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keep-your-pen-up · 14 days

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Made up fic title: The shades and shadows undulate in my perception (from Fiona apple’s “never is a promise”)

Title 2: Today is the greatest day I’ve ever know (from the smashing pumpkins “today”)

I went with song lyrics!

From Send Me A Fic Title, "Today Is The Greatest Day I've Ever Known"

Summary:

Clarke and Lexa dated in college, split around graduation, and move to the same city at the same time in their late thirties and accidentally rekindle their love over time.

If I actually wrote this thing (and I'm actively trying hard not to even THINK about it), it would go on forever. It would have flashbacks to their college days running alongside their current timeline where they fall in love in the same place as new and mature versions of themselves all over again.

A bunch of details about how I'd do it:

Clarke and Lexa attended undergad in Boston. Lexa fell hard for Clarke quickly, Clarke made her work for it a little bit, and they had a fabulous few years together in what was their first real love of their lives. Lexa was friendly with Clarke's parents who live in the suburbs nearby. They shared an apartment their senior. Their love was big and loud and they had a blast together in their formative new adult years.

Lexa is from the west coast. Her father is a real estate giant and owns a huge international real estate company that Lexa is going to inheret one day. She's getting her degree, then she has to go back west and start working for him. Clarke is headed to the midwest for grad school. Things get hard when they get real, they start fighting a lot, they end up splitting up before even giving distance a try.

The break up is hard, they're both emotionally crushed, but they're young, and they get on with their lives and move on.

In the present day where the story takes place, they're in their late thirties. Thirty-eight thirty-nine.

Clarke is a dental surgeon who has just moved back to Boston for a role open at a great office. Her parents are getting old and she wants to be closer to them. She's a few years over a tough divorce, and she's super single and in a new town starting over and feeling like it's kind of late.

Lexa now owns the real estate company, which is expanding to a new market in Boston, where she and her step son Aden have just moved. He's seventeen, she started dating his mother when he was 6, he's seventeen now. His mother passed when he was twelve, and Lexa has been his legal gaurdian since before that. It's just the two of them now, they have a great relationship.

Twenty years ago, Clarke and Lexa were both newly in this exact city meeting each other and falling in love for the first time. It's fall again and the beginning of the school year, and they both are having so many memories and flashbacks and are thinking of the other a lot.

Over time they healed and got over their break up. They're not friends and they don't talk or anything, but they're passively aware of the other's presence occasionally on social media and once in a blue moon will have a text exchange over a memory. They now fondly look back on one another as their first big love, and the negatives have all faded.

Aden has a dentist appointment because his wisdom teeth are growing in and bothering him, so Lexa takes him. At the end of his regular appointment, the surgeon comes in to check out his wisdom teeth, and it's Clarke. She and Lexa see each other for the first time by total surprise after feeling like the ghosts of their relationship have been following them around the city since they arrived.

They both express through a little more than small talk that they're new in town, Clarke casually suggests they get together and catch up sometime, but she doesn't expect anything to come of it.

There would be a flash back of them meeting for the first time here, too, running parallel to what's going on with them in the present.

Like she did in the past, Lexa reaches out and makes the plan to get some drinks and catch up, and there's something just so smooth about it.

They're both a little nervous. It's not a date. They're both new in town, they don't really know anyone, they're not established yet, this is just a familiar face in a familiar place where everything feels different now. Something that feels safe in the middle of all of the new and hard.

Lexa can't stay late, she has to get home to Aden, but they have a great time, the kind that makes you want to stay for one more. It starts with an expected awkward reintroducing, but they quickly fall right back into old patterns. They make each other laugh so much. Clarke leaves with the "We should do this again some time, this was fun."

They start hanging out regularly.

It starts off very friendly and true to the old friend in a new life relationship they're rebuilding. Happy hour drinks. A sunday walk along the Charles together to get some exercise and take in the fall weather. Coffee. Shopping. I got this dining room set delivered and I need help putting it together. They have both just moved into new places and become the other's go to for any settling in tasks that require more people. Clarke and Aden get along great.

Over a few months, they become the focal points of the other's life. They see each other a few times a week, they text and talk daily, and they develope a supportive, deep and very real adult friendship again.

The flashbacks of them getting together in college at the exact same time of year in the exact same city and how different it is from what's going on. These two were crazy about each other and everyone knew it.

In the present, they're both having a lot of fond memories, and some passing confusing feelings that neither can quiet tell if it's all of the associations to the past they're feeling, or that they're actually interested in this incredible, new, emotionally mature, successful, very attractive version of the other right now.

There would be no big plot, I'd just follow these two as they slowly evolve into lovers again. A natural progression of falling back into one another's lives in an all new way with so much more experience between them.

A mundane but beautiful love story full of small details and specific feelings. Sitting in traffic, running errands together, making dinner at home, navigating having a kid in the mix, building their new lives along side one another and eventually having those lives intertwine and all the sweet moments that are part of that.

Fluff central.

#oh hello 👀#clexa

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keep-your-pen-up · 14 days

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Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 1

(The Firefighter/Cop AU)

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Kara knows her local fire station. How could she not? Being a field sergeant for NCPD, not a week goes by that she’s not at a scene with a ladder, engine or ambulance. Even so, when Engine 13 pulls up on the scene of an apartment fire, a new face comes to get a sit-rep. She’s sure the woman asks some very good questions, but only one word fires across Kara’s mind and out of her mouth.

“M-march?”

The firefighter’s brow furrows. “Sorry?”

God her voice is as beautiful as she is.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Kara stammers.

“I asked how many were still inside?” The woman is clearly still befuddled by Kara’s blurt, but she stays on topic.

Kara clears her throat. “We think three. One is a three year old on the third floor with her mother.”

The firefighter nods. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she says with that same throaty voice. She turns to her crew and begins issuing orders. Kara notes that the men– and all of them are indeed men– launch into motion without question. Huh. Kara files that information away for later.

Kara’s job is done. She steps back to help with crowd control, leaving the rescue team to do their job. She trusts they know what they’re doing, she knows they do. But she can’t help the way her jaw clenches when they file through the smoking door, Firefighter March in the lead.

She can’t believe she did that. March?! Absolutely no one needs to know her familiarity with the NCFD annual calendar. She’d purchased one for the charity of it all, but the moment she’d seen the portrait for March she’d been done for. Let’s just say it’s been March for the past four months.

She must be a transfer from another station, Kara figures. Her image in the calendar confirms that much, let alone the authority she carries within her station's crew. Kara can only hope March doesn’t make the connection between the calendar and Kara’s word vomit.

That hope is dashed after March re-emerges with a middle-aged woman slung over her shoulders (with her comrade carrying the three year old steps behind her) and the fire is reduced to little more than heat and smoke. After passing the mother over to the paramedics, March catches her gaze and approaches, lifting her helmet free of her head to reveal mussed dark hair.

March grins, tucking her helmet under her left arm. “Sergeant,” she greets. “I missed your name earlier.”

“Danvers,” Kara returns, accepting March’s extended hand in a handshake. “Kara Danvers. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“I appreciate that,” comes the easy response. “I’m Lieutenant Reilly.”

Kara arches her brow. “Lieutenant?”

“Lena,” she gets with a burst of laughter. “A pleasure.”

For a moment there’s a beat of silence as Kara finds herself tongue-tied. Lieutenant Reilly– Lena– is somehow even more gorgeous sweating with a smudged face and fuzzy hair. Luckily, Lena isn’t nearly so daunted.

“You know,” she says, “being new to the area, I could use a recommendation for a good bar.”

Ohhhhhh, jeezus. Kara recognizes the flirt for what it is, and it fills her belly with butterflies. But she wasn’t made sergeant yesterday. She knows how to give it back.

“I’m sure your guys could point you in a few directions.” She folds her arms over her chest with a teasing smile.

“Ah, but they’re not nearly so cute.”

Lena’s head tilts invitingly, and Kara has no intention of drawing this out.

“Well, then, when can I pick you up?”

Lena beams. “I’m on shift until Sunday. Why don’t you stop by the station tomorrow so we can compare calendars?”

Kara freezes. Oh no, oh no, oh–

“I might even sign yours if you ask nicely.”

Lena shoots her a parting wink before sauntering off. Kara’s cheeks flush as she watches her go. Only when she’s sure Lena is engrossed with packing up her team does Kara finally radio her status back to the dispatcher. Almost instantaneously, she gets back the report of a robbery nearby.

“This is Danvers, Unit 1P4 responding.”

#supercorp #oh my lanta #sign me tf up!!!

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keep-your-pen-up · 14 days

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LANA DEL REY Coachella 2024

#lana and billie together was a religious experience #ocean eyes has had my in a chokehold for YEARS #lana del rey

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keep-your-pen-up · 14 days

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literally die

#my libby app is my bff #no one tell her tho I don’t wanna stress her out

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keep-your-pen-up · 14 days

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Few moments in Alex’s life would stick out like this one. There was a rising panic in her throat, pulsing against her airway. Panic and grief gripped her like icy hands, working to strangle, and she wasn’t sure if what she choked down was a sob or vomit. Her hands trembled as they held the paper. She hadn’t thought of this.

The letterhead read simply, PAST DUE- FINAL NOTICE.

With everything going on, she’d simply forgotten about the matter until she swung by the loft. She should have sent Kelly, should have set up something earlier to deal with this. Kara was six months behind on her rent and she was going to be evicted if she didn’t pay.

Which she never would.

Alex had quietly accepted, about a month ago, that Kara wasn’t coming home, that all their methods had been exhausted, that her sister was lost in an infinite, shattered Phantom Zone, never to be found. She’s finally gotten the martyrdom that she’d been unknowingly seeking since she arrived on Earth.

She was keeping it bottled up, because the others still believed, even Brainy, who had to know the odds.

Alex seethed with a towering rage. There were some nights when, lying awake in Kelly’s arms, she’d fantasize about how she’d punish Clark for failing Kara, or what she’d do to Lex Luthor if she got her hands on him. Sometimes it would even be J’onn she raged at, or Lena.

She saved them all so many times, threw her life and body and soul in front of all them as a shield and took on their misery and suffering on top of her own, and though it was like drops cast in the ocean of Kara Zor-El’s grief, she felt every blow, every loss. Alex’s falling tears stained the letter as she thought of every time Kara paced this apartment, excoriating herself for her failures whenever she couldn’t be in five disasters at once.

Alex didn’t want her to be a superhero. She didn’t want that need to throw herself between others and their own suffering to consume Kara’s life, but it had.

Not for the first time, Alex wished that Kara had just stayed on the ground and let her plane crash. It was a selfish, hateful impulse. Kara would never have let it happen and even if she had, something would have prompted her to put on that red and blue costume and fly. It was what she was for.

Alex raged anyway. Fuck that little shit Wynn for making her a costume. The little pervert probably just wanted to make her try shit on to see her half naked. Fuck J’onn for recruiting her, fuck Clark for abandoning her… and… and…

The paper crumpled and so did Alex, sobbing. This was all her fault. If only…

“Alex?”

She hadn’t heard Lena come in. She’d long ago given up heels. Hell, shed given up. She was a wearing a hoodie that Alex knew was Kara’s and her hair was in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck, and if asked when she last ate or sleep, she’d have lied. Alex already knew the answer: she ate when someone remembered to feed her and she slept on a cot in her lab as she tortured herself.

Lena was the only one that Alex couldn’t rage at because Lena was already punishing herself. Kara would be furious if she knew how they were letting Lena treat her health.

Without a word, Lena gently grasped the letter and Alex released it.

Lena read it, frowning.

Then she pulled out her phone.

“Jess, I have a task for you. I’m going to send you a pic of an eviction letter. I want you to pay off the back rent.”

“Lena,” Alex began.

Lena waved her off.

“I want the building. Set up some shell companies. No one can know it’s me. Try to negotiate so it looks legit, but they can name their price. I want it done by tonight.”

Lena hung up.

“This is her place,” Lena said, softly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Alex.

“Yes, I did. This is her place. She deserves to come back to it,” Lena dropped onto the sofa beside her. “I will never give up. I don’t care if I’m still trying to bring her home when I’m old and gray, it’ll be worth it to see her one more time.”

Alex felt a wave of grief overwhelming her.

“Besides,” Lena forced cheer into her voice. “I spent a billion dollars so I could hang out with her at work. What’s an apartment building?”

Alex jolted. It was as if she watched a wine glass, which had toppled and shattered and cast its contents across the floor, leap back into position. As if the shards of crystal returned to their proper places and the cracks sealed, and the wine splashed back to its proper place, not a single shimmering golden drop lost. When the understanding snapped into place, it was like a lightning bolt. She felt too large for her skin, and the fine hairs at the back of her neck stood, as though bearing a charge.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Lena was in love with Kara.

She could see it now. The love radiated from every pore of Lena’s skin, undulled by the grief that draped her like a nighted cloak, as gold shimmered untarnished beneath dust. Alex’s heart was about to break again.

“I have to get back to the lab.”

“Why are you here?” Alex said, softly.

“I was… I’ve been spending the night. I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

“Kara would want you to.”

Kara would want you to move on, Alex thought. She would want you to find someone and be happy and think only of her in fond memories. She would gladly martyr herself for you, too. You above all. She never stopped defending you even when…

Now there were two wine glasses, side by side, almost touching but not quite, promising a toast unsaid.

Oh.

Oh God.

Alex launched off the couch and threw her arms around Lena, holding her tight. Lena recoiled a little; she seemed to dislike hugs, almost like she didn’t understand them, even as she’d melted in Kara’s embrace dozens of times.

How had she been so blind?

“We’ll get her back,” Alex said.

“We will,” said Lena.

Later, Alex stood off to the side, her veins singing with unbridled joy after Kara released her from a full on, no-powers bear hug. She watched as the others embraced her and slapped her back and welcomed her home while Lena stared at here like she couldn’t believe she was real.

Limping, haggard, Kara suffered their joys with quiet reserve, pushing a little closer to her ultimate destination with each one until she stood in front of Lena.

The hug was awkward, tentative, but Kara thrust herself into it after a hesitant moment and Lena molded against her, the pair standing cheek to cheek a beat too long. Lena pulled back and Kara pulled after her, leaning in, only to dance back and do that awkward little shift.

“Kara,” Alex blurted. “For fuck’s sake, just do it.”

Kara looked at her, wide-eyed and a little betrayed. Kara was beyond honest to a fault: Alex knew that after Kara nervously told her about the infamous “I flew here on a bus “ incident. Kara was honest to the core of her very being, sickened by the act of lying.

To Alex’s surprise, it was Lena’s hands on Kara’s shoulders that turned her away. Kara looked back and her and Lena brought her hands to Kara’s cheeks, resting her palms against the abnormally pale skin of her face. Kara froze for two heartbeats and then gently put her hands on Lena’s sides and pulled her in, there bodies slotting together as their lips found one another, Kara leaning over Lena a little more with the added height of her boots as Lena collapsed into her, tears glittering on her cheeks. The kiss carried on until Alex cleared her throat.

Everyone in the room was stunned save Alex.

“Guys,” she said, “let’s give them a little privacy, huh? We can celebrate later.”

As the others filed out of the room, Lena raised her head from where it had lain on Kara’s shoulder and mouthed a silent thank you.

#supercorp #good soup 👌🏼

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keep-your-pen-up · 20 days

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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.”

#clexa

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keep-your-pen-up · 20 days

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snoopy of the day

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keep-your-pen-up · 26 days

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keep-your-pen-up · 29 days

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VILLANELLE Killing Eve / 4.08

#this is criminal #i love (1) jodie comer

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keep-your-pen-up · 29 days

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JODIE COMER as VILLANELLE Killing Eve (2018)

#pink dress is i c o n i c #killing eve #i love (1) jodie comer

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keep-your-pen-up · 29 days

Note

If you are possibly still doing song promts, not sure if you're into country music however, "Unforgettable" by Thomas Rhett is a very cute, romantic song that I believe will suit Supercorp very well, thank you.

It is a warm, sticky summer night, and the stars have never been clearer.

Kara watches them, wistful and maybe a little buzzed, stretched out in the back of her pickup while Alex flicks bottle caps below at the guys. James and Winn don’t even notice; they’re still arguing over whether they should take whiskey shots or shotgun beers, both staunchly on opposite sides of this dilemma.

“Hey,” a thought occurs to Kara suddenly, “where did Sam go?”

“To find Lena, I think,” Alex says, squinting at her next target with halfhearted commitment as she leans over the side of the truck. When she throws the next cap, it misses Winn entirely. “Damn. Open another beer, Kara, I need another shot.”

“Who’s Lena?” The name is somewhat familiar, but Kara can’t place it immediately.

“The Luthor girl. Sam’s friend, you know her.” Alex leans back to root through their cooler, and comes up with two more beers. “She’s the one who flaked when Sam tried to set up that double-date, remember?”

“Right, and I had to third-wheel you guys all night.” Kara sits up in order to scan the crowd curiously, one question at the forefront of her mind: “Is she related to Lex Luthor?”

“Yes, that’s why I said the Luthor girl,” Alex says like one might say keep up. “She’s his half-sister or something, I don’t know.” She uses the bottle opener on her keys to pop open one of the beers, handing it over to Kara and immediately moving on to her own.

Kara takes a distracted swig as she continues to look out into the crowd. The lights strung through the trees offer very little in terms of visibility, and it’s hard to make out faces. “I didn't know he had a sister,” she says.

“It's not something he exactly advertises.” Alex takes a re-do of her earlier shot now that she has a fresh bottle cap, and this time it nails Winn right on the side of the head. “Hey, losers! Quit fighting and come get a drink!”

“Not unless you have some beer cans we can shotgun!” Winn shouts back.

“No, no, he means we need some Jack Daniel’s,” James interjects, and they’re off again, shoving playfully at each other’s shoulders as if they are going to push each other into the bonfire.

Alex rolls her eyes. “Boys,” she says derisively. “Let’s get Nia instead, she deserves a drink far more than they do.” She reaches over to bang at the truck’s backseat window. “Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

“Whoa, watch it!” Kara almost spills her drink in her haste to bat Alex’s hand away. “Take it easy. I just got her all fixed up.”

“Oh sure, when Siobhan takes a baseball bat to the glass it’s all fine and dandy, but I can’t even give it a tap?”

Kara crinkles her nose. “She thought it was her ex’s car in the dark, come on. You can’t blame her for that.”

“You are also her ex,” Alex says impatiently.

“But not the ex she was trying to get revenge on,” Kara points out. “She even apologized to Brittney. I think you should, too.”

Alex gives her a dirty look. “For the last time, I will not call your car that.”

“Don’t be a hater, Alex.”

“Don’t be a fucking weirdo, then—”

Before Kara can even enact her own revenge for that comment, she is briefly blinded by one of two flashlights aimed at her face. Beside her, Alex yelps and covers her eyes.

“There you guys are,” Sam exclaims. “I got lost trying to remember where we were. Why did you park so far away?”

“To keep our drinks from the masses, mostly,” Alex says, and she hops up over the side of the truck to pull Sam into her arms. “And for privacy.”

“Ew,” Kara says, and Alex glares at her over her shoulder.

“For Nia, who is sleeping.”

“Still?” Sam grins, momentarily distracted, when Alex presses a kiss to her cheek. “I wanted to introduce her to Lena.”

Just like her name, Lena Luthor has something about her face that strikes Kara as vaguely familiar. Something in the shine of her eyes in the moonlight, in the way she bites on her bottom lip, in the slope of her nose and the cut of her jaw and the hint of a dimple in her cheek. Kara has never laid eyes on Lena Luthor before, but she finds herself unable to look away.

The only reason Kara even realizes she's been staring at Lena too long is when she hears her name:

“And this is Kara, she's Alex’s sister. She drove us here.”

Now it's Kara's turn to be stared at—or more accurately, scrutinized. “While drunk?” Lena says.

Kara snaps back to reality. “I'm not drunk,” she hastily denies, lest that somehow affect her chances with impressing Lena (coincidentally, something she had not been concerned with until this very second). “I've only had two beers, I'm practically sober.”

But when anyone else might be skeptical, Lena merely tilts her head curiously. “Okay, if you say so,” she says in a manner that’s almost…amused. Kara counts it as a win, either way.

“So are beers all we have around here?” Sam asks. “Clearly, Lena and I need to catch up to everyone.”

“We also have whiskey,” James chimes in, while Winn makes a show of gagging.

“Yeah, just beer and whiskey,” Alex affirms. “Kara did the shopping, so….”

Kara bends down to lift up their cooler as if it’s a treasure chest. “We also have Mang-O-Ritas,” she says magnanimously, passing it down to James to pop open.

“Just a regular beer for me, then,” Sam says. “Lena will have the Mang-O-Rita.”

“I’ve never had one before,” Lena says, crossing her arms and leaning against the side of the truck as Sam procures her drink. “Are they any good?”

Kara jumps off the truck in order to fully join their circle (and, okay, closer to Lena. Maybe). “They’re awesome. Don’t listen to whatever Alex tells you, she will 100% drink three of these in one sitting.”

“Only when there’s no other option,” Alex protests.

Lena cracks open her can and takes a cautious sip. “Hm,” she says. “That’s…vile.”

“Poor little rich girl,” Sam coos. “Always such a snob about your liquor.”

“Excuse me for preferring a glass of red over this,” Lena says, but she takes a longer drink immediately afterwards, and Kara falls a little bit in love.

It's always been like that, really—Kara falls in love like breathing air. Eliza used to call her a hopeful romantic because she never liked the term hopeless romantic. (“There is nothing hopeless about finding beauty in everything,” Eliza would promise as she kissed Kara's head. Alex would always be nearby gagging, of course).

Eventually, as the fire begins to die down, they break out the whiskey bottle for shots. Lena, Kara can't help but notice, grimaces at the taste in a way that shouldn't be as cute as it is.

“I need a palate cleanser,” Winn gasps afterwards, ever the drama queen. “Stat.”

“I’ve got one right here for you, it's called Bud Light,” Alex quips.

“Blegh.”

And while Alex and Winn playfully tussle, Kara’s gaze drifts past them and back to Lena. Lena, surprisingly, is looking right back.

“You have grass stains on your jeans,” Lena tells her, and quickly looks away.

Kara glances down. “Oh,” she says, “yeah, it’s the hazard of working on a farm.” She actually got the stains from kneeling down to pet a puppy on the way here, but the farm thing sounds better. “So what do you—”

She never manages to get the question out, because two cars down, someone screams bloody murder and Kara reflexively whips out the pocket knife in her boot. Everyone else is equally alert, until:

“It’s just fucking Mike Matthews again, falling off that eyesore he calls a truck,” Alex scoffs.

“Again? They need to impound that thing,” James says.

Kara is about to chime in with her own horror story about Mike’s truck when she feels a tap at her shoulder; Lena waits until Kara whirls around, befuddled, before she asks,

“Can you pour me another shot?”

Kara blinks. Then blinks again. “Yeah,” she says, even though Winn is the one holding the whiskey bottle. “Yeah, of course.”

Winn gladly relinquishes the bottle when Kara asks, and he and James walk down to Mike’s group to “see if they can help” (i.e. gossip). Sam and Alex take advantage of the chaos to sneak away together (probably to make out somewhere). And Kara is left, terrifyingly enough, alone with Lena Luthor.

Lena coughs after downing the second shot, frowning down at her cup like it’s wronged her. “That is still…not good.”

Kara tries to hide her smile as she looks down, nudges an empty beer bottle away. “Why drink it, then?”

“I don’t know.” Lena pauses to chase the taste away with her Mang-O-Rita before musing, “To get out of my comfort zone, maybe. But then again, pretty much everything here is out of my comfort zone.”

“Oh, I get it,” Kara says. “Rich girl pretending to be normal. It’s very Maid in Manhattan. Or…whatever the opposite of that is.”

“You are…definitely drunk,” Lena says with the tone of someone two seconds from laughter.

Kara vehemently shakes her head. “Nope, no, absolutely not.”

“Mm, you kind of seem like you are,” Lena says.

“I am not, and I can prove it to you.” Kara cradles the whiskey bottle to her chest and prepares herself: “I can do the running man.”

“And that proves you’re not drunk how?”

“Because it's going to be the most flawless dance you've ever seen,” Kara says, immediately kicking her leg out in a shaky attempt, and Lena’s laughter explodes until she is actually hunched over with the force of it.

“Oh, God, please do that again.”

“I'm not sure I like your reaction,” Kara sniffs, taking a mock-defensive step back. “I don't want to do it now.”

“No, come on, I loved it. Really,” Lena says. Her Mang-O-Rita has spilled into the grass, and she has to stoop down to pick up the can, ruefully shaking it when she notices it's empty. “Maybe I need to slow down. Is there somewhere we can sit?”

“Yeah,” Kara says, waving the whiskey bottle to beckon Lena to follow, and she guides her to the back of the pickup. She shrugs off her jacket, laying it out for Lena to sit, and Lena gives her a small smile when she does; it feels like they’re in their own world, kept company only by the stars and the occasional crackle of the dying bonfire.

“So you work on a farm?” Lena has to lean slightly against Kara to get comfortable, and Kara holds her breath to keep from jumping.

“Yup, my parents’ farm,” Kara barely remembers to answer. “Nothing glamorous like you and your brother, I'm sure.”

“I didn't know you knew about…that,” Lena says.

Kara shrugs, feels her shoulder directly move against Lena’s. “Kind of hard not to,” she says apologetically. “I mean, the Luthor name is on just about every business in town.” She twists the whiskey bottle between her hands, listens to it slosh. “If it helps…none of us care about that.”

“Really,” Lena says, disbelievingly but still light enough to invite a follow-up, which Kara wastes zero time in grasping.

“One hundred percent,” Kara promises. “We never judge a book by its cover. Not even,” she pauses to whisper this next part, “people who stand up their dates on a dreaded double-date with their sister.”

Lena gasps. “That was not you.”

“It was,” Kara laughs, just self-conscious enough to slick her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t Sam tell you?”

“No—all she said was you were fun,” Lena says. “And she promised to try and set me up again, another time.” She shifts, now fully shoulder-to-shoulder against Kara. “Oh my God. Is that what tonight is?”

“Alex didn’t tell me anything,” Kara wonders, “but it would make sense…”

Lena scoffs. “This would be a horrible date,” she says, almost to herself. Then, hurriedly, “Not because of you, but because of everything else. The drinks, the place, the…lack of indoor plumbing…”

“So you’re too good for whiskey, tailgate parties, and porta potties,” Kara lists off. “Hm. I don’t know, Lena. This date is off to a rough start.”

“Oh, shut up.” Lena reaches across their bodies for the whiskey bottle, and her fingers tangle with Kara’s as she takes it. Lena uncaps it and takes a swig, coughing as soon as she lowers the bottle, and Kara smiles even if Lena can’t see it.

“What happened to slowing down?”

“That was before I realized this was a date,” Lena says without a lick of shame. “Sue me—I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to be,” Kara says softly, and she shuts her eyes, inhales the smoke of the fire and the sweet, floral scent of Lena’s perfume. “We can just be friends, too. No pressure.”

“And you’d be okay with that?” Lena asks, her voice quiet but undoubtedly curious. “Am I not the kind of girl you want to date?”

Kara immediately straightens up. “Are you kidding? I would marry you, probably, if I could. In a good way,” she hastens to explain. “In a…general, you-seem-like-the-kind-of-nice-to-marry. Hypothetically.”

Lena exhales, and there’s a hint of a smile in her own voice when she says, “You’re coming on awful strong for a first date, Kara Danvers.”

“Sorry.” Kara slumps against the floor, sighing as the whiskey finally starts catching up to her, leaving her slightly dizzy and uncoordinated as she stares up at the night sky.

But then Lena is moving, twisting until she is half-hovering over Kara, beautifully framed by moonlight and the haze from the fire beside them. “I can’t promise marriage yet,” she says, “but I think I can do a second date.”

Kara blinks, slowly, and her grin forms before she can even try to hide it. “Really?”

“Only if I can choose the place,” Lena says. “And if you never make me drink that awful margarita again.”

“Deal,” Kara says, making room for Lena to squeeze in beside her, light-headed for a whole new reason as Lena rests her head on Kara’s arm. “But I really think you should give the Mang-O-Rita another try. Just, for the record.”

“Shhh, don’t ruin this,” Lena says, tapping Kara’s mouth with her finger, and Kara keeps on smiling.

(And later, when they’ve sobered up, Kara will kiss Lena goodnight; later still, Lena will deny that she tasted of that damned Mang-O-Rita, but only Kara will know the truth).

#supercorp

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