooned as he slid his hardened length slowly into her.

“Oh!” She gasped at the delicious fullness as he penetrated her. Her arms clutched him tightly as her fingers pressed into his shoulders. She gave herself over to the sensations that immersed her. The intoxicating smell of him, the way his muscles coiled and rolled under her touch as he moved in and out of her, his fingers digging into her ass as he held her up, the smoothness of the wall as her body collided into it with each thrust, the low, primal sounds rumbling through him, the slickness of his sweat as it mingled with her own, the salty taste that danced across her tongue when she licked that sweat from his chest, the rough scrape of stubble against her cheek; every scent, every sound, every touch flaming her desire higher and higher until she once again careened over the edge, coming apart under his touch, his passion, his desperate, frenzied thrusting.

She tried to swear as the second orgasm ripped through her body, but the words all came out garbled as ecstasy stole all her composure.

His movements became more frenzied, more frantic, and less rhythmic as the sounds and sensations of her pleasure sent his own release crashing over him. Feral sounds issued from his throat as he exploded, his cock pulsing over and over as he emptied himself into her. He leaned against her, pinning her to the wall as they both worked to regain their breath. He finally lowered her gently to the floor before running his hands through her hair and placing a soft kiss on her forehead, “Damn, that was amazing!”

“We should…find our clothes,” she panted, suddenly worried about someone catching them, a concern that had flown right out of her head earlier.

“Yeah…okay…in a minute…” he pulled her back in for another kiss.

She melted into it, once again forgetting to be concerned about the fact that the storeroom door did not have a lock on it.

When he released her, he bent and scooped some clothes from the ground, “Here,” he held her shirt out to her.

“Thanks,” she took it as she scanned the ground for the rest of her clothing. She quickly gathered everything she could find. When she was wearing everything but the one item she couldn’t find, she turned to him and asked, “Have you seen my panties?”

“These?” he held them up with a grin, “You’re not getting these back!”

“What?”

“Tell you what,” he fastened up his pants and then stuck the panties in his pocket, “If you want them back, you have to let me come visit you in Texas.”

Surprise and elation pulled through her, “You want to come visit me back home?”

“Yes,” he affirmed as he pulled his shirt on, “Can I?”

“I think I’d like that,” she agreed.

“Fantastic! Come on, I’ll give you a ride to your hotel and you can give me your number in the car.”

He offered her his hand and she threaded her fingers through his, letting him lead her outside as a sense of contentment settled over her.

This had turned out to be the best summer vacation ever.

[blackmonitor]

Summer time Thrawn

@myevilmouse​ - in case of a hard day, here is a casual Thrawn for you!  Inspired by this.

[smuggonifico-lmao]

Oh boy i didnt put any notes here

But be prepared,i might actually write for this soon

Masterpost

[grimparks]

Im going in vacation so I’ll do a break on grimpark see ya !

[femininenachos]

Does Lexa get her turn 👀

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

Turns out, Lexa’s confidence is well founded.

Which is how Clarke finds herself flat on her back and sucking down moans while slim fingers run between her legs. 

That, and the drag of lips over her throat, Lexa’s breath hot on her skin, has Clarke writhing, one hand twisted in the sheets, the other buried in Lexa’s hair.

Despite her bedroom being located on the opposite side of the villa from Wells’, Clarke still does her best to keep the volume down—call it force of habit from living in close quarters with roommates in apartments the size of shoeboxes over the years—but Lexa really isn’t making it easy. Slow and deliberate about slicking her fingers, she slides through Clarke with light touches that she can’t help angling her hips up to chase. Sighing when Lexa retreats to trail her fingertips along the tops of Clarke’s inner thighs. Pulling in a shivery breath as Lexa traces her folds, only to stifle another moan when Lexa dips down low to gather the wetness and draw it up and around.

But Clarke is only able to withstand the teasing for so long when she’s crawling out her skin here.

“Lexa,” she pleads, an audible crack in her voice.

She feels the twist of lips against her throat before Lexa licks a path up to the edge of her jaw. 

A nip at the hinge. “How many fingers do you like?” 

She didn’t think it was humanly possible to be any wetter than she already was, but she gushes a little at the question. Feels it dripping down and soaking into the mattress beneath her ass.

In lieu of an answer, she turns her head to seek Lexa’s mouth, kissing her with unrestrained need for a minute, deep and hard and hungry enough to get the point across that she’ll take whatever she can get. 

Even so, Lexa goes no further, her hand remaining frustratingly motionless until Clarke pulls away, breathing heavily.

“Two,” she pants against the soft, plump fullness of Lexa’s bottom lip. “At least to begin with, then… let’s see.”

The searing look Lexa gives her makes Clarke think she could probably take four without breaking a sweat, but she refrains from saying that out loud for fear of sounding too whorish.

Their eyes remain locked while Lexa slides her fingers lower, running slow circles around Clarke’s opening, just barely dipping in. Clarke’s breath hitches, body tensing with the effort to keep still and not tilt her hips up like she wants to in case Lexa takes her hand away once more. 

She doesn’t, though. 

Dark, dark eyes study Clarke’s face with avid interest, watching every tiny, incremental shift in her expression as Lexa pushes all the way inside at last.

Clarke could cry with relief.

She makes a sound, a whimper drawn from the back of her throat. Another when Lexa starts to move; a slow, curling drag out, followed by a smooth thrust back in that lifts Clarke’s spine off the bed a little with the force of it.

Her hand flies to Lexa’s elbow. Grabbing on. Urging her deeper. 

A ragged “oh, fuck” drops from Clarke’s lips when Lexa adds a third finger, building up to a brisk rhythm Clarke is soon rolling her hips to meet. 

She tips her head back, eyes closing as pleasure rushes over her. Lexa’s mouth finds her throat again, teeth scraping over her pulse point, and the fluid motion of Clarke’s hips falters only for a second before she rocks down harder, arching to find an even better angle.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Lexa just smiles against the corded tendon of Clarke’s neck, descending in soft bites and licks. She shimmies down the bed a little, skin burning hot and slick with their combined sweat where she’s glued to Clarke’s side, but Lexa never breaks the momentum. Steadily pumping her wrist as her open mouth glides over Clarke’s clavicle and the swell of her breast, catching the nipple and swirling her tongue around the hard tip, taking it into her mouth in a deep, sucking pull that Clarke feels all the way down to her neglected clit.

When her mind flashes back to how it felt to be consumed by the relentless, wet heat of Lexa’s mouth, she can’t hold on.

Amid the rising chorus of creaking mattress springs and obscene squelches that fill the air, small grunts of exertion and high, stilted gasps, the headboard tapping against the wall, keeping time like a metronome, Clarke’s whole frame shudders as she clenches tight around the three fingers driving into her, Lexa’s name ripped from her throat in a hoarse cry as she floods Lexa’s palm.

Without missing a beat to even catch a breath, Clarke seizes Lexa by the cheeks and crushes their mouths together. Hard. Stealing the air from Lexa’s lungs in big gulps, kissing her messily and swallowing her soft, eager groan. Heart racing a million miles an hour, threatening to beat right out of Clarke’s chest as Lexa licks into her mouth.

She hooks her leg around Lexa’s hip, trapping her in place, keeping her fingers inside. Trying to stave off that inevitable, empty feeling once Lexa withdraws for just a short while longer. Weak ripples of sensation are still pulsing through her system, making her tremble and flutter, and Clarke never wants it to end. 

Their kisses become less frantic, the urgency fading as her muscles relax and the climax ebbs, and that loose, weightless feeling she gets after a good fuck settles over her. Sapped of energy all of a sudden, she drapes her arms loosely around Lexa’s shoulders, distantly aware of the clammy perspiration that causes their overheated skin to stick together. The room feels stifling, the air dense and muggy, but Clarke would rather faint from the humidity than move an inch or tear her mouth away. 

When Lexa’s fingers slip from her at last, Clarke has to bite back a complaint. Maybe Lexa senses it anyway, because she looks far too smug when they draw back to admire flushed faces and reddened lips, heavy-lidded eyes never resting on one place for too long.

“If you’re about to say ‘I told you so’, you can save it,” Clarke warns, though the husky break in her voice is damning enough. 

The fact is, she doesn’t think she’s ever come this hard without having at least some attention paid to her clit, but Lexa managed to pull it off so… maybe Clarke was wrong to doubt her skills, even in jest. Or maybe she’s just that sex-starved and thirsty that having a hot girl inside her made her pop like a balloon.

Lexa’s mouth curves just a fraction. “The evidence speaks for itself, no?”

She brings her wet fingers to her lips and pointedly sucks them clean one by one, which leads to another surprising rarity for Clarke: she’s ready to go again almost immediately. Arousal slices through the haze, sharpening her senses while she watches Lexa’s tongue curl around her knuckles to catch every last drop. 

It ignites a fire under Clarke’s skin.

She rolls them over and straddles Lexa’s hips. 

Satisfaction curls in her chest to see Lexa’s expression slacken with lust. The tip of Lexa’s tongue darts out to lick her lips and Clarke throbs at the sight, wetness tricking down. A thin thread lands on Lexa’s skin and she inhales roughly as she grabs hold of Clarke’s waist, pulling her flush against that toned, flat stomach. 

It’s only by the thinnest of margins that Clarke stops herself from grinding down, resisting the urge to slide over tensed abs to reach another quick and dirty orgasm.  

“I don’t know, Lex,” she says through a purposefully breathy sigh, and it doesn’t escape her notice how Lexa’s nails dig in at the use of the shortened version of her name. “I’m going to need more conclusive proof.”

Pure bravado, of course, but it succeeds in getting Lexa's fingers back where Clarke needs them. Slipping in with ease and fucking her slowly. She rocks her hips, never breaking eye contact while she rides two digits and a thumb draws lazy shapes around her clit.

Something shifts in the air, in the sweat-soaked intensity that builds between them.

There’s no place to hide from Lexa’s blistering stare. Her eyes drop from Clarke’s face to the sway of her tits to the fingers sinking into her over and over. Everything is on display here for Lexa, and it fills Clarke with such an erotic charge. Under Lexa’s gaze, she feels like a goddess incarnate. A deity of lust from myths and legends brought to life to be worshiped in the flesh. 

“You’re beautiful,” Lexa says, and it’s threaded through with awe. “Meizen.”

It doesn’t mean anything more than what it is: a simple expression of physical attraction without any other motive or agenda. But logic doesn’t stop Clarke’s pulse from leaping to hear the note of yearning in Lexa’s voice.

It’s too much when Clarke is on the brink, when Lexa has made her come three times so far and not once tried to assert her own needs or make any demands for reciprocation, like she would be happy just to devote herself to satisfying Clarke all night.

It isn’t what she expected from Lexa. So far removed from any frame of reference Clarke has for what a hookup should be, because she’s used to one-and-done on each side and either party being sent on their way. 

There’s no script for this. 

Lexa seems almost too good to be true, but she’s staring up at Clarke like she fell from the heavens, which is a stupid, overly romantic notion for what’s only supposed to be a casual fuck.

So she swoops down to kiss Lexa again. Firmly. Almost punishingly so to begin with, in an attempt to squash that thought.

It’s useless, though. 

Clarke is disarmed by the way Lexa meets her aggression with gentleness. How Lexa’s free hand lifts to slide up her neck and into her hair, directing the kiss as Clarke speeds the rocking of her hips while she kneads Lexa’s tits. The new angle has her gasping into Lexa’s mouth on every upstroke, planting her knees wider and bearing down until she starts to quake and her release grabs her by the throat. Roughly, thoughtlessly, Clarke squeezes the soft flesh within her grasp as her hips freeze and her muscles lock, and in the next breath she gushes hard, spilling over Lexa’s hand. A shared, drawn-out groan gets muffled by their lips, followed by a broken whine from Clarke at the abrupt retraction of Lexa’s fingers, leaving her clenching around nothing all of a sudden.

Before Clarke knows what’s happening, she’s already being tugged up the bed and brought to kneel astride Lexa’s face. 

“Oh. Oh. Fu—” Lexa dives in without preamble. “—ck!”

Clarke swears she blacks out for a nanosecond. She has to reach for the wall to support herself, both palms laid flat against the surface. Her legs haven’t stopped shaking from the last orgasm and she’s not sure she’s capable of remaining upright, not with Lexa’s tongue working her over like this, pushing in as far as she can reach then retreating. Moaning at the taste from the source. Tiny ears tipped pink and eyes peeling open slowly as Lexa inhales deeply, pupils blown so wide Clarke feels like they could swallow her whole.

She drops her hips and rolls them.

Mouth falling open, Clarke’s breath comes in short, shallow bursts as Lexa licks up through her, running around her clit then drawing it into her mouth with gentle suction.

It’s the little divot in Lexa’s bottom lip catching on the underside that does it.

The waves that pulled Clarke under only minutes ago come roaring back and she breaks sharply with a noise that she stifles by biting her knuckles, eyes screwed shut, forehead pressed so firmly against the cool wall that she’s at risk of putting a permanent dent in her brow.

Dragging in a few heaving lungfuls of air, she pries one eyelid open and chances a look down. Greeted by Lexa’s sloping smile, lips and cheeks and chin all glistening.

It makes Clarke go feral.

(Or she will, once her breathing is back under control and her knees stop trembling.)

“Now do you concede?” Lexa asks.

“Never.”

The broadening smile and the silent, chest-shaking laughter that accompanies it makes Clarke’s stomach flip.

Yeah, she’s fucked alright.

~*~

The sun is coming up, orange rays spilling into the room through the diaphanous white drapes when Clarke is roused from sleep by the quiet sounds of movement.

She opens her eyes to see Lexa pulling denim cut-offs up those mile-long legs, still topless, and the sight causes a stir low in Clarke’s belly.

She turns onto her side, head pillowed on her hands as she watches Lexa button the fly, conscious of the residual stickiness between her thighs, the pleasant ache in her muscles, sore from going round after round.

“Sneaking out on me?” Clarke asks, cutting through the silence, voice rusty with sleep and the strain on her vocal cords—how she’s going to face Wells, she doesn’t know, but that’s a problem for later.

Lexa offers a small, regretful smile. “We open early for the breakfast crowd.”

Clarke isn’t entirely successful at masking her disappointment. She clears her throat and lowers her gaze.

“Pity I never got to return the many favours.” Her face heats. “I really only meant to rest my eyes for a minute.”

“It’s fine, Clarke.”

“Still. You could’ve woken me.” 

She draws her bottom lip between her teeth and studies Lexa, washed in warm shades of gold, admiring the stretch of her torso as she reaches for her shirt at the foot of the bed. Her hair is a riot of tangled waves thrown over one shoulder, and Clarke thinks, I did that.

She wanted to do a hell of a lot more besides, damn it, but apparently an intense work week and transatlantic travel finally caught up with her. 

She summons her courage. “Sure you can’t be late?”

A smile remains tucked into the corner of Lexa’s mouth as she sits on the edge of the mattress and runs her eyes over Clarke slowly. The sheets are twisted around her middle, one leg exposed almost to the hip, but she might as well be completely uncovered given the heat in Lexa’s gaze.

Lexa hums, eyes fastening for a beat on Clarke’s cleavage. For her part, Clarke struggles to not to stare at Lexa’s bare chest too, at nipples that are getting perkier by the second under Clarke’s spellbound attention.   

With some effort, she forces her eyes up. “I’ll make it worth your while…”

She thinks about tugging the sheet away from her body as an added incentive, not above using underhand tactics.

“You’re very persuasive, and I am tempted, but Anya would kill me.”

Lexa’s smile edges wider at the not-so-mock pout she gets in response. 

“Come visit me at the taverna later.”

“Won’t you be too busy to entertain brash American tourists?”

Lexa looks at her steadily, eyes aglow, the palest green in the dawning light. She brushes a strand of hair from Clarke’s cheek with such familiarity, like she’s done this a million times before, like it’s muscle memory.

“For you, I can make an exception.”

Elation flashes through Clarke but she tries not to react or read anything into it, willing herself into nonchalance even as her pulse kicks up. 

She wets her lips to buy herself a second.

“And… will you be wearing that sexy little uniform again? The tight blouse and short skirt? Because I’ve got to admit, I’m a big fan of how many buttons you left undone.”

A splash of pink on her cheeks, Lexa dips head to hide her smile, a small laugh bubbling up. It’s like fucking catnip to Clarke and she has to fight the impulse to drag this girl back on top of her.

There’s a playful gleam in Lexa’s eyes when she looks up again.

“If you’re lucky I’ll let you strip me out of it next time.”

~*~

She floats into the kitchen on a high, lured by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Not even the judgemental look on Wells’ face as he shovels granola mix into his mouth can bring her down. Still pleased and preening about the fact that Lexa spoke about “next time” like it’s locked in and guaranteed, a foregone conclusion.

As she pours herself a coffee, Clarke is already daydreaming about it, determined not to miss her chance. She’s going to show Lexa she’s not the only one who can fuck a woman into a nap. Clarke has talents. (She might be a little out of practice, regular solo sessions notwithstanding, but she knows her way around a vagina, and that is a skill that never goes away.) 

“Clarke!”

She’s rudely jolted out her x-rated reverie, alerted to the scalding liquid overflowing the mug by Wells’s sudden, alarmed bark of her name. 

Cursing under her breath, she hunts for a dishcloth to mop up the spill then wrings it out over the sink.

“My mind was elsewhere,” she says with a sheepish glance in his direction where he sits at the table, already showered and dressed for the day of sightseeing ahead, down to the bucket hat and sensible footwear.

“No kidding,” is his deadpan reply. He stands and collects his trusty fanny pack from the table, securing it around his waist. Checking and rechecking the contents, probably for the tenth time, he frowns, “Where’s Lexa? Still asleep?”

“She couldn’t stick around. Work.” Clarke pushes her fingers through her hair. “Uh, look, sorry if we—”

He holds up a forestalling hand. “Let’s just do the healthy thing and pretend I didn’t hear your all-night sexcapades. You can spare the sordid details.”

“Speak for yourself,” Octavia says as she comes twirling through the space with a bounce in her step, radiating major “sex hair, don’t care” energy, strappy heels hooked on her fingers and slung over her shoulder. She’s still in last night’s dress, her eyeliner is smudged, and she’s absolutely covered in hickeys. She drops her shoes and slumps against the kitchen island beside Clarke, elbows on the counter. “Tell me everything.”

Wells’s nose wrinkles like he smells the overpowering reek of debauchery emanating from the pair of them. Head down, he flees the villa, muttering something about “mentally scarred for life.” 

“He’s sorta asking to be mugged in that getup,” Octavia remarks once he’s gone.

“Yep.”

They both sigh.

“So.” Octavia scrutinises Clarke. “Judging by the sex glow, I’m guessing your night went as well as mine.”

“Mhm.” Clarke breaks into a laugh. She glances at the purpling splotches on Octavia’s neck. “Although, unlike your guy Count Dracula, Lexa isn’t a biter.” 

Octavia stares. “You sure? Because I spy a little souvenir. Right” - she points at a spot somewhere below Clarke’s jaw - “Here.” 

“What?” Clarke claps a hand over the general area. “Oh my god. Is it bad?”

Octavia shrugs one shoulder. “Some people find them tacky. Personally, I think it’s hot. It’s like… that loss of control in the moment when your lizard brain activates and you just have this primal, mff, urge to mark.”

She grabs Clarke’s wrist. “Okay, but hickeys aside? Holy fuck, the things that man can do with his mouth.” 

Octavia’s eyes roll back a little as though she’s reliving it in her head, and Clarke smirks at her friend. 

“Anyway. Lexa. Gimme the deets.” Octavia props her chin on her hand, grinning now. “She rocked your world, right? I mean, I’m straighter than a destination wedding in Dubai but even I recognise those lips are made for eating pussy.”

The crass observation earns a swift, stern rebuke in the form of Clarke’s scandalised “O!” but Octavia is entirely blasé. 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing.” 

Clarke huffs, although she doesn’t deny it. After a lengthy silence, she volunteers, “Let's just say I won’t be able to look at the hot tub again without being reminded of Lexa going down on me.”

Octavia’s mouth drops. She punches Clarke’s arm; impressed and delighted. “Clarke Griffin, you harlot!” 

“It’s so unlike me.”

“I know, and I approve.” Octavia holds a faux solemn hand to her heart. “I’m here for your voyage of slutty self-discovery.”

“Thanks.”

“Better keep Wells in the dark though, otherwise he’ll spend the rest of our vacation obsessively disinfecting the jacuzzi.”

Despite herself, Clarke snorts, because it isn’t hard to picture Wells in an apron, with a bottle of spray bleach and a pinched expression, furiously scrubbing at an invisible stain.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”

“Exactly. And we won’t have to listen to him endlessly bitch and complain. Win-win.”

It isn’t long before Clarke’s thoughts return to Lexa, a small smile creeping onto her lips as her mind replays a highlight reel of the spiciest sections of last night. She feels herself flush.

“That good, huh?”

She draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Pretty fucking incredible, actually.” 

“Hell, yeah!”

Octavia holds up her palm for a high five, and against her better instincts, Clarke doesn’t leave her hanging.

There’s a short lull while she turns the coffee mug around in her hands before she reveals, “She asked to see me again.”

“Well, duh. Now she’s had a taste, she wants another bite.”

“Is it too sad to admit it was probably the best sex of my life?”

“No, not at all. You’re strangers, both certified hotties, and you’re in this magical place,” Octavia gestures vaguely at their surroundings, “freed from your responsibilities and all the boring, fucking humdrum shit of daily life. All these things factor into the thrill, right? So it’s bound to be a heightened experience.”

Clarke shakes her head, because it feels like Lexa is being done a disservice to reduce it to the mere novelty and excitement of a vacation fling. 

“It was more than that, O. She’s attentive, but it’s like she anticipated what I needed before the thought even entered my head. And when she—”

“Alright, I’m gonna stop you there. As much as I’m dying for the play-by-play” - Octavia grips the edge of the counter and pushes off from it with a tired sigh - “I badly need to sleep, because your girl here got none. Gotta be well rested, because Linc is taking me spelunking tomorrow.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Octavia only responds with a long, droll look before she reels away, wiggling her fingers in the air as she tosses a “toodles” over her shoulder.

~*~ 

The waitstaff are setting up for lunch service when Clarke arrives. Her heart sinks a little that Lexa is nowhere to be seen, but she spots Lincoln behind the bar, polishing glasses and holding each one up to the light for inspection. As soon as he notices her loitering in the doorway, he beckons her over with a smile and a wave. Relieved to see a friendly face, she barely gets a word out in greeting before he’s already calling for Lexa and garnering them a few sly smirks from the other staff in the process.

Clarke isn’t sure what’s more embarrassing: that her reason for being here is so transparent or that everyone seems to know.

But that all melts away when Lexa appears wearing a small scowl, signaling her mild irritation at being interrupted from whatever task she was doing. A scowl that smooths out the moment her eyes land on Clarke, giving a quick once over that warms Clarke’s cheeks and makes her pulse accelerate. She’s just in shorts and a tank top, but if she happened to spend an extra half hour on her hair and makeup, then she’s happy to see it paid off. 

A smile steals across Lexa’s face as she approaches, drawing close enough that Clarke detects the subtle notes of perfume that scent the air around her, clean and crisp and enticing. With a wordless tilt of her head, Lexa guides them over to a more secluded corner.

Afforded a small measure of privacy, Lexa runs her gaze all over Clarke’s features, flitting between eyes and lips, and the butterflies Clarke has felt all morning go into overdrive.

“Back so soon?” Lexa says, pitching her voice low. “You must really like the swisswima.”

“Mm. The service isn’t bad either.”

It earns a downward glance and a flirtier smile that Clarke has a sudden desire to kiss. They each open their mouths to speak, only for a terse shout from across the room to puncture their little bubble of intimacy. Eyes down, the other staff scatter in all directions to appear busy as a striking but severe-looking blonde emerges from the back, hands on her hips and a glare on her long face.

Although she bears no obvious physical resemblance to Lexa, they do share a certain indefinable something, which leads Clarke to conclude this must be the half-sister Lexa mentioned.

“Anya,” Lexa confirms with a slight roll of her eyes. She gives Clarke’s forearm a light squeeze, and even that all-too brief touch sends tingles down her neck. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Almost from the outset, the hushed confrontation escalates into a terse exchange of rapid-fire Trigedasleng that’s impossible to follow. Lexa looks away, lips pursed and jaw clenched, projecting her exasperation loud and clear. Meanwhile, Anya’s sharp gaze shifts towards Clarke and narrows before she launches into another tirade, and Clarke doesn’t need an interpreter to figure out who the main topic of conversation is.

She and Lincoln share a sympathetic grimace and she points to the doorway to indicate she’ll be outside, which he acknowledges with a nod.

The quarrel still reaches her ears regardless, but she tries to tune it out and turn her focus elsewhere. There are half a dozen cats lounging in the sun on the steps across the street, several others taking shade beneath the rustic tables and chairs arranged out front. Clarke crouches to pet the nearest one, a large tabby with a distinctive white bib and ear tufts. She offers a hand for it to sniff, smiling when the cat rubs its cheek against her knuckles. It even permits some chin scratches, erupting in purrs and basking in being the centre of attention. 

When she looks up eventually it’s to discover Lexa leaning against the door frame, observing her with a soft gaze and an amused twitch of her lips.

“You’ve made a new friend.”

It raises a tight smile from Clarke. 

“The cat approves of me even if your sister doesn’t.”

A sigh. “Don’t worry about her.”

Clarke straightens up, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of her shorts, just for something to do with her hands that doesn’t involve grabbing Lexa by the collar and yanking her forward to meet her lips. It probably wouldn’t go down too well with Anya, happening outside their place of business in broad daylight.

“She seemed pretty annoyed about me being here.”

“Anya is always annoyed. She was born that way.”

“Should I go? I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Without another word, Lexa takes Clarke by the wrist and leads her around the corner and into a narrow, cobbled side street. Backing her against the whitewashed wall, Lexa brings their faces close, long fingers framing Clarke’s cheeks. Looking into her eyes before Lexa kisses her. Mouth soft, but hot and insistent as it moves along Clarke’s.

She matches that passion while her hands slide around Lexa’s trim waist and roam up her back, curling around her shoulders. Fingers digging in as the kiss deepens. Lexa’s palms drop to her hips, dragging up Clarke’s sides and around front to skim over her breasts, and Clarke can’t contain a quiet gasp.

“You are trouble,” Lexa breathes out before kissing Clarke again. “You make me so…” 

She growls something in her own language that Clarke understands on an instinctual level. She feels it just the same, lust clawing up inside her body. Aches with it, this deep craving for Lexa’s touch; her mouth. Clarke can’t think of anything else, the draw even stronger after the night they just had together.

“Can we meet tonight?” Clarke asks, clinging to Lexa’s shoulder blades as warm lips attach to the side of her neck. 

In her fertile imagination Clarke is already plotting her moves. Because she’s got plans; graphic, detailed plans that involve getting comfortable on her stomach and camping between Lexa’s legs for hours.

A sigh is lost against Clarke’s throat.

Lexa pulls away. “I can’t.”

Her perfect pout is a natural wonder of the world. 

“I’m on until midnight and with the mood Anya is in, there’s no chance of her letting me get away early. But...” She tucks a section of hair behind Clarke’s ear, running her fingers over the shell and eliciting a shiver. “Tomorrow is my day off. We could do something together. Unless you already have plans with your friends?” 

“Nothing concrete. I could make myself available.” Clarke’s half shrug fools no one. Her hands drift to Lexa’s lower back. “What did you have in mind?”

The flex of an eyebrow says it all, and Clarke can’t control the way her body reacts, the tiny catch of her breath or the rush of exhilaration that sends her pulse rocketing once more. It’s only been a matter of hours since she had Lexa in her bed, but her body is buzzing at the prospect of more, and soon.

“I know a place,” Lexa says, the ghost of a smirk at the edge of her lips. “Be at the harbour at 10 a.m.” 

Her eyes darken as they meander down Clarke’s figure then drag back up. 

“Bring a swimsuit.”

~*~

A/N: I promise Lexa will get her turn next chapter.

[rapid-s-blog]

This pretty gal belongs to @jjaydazo from her AU Artificialtale!