I'm Lost please call: 4.8.15.16.23.42, Slytherin, Time Lord, Sith, INTJ, books addicted, I'm no Superman, but You Must not Fear! Let's Tolkien about it and when life gives you lemonade, makes lemons! Because I choose to see the beauty
Clarke is not having a good time. Not when her girlfriend cheats on her. Not when she's paired up as research partners with the girl who slept with her now ex-girlfriend. And especially not when she discovers she has the best naps of her life with said girl who ruined her life.
“Well aren't you two adorable,” a bright and cheery voice said from above them. Clarke jerked back, startling so violently at the sudden voice that she nearly toppled backward out of her chair.
Lexa's hand shot out on instinct, grabbing a fistful of her shirt to hold her in place as she swiveled around, no doubt looking every bit like the kid caught with their hand elbow-deep in the cookie jar as she stared up at the bakery owner's smiling face.
“What?” Clarke asked, breathless and an entire octave higher than usual.
“Nothing, it's just been a long time since I've had a couple in here that is so…” The aproned woman waved between before seeming to land on, “Infatuated.”
“Oh, we're—”
“Sorry,” Lexa cut in and slipped her arm tighter around Clarke's waist. “We're sorry. Got carried away. You know how it is.”
Clarke glanced back at her with a questioning look, only getting the upward flit of a brow in return.
“Of course,” the woman crooned, tossing a wink for good measure. “Young love.”
“Yeah, almost makes you want to hose ‘em down, doesn't it?” Raven piped in from across the table.
The woman just laughed as Lexa sent the little wise-ass a scowl.
“Oh now, don't you two listen to her. This is the fun part! It's actually refreshing to get a couple in here that's still so sweet on each other. Most are at each other's throats over the wedding planning by now.”
“Well we're lucky enough that we tend to always like the same things. Makes life pretty easy,” Lexa said. Her hand slid up Clarke's ribs and looped lazily across her shoulders.
“Yeah. Yes,” Clarke added in halting bits as Lexa started drawing circles over her skin with her fingertips. “We, um, we tend to like the same things.”
“That's good. Happy wife and so on. Though I suppose that works both ways for you,” the woman tittered at her own cleverness. “And it'll make life easier as the years go on, you know.”
I'm so late to the party, but I liked it so much! Anya is a bowling ball ready to strike, Clarke jealous as fuck, Raven being Raven (in my mind Ranya is still happening, they are THE couple after Clexa sorry, I don't make the rules, it's the universe, but I like this platonic duo u.u).
Is Lexa still an idiot? What's new but to be continued 😀
Your MBFW Halloween snippet was amazing, thank you for sharing it! They are idiots but you can actually see all the love they have for each other. 🥰
My question is: how is going to be Halloween when they have children? Lexa is really not going to cry (doubt it), do they remember this Halloween in a way and compare to what they have now? What's the feeling?
Thanks! 😊
Hope you're ok! 😊
The first couple of years will not be even remotely as exciting as they'd originally envisioned given... well... babies can't trick-or-treat lol. But they have a nice time. They make little family costumes and hand out candy, Clarke's pride and joy being Baby Monkey's first ever Halloween where she came up with the brilliant idea for a Winnie The Pooh theme since it was the book Madi gurgled at the most at bedtime. Her donning an absolutely ridiculous fucking Pooh costume and—somehow—talking Lexa into dressing as her sweet honeypot (and then filling the night with the worst innuendos Lexa has ever in her life 😏). But the star of the show is obviously their little baby bumblebee. Her lil chunky body bundled into a tiny bee outfit, those chubber cheeks rouged to make her a 'happy buzzing bee' to go along with the springy antenna headband on her lil noggin.
It's so fucking stupid.
They look insane.
They take like 9 million pictures.
Abby tortures Madi with them for years and years to come.
Once Monkey gets old enough and her sibling comes along tho, that's when the real fun starts. Because Lexa? Lexa just wants to give their kids so much of the childhood she used to dream of. Clarke adores watching her sit with them and talk about what they want to be. Even when it's the most nonsensical shit she's ever heard of in her life.
A transformer that's somehow also a unicorn? That also wears grandma's stethoscope?
Lexa will just quietly contemplate it all for a moment, and then very seriously tell their child, "Yes, I think we can get that done."
And with Clarke's help, they do. Every year. Whatever is. Sometimes it's an unquestionable success, sometimes it's an unmitigated disaster.
But every year the kids have a blast. And that's all they care about.
Lexa doesn't cry, no. She's too busy just living this all out with their babies.
But Clarke does. A lot.
Especially in those early years because there is just zero hope of keeping it together. Not when she's hanging back from the neighborhood pack with the emergency stroller (for water and rest stops) while she watches her wife walk around with these teeny little munchkins hanging onto her fingertips with their tiny baby hands as they toddle along in their costumes. Lexa always hunched over—so she's easier to reach but also so she can listen and respond to all of their excited chatter. Watching Lexa stop to help retie shoes and kiss booboos when someone inevitably trips and falls down anyway (and then magically heal when reminded that there's still more candy to get.) Hearing every shriek of laughter when Big Strong Mommy™ lifts them up by the arms to swing them over a puddle or patch of mud that their little legs can't manage. Clarke carrying their son while Lexa has Monkey slung over her shoulder on the walk home when their little bodies inevitably run out of energy. Both collapsing into an exhausted pile of limbs on the couch once they've gotten the kids into bed, sharing a kiss and a high-five for another successful year in the books.
It's not drunkenly running around half-naked in the wee hours of the morning, but the joy is still there. The novelty and that same rush of love is still there because it just reminds her every time that like, 'holy shit. This is actually my life. And that is my wife. And those are our babies. And I get to have all this fun with them, right alongside my best friend in the entire world.'
Sweaty and thoroughly spent, Clarke can't help the moan as her girlfriend eases the toy from inside her.
“That,” she pants from beneath the arm slung over her eyes, “that was one for the record books.”
She thrills at the sound of Lexa's chuckle, feeling a residual pang of her orgasm rock through her body at the sound of buckles being undone and unceremoniously dropped on the table beside her bed.
Three sharp knocks sound against the wall next to her head.
She knocks back twice.
“I think our neighbors agree.”
“I think your neighbors hate me actually,” Lexa sighs as she shuffles back under the mess of Clarke's sheets.
Barely bothering to wait for her to get settled, Clarke rolls into her. Presses herself in tight to the sweetness that is her girlfriend’s body, legs so tangled she can't tell where she ends and Lexa begins, and wraps her up in the safety of her arms.
“Maybe. But I like you,” she teases, pressing a few languid kisses to the pout of Lexa's lips. “I especially like you when you do that thing until I can't feel my own damn face.”
Lexa preens at the attention, visibly pompous and proud in her abilities to make Clarke come that hard, as she steals another kiss from Clarke's mouth. “It's all about the pelvis rotation.”
It's useless for Clarke to try and conceal her happiness, letting it spill out of her in an distinctly elegant snorting chuckle, because jesus fucking christ does she love this girl.
Quite literally wants to spend every waking moment with her.
(The sleeping ones too.)
“Are you going to that Alpha-Phi-whatever Halloween thing this weekend?” she asks, for no other reason than wanting to plan her entire life around the girl in her arms. “Rave said she wanted us to make an appearance, but I told her I wanted to see what you were doing before committing.”
“What kind of Halloween thing is it?”
“Costumes. Alcohol. General debauchery.”,
She lays her pout on thick the second Lexa sighs from her half of their shared pillow.
“I don't know, love. I don't know if it's really my thing,” Lexa says with a consoling stroke of Clarke's naked hip.
“It's a costume party, baby. It's everybody's thing.”
“I've never been to a costume party though.”
Clarke balks at that. “What? How is that possible?”
Lexa's shoulder lifts in a halfhearted shrug. “We never did Halloween at home growing up,” she says as if it's nothing, even her eyes drop to the dip of Clarke's chest and stay there. “My grandfather said it was a demonic holiday—”
“Oh my god, you have to be fucking kidding me,” Clarke scoffs. “So, wait,” she tries, softening herself and holding Lexa close through the sinking feeling in her stomach, “so you didn't… you never dressed up for Halloween? Ever?”
Lexa just shakes her head.
“No candy? No trick-or-treating?”
“No.”
“What about school stuff? Like, classroom Halloween parties.”
Lexa smiles and shrugs again, running the sole of her foot along Clarke's ankle as her nails trace tickling circles along the small of Clarke's back. “The teachers always found other things for me to do. Puzzles and worksheets and stuff. Sometimes they'd let me sit in the teacher's lounge and buy me a diet soda as long as I promised not to tell any of the other kids.”
Clarke chuckles weakly along with her girlfriend laugh, because Lexa relays the memory as if it really was some kind of indulgence to be treasured.
As if being a child left alone to entertain herself with shitty games and poorly disguised busy work was nothing. As if spending a carefree holiday sitting quietly in a windowless room reeking of three hour old coffee while her classmates laughed, ate pizza, and played games in their costumes wasn't noteworthy at all.
Despite having never met a single member of Lexa's family, Clarke feels that increasingly familiar urge to hunt them down and inflict physical violence on them all. It's an urge that arises every time Lexa tells her about anything from her childhood. These blips and blurbs of Lexa's past trickling into their conversations that always serve to break Clarke's heart and set her teeth on edge.
She just doesn't understand it. Can't fathom how none of them seemed to see what she sees as she looks at her beautiful girlfriend and feels her heart race. The kindness and strength in her eyes. The delicate grace of her cheeks, the adorable slope of her nose. Every spray of freckles and the little crinkle above her smile. Her sweetness. Her tenderness. Her determination, so unyielding in reaching every one of her goals.
This girl is fucking precious.
And Clarke? Clarke just… does not fucking get it.
Tipping her chin up, Clarke leans in and captures Lexa's mouth in a deep, searching kiss.
“Well,” she sighs when they come up for air, delighting in the hooded eyes staring back at her, “that simply will not do.”
“It's not a big deal—”
“Oh no. No,” she argues as she eases Lexa onto her back to straddle her and begins dripping open-mouthed kisses down the length of her body. “I'm not marrying someone who has never dressed up for Halloween, so we're fixing this shit. Posthaste.”
Lexa's laugh fades to gasp at a well timed nip of Clarke's teeth.
Clarke soothes the sting with a lap of her tongue and kisses down the plain of Lexa's belly. “We're gonna dress up, and drink until we're stupid,” she whispers against the suppleness of her girlfriend's skin. “And then I'm going bring you home, and fuck you in your costume until we get another noise complaint.”
“We're gonna get another noise complaint right now,” Lexa weakly sighs, even as she spreads her thighs wider.
Clarke settles on her belly, kissing the swollen lips of Lexa's slit before licking it with the flat of her tongue. “And I really don't care.”
At the sound of another sharp knock, Clarke's head pops up from between her girlfriend's legs as she glares at the wall.
The hands tangled in her hair guide her right back down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is perfect.
They look perfect.
Everything set and ready for Clarke's master plan.
Two sleepless nights and four goddamn cuts to her fingers, and Clarke wouldn't change a single thing.
It'd taken an hour and a particularly filthy make-out to convince her girlfriend to put her half of Clarke's creation on, her lips and tongue fielding every one of Lexa's arguments about it “looking ridiculous" and “being too revealing” and the dreaded “Clarke, I'm going to be cold.”
All her points of contention hadn't stood a chance in the face of Clarke's unbeatable logic: “But, baby, you look so hot.”
And thus, there they were walking hand-in-hand up to the (surely) disease ridden frat house, each decked out in their custom made costumes—designed, stitched, and hot glued by Clarke's very own hands.
Clarke leads them up the steps of the frat house, guiding her girlfriend by the hand past the few passed out bodies littering the walkway of party-goers who had undoubtedly pre-gamed too hard.
Amateurs.
“Hello, ladies,” an upperclassman sat straddling an already tapped keg greets them at the door. His eyes rove the length of them, first Lexa and then Clarke, gaze stuttering to a stop at the accessory of her costume bulging between her legs. “Er—”
“Sick, right?” Clarke says in her best neanderthal voice as she adjusts her loincloth, with a bro style chin tip for good measure.
“Yyyyeah,” the guy slowly agrees before shaking his head as though to rid himself of every thought from this moment. “Anyway, uh, twenty-one?”
“Yep.”
“No.”
Lexa has the decency to look guilty when Clarke sends her a look.
“Thought so,” he says, whipping a stamp out of nowhere and marking their hands without missing a single beat.
Clarke holds up the hand now emblazoned with a bold, black thumbs down as she gives the guy a very different finger.
He tosses up his hands in the universal sign of, ‘sorry, not my problem.’ “Have fun tonight, ladies. Remember, keep things age appropriate.” He reaches over to the pingpong table beside him already groaning under the weight of prefilled solo cups. “Whatever you do, don't drink those,” he says as he hands them each a stale looking beer. “And if you're looking for anything stronger, absolutely do not go into the kitchen where the vodka, rum, and jungle juice are.”
Lifting her beer in cheers, Clarke grabs Lexa's hand and slips them into the chaos of the house.
“What the hell was that?” Lexa yells over the thump and thrum of the music blasting from the room off to their left.
Clarke holds her beer high above her head as she threads them through the crowd. “Just covering the frat's ass,” Clarke yells back. “If some idiot freshman gives themselves alcohol poisoning, they can say they must've stolen or something because they were marked to not be served.”
Lexa's answering snort is all but drowned out by the sudden shout of, “Yo, sluts!”
Like Pavlov's dog to a bell, Clarke's eyes snap to the call of her people, giving a slight tug to the hand still in hers and changing directions toward the idiot on the stairs.
“Stop calling us sluts,” Clarke half yells as Raven finishes descending the stairs from doing whatever ungodly thing she'd been up to on the second floor of the frat house.
Raven shoves past a startled Donkey Kong and winks at his Ghostface friend on her way down. “It's affectionate.”
“It's really not,” Lexa sighs as her arm finds its home around Clarke's waist. Clarke watches in amusement as she takes a strong pull from her beer and grimaces, while pointing at Raven from over the rim. “You look nice though.”
“Aw, thanks.” Raven beams, plucking at the fringe of her torn fishnets before pretending to zhuzh one of the pigtails on her blonde, turquoise, and pink wig. “I'm hot, but really I just wanted an excuse to carry a bat while surrounded by—”
She cuts off with a general wave toward the sea of people around them.
“Fair,” Clarke concedes. She loops an arm around Lexa's shoulders and spreads them as wide as she can given the crowd. “What do you think of our costumes?”
Raven takes her sweet, sweet time to survey Clarke and then Lexa, her face a blank slate as she stares at their hair, down to their feet, and loops her gaze back up.
“What the hell are you even supposed to be?”
“Oh come on!” Clarke yells.
“Bitch, what do you want me to say? I mean I know you're,” Raven says as she points to Lexa and pauses, “uh, assimilated Jane of the Jungle?”
Clarke scoffs before Lexa can answer. “As if my baby would ever be something so basic.”
Lexa gives Clarke a prim smile when she looks over and returns the affectionate kiss to her lips.
“I'm just ‘Lexa of the Jungle’ apparently,” Lexa clarifies.
Raven frowns. “Thought process?”
“That I'd look hot,” Lexa shrugs. “It was Clarke's creation.”
“Oh I'm sure it was,” Raven says, eyeing the questionably tight bra draped in ripped netting and tattered rags painted with shades of brown and forest green. Her gaze drops to the long, long line of Lexa's legs below an artfully crafted wrap that covers just enough of Lexa's hips to be public appropriate.
Clarke gets it.
It'd taken her a solid fifteen minutes just to stop ogling the bare expanse of Lexa's midriff long enough that they could actually leave her dorm room.
“And um, what about this little getup?” Raven asks, turning to Clarke after her thorough inspection of Lexa's costume. “Dumb blonde meets caveman?”
“One, go fuck yourself,” Clarke says and blows a kiss in Raven's direction. “Two, I feel like it's pretty obvious that I'm George of the Jungle.”
Granted, she hadn't put quite as much effort into her own costume as she had her lover's. But between the borrowed chest binder struggling to smooth down her tits (Clarke makes a mental note to buy her neighbor from two doors down a coffee on Monday when she returns it), the twigs and leaves meticulously weaved in the mussed tendrils of her hair, the eyebrow-pencil-drawn beard accentuating her jawline, and the big, fat monster—
“Dude,” Raven coughs with an incredulous laugh as she stares between Clarke's legs, “are you wearing a dick?”
Clarke glances down proudly at the bulge under her loincloth. “Yeah. Duh.”
“That is, like? The most wrong move I have ever seen for a costume party possible,” Raven says, face drawn up in a look of revulsion. “You're in a house full of horny frat bros and later we're going—”
“And?” Clarke argues with a pointed wave of her hand to shut Raven up. “I'm George of The Jungle to my hot Jungle Lexa, alright, it makes sense. Besides, you're not going to tell me that he wasn't working with an epic python down there. This costume is Biblically accurate when you think about it.”
Raven's face slackens into a look of dubious disbelief. “What, and I can't stress this enough, in the actual fuck are you talking about, you lunatic?”
Clarke opens her mouth to explain the finer points of her reasoning, when the arm around her waist pulls her closer.
“How about we go dance,” Lexa says with an adorable scrunch of her freckled nose.
Clarke exhales out her lingering frustration and nods because, despite the massive amounts of Clarke's pride, this girl has her wrapped around her finger.
She lets her very hot and half-naked girlfriend tug her to the frat house's common-room-turned-dancefloor, but not without a backward scowl to let Raven know this conversation isn't over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So wearing a dick was, in fact, absolutely the wrong move.
The worst, mostly delicious, most rewarding wrong move. So ill-advised Clarke can barely keep herself standing upright as her girlfriend grinds the cleft of her ass against the bulge of Clarke's cock to the rhythm of the latest song.
Four beers and two shots had served to loosen them both up to the point that Lexa's hips moved to the beat like warm, syrupy liquid. Clarke swallows against the dryness of her throat at the way Lexa's body rolls beneath hands.
She’d promised herself to keep her wits about her tonight… but every deal she'd made with her own bearded reflection in the mirror before they'd left had flown right out of the window the second Lexa had pressed her ass tight against Clarke's hips.
It doesn't matter that people are staring. Honestly, Clarke kind of loves the thought of it in this moment; the idea that every one of these frat bros and sorority girls see just how much Lexa owns her.
They dance for hours through the heat and haze of warm bodies emboldened with booze. It feels like a dream she never wants to wake up from set to the backdrop of cheap strobe lights, watching the bohemian angel in her arms light up in flashes of pink, purple, and blue.
The way Lexa's spine arches in such a graceful bow as she lulls her head back onto Clarke's shoulder when the beat is so heavy she can practically feel it in her bones. Kissing lines up Lexa's neck to match the swivel of her hips. Moving time to the music, lacing her fingers between Clarke's as they slide across her belly to make sure she can't move away.
The night is fucking magical, Clarke thinks. From the buzz to the base to the beautiful girl in her arms.
Which is exactly how Clarke nearly forgets the second part of her plans.
In her defense, when it comes to keeping her focus in the face of Lexa's body mingled with the heady scent of her sweat… she really can't be trusted with shit.
But reality comes crashing back in when the music scratches to a sudden halt and the room explodes into a chorus of boos.
“Shut up, shut the fuck up!” an upperclassmen yells into a bullhorn from the bannister of the staircase as he waves his arms for silence. Once the crowd has quieted their complaints to a dull(er) roar, he continues, “Is everybody having a good time?!”
The room erupts into a round of cheers, the sounds of drunken debauchery filling the air as Clarke squeezes her arms tighter around Lexa's waist and buries her nose in sweat-frizzed hair. “I know I am.”
Lexa turns her head and gives Clarke an adorable glassy-eyed smile along with a kiss.
When the house quiets again, the bullhorn booms back into life, “Y'all wanna keep this party going?!”
The room yells back, “Hell yeah!”
“You know what time it is?!” he bellows so loudly it makes Clarke's eardrums vibrate, only to be met with another round of cheers. “It's midnight, mothafuckers! And that mean it's—”
He cuts off and holds the bullhorn out toward the crowd, who take their cue to scream back, “Trick-or-treating hour!”
Clarke nearly breaks from her well-practiced look of innocence when Lexa frowns as half their fellow party-goers start to swarm toward the exit.
“Love, what did you do?” she asks as Clarke takes her hand and starts guiding them out of the house as well.
“Me? Nothing.”
“Clarke—”
“I don't know, baby, I'm just following the fun,” Clarke insists as she continues tugging them along, covertly waving away Dipshit-Derek-from-Alpha-Phi's attempt at a fist bump for getting his part done.
Fuckin’ idiot.
Pausing only long enough to grab two of the canvas bags stacked by the porch's front pillar, Clarke takes off running to stay even with the main surge of the group, making sure to keep Lexa's hand clasped firmly in her own. She smiles at the delighted sound of her girlfriend's laugh as they bound across the manicured lawn, just to pull up outside of the neighboring house.
Panting and out of breath, Clarke feels high in the fresh night air as Lexa's body collides with her own at the sudden stop.
“Clarke, seriously, what did you do?” Lexa asks in breathless chuckle as they stumble into the chaos of people lining up in front of the student housing duplex where two people are currently sat handing out fistfuls of candy.
Clarke just shrugs in answer to her girlfriend's question and elbows their way forward, grateful when the crowd splits as soon as they notice who it is. She only releases Lexa's hand when they're at the front of the queue, discreetly nudging Lexa forward until she's front and center.
“Go on. Hold your bag out, baby,” Clarke urges when Lexa just stands there, her face and ears an adorably brilliant shade of red even under such shitty orange porch light.
Lexa rolls her eyes and opens her bag and… continues to just stand there.
“You gotta say it, dipshit!” Raven's voice yells from somewhere in the crowd behind them. Clarke raises her middle finger in the voice's general direction as the crowd joins in with a chant of, “Say it. Say it. Say it! Say it!” that grows with each round.
Clarke's heart swells and bursts as Lexa laughs and covers her face with her hands, feeling so light she might just float away. She's a lost cause and she knows it. No hope for redemption from her devotion; so in love with this girl who doesn't know how to believe she deserves good things that it physically makes Clarke's chest ache.
That love only doubles—maybe triples, she'll decide on that later—when Lexa shakes her head and motions for everyone to be quiet, before holding out her bag.
“Trick or treat.”
The drunken gaggle of college kids let out a whoop and holler of celebration. Clarke joins in, smiling just to choke back the ridiculous sting of tears as Lexa rolls her eyes with a good natured sigh and accepts her very first piece of Halloween candy.
Clarke doesn't waste any time in retaking Lexa's hand the second she steps aside to let the next in line get their own fun-sized chocolate treasure. They take off like a rocket, running and laughing from one student-house to the next, collecting mountains of candy until the wee hours of the morning alongside a crowd of their classmates.
In all her calculations for the evening, the only thing Clarke never accounted for is the debilitating cuteness factor of watching her girlfriend actually get into the festivities. She hadn't entirely foreseen this feeling that she might burst with affection every time Lexa splinters off with the occasional familiar face from some study group or another, just to circle back around and melt into Clarke's side again. It's the happiness in watching Lexa just let go and let friends yank her along in their shared excitement, all zigzagging between walkways and yards on their hunt for sugary delights, each participating in the time-honored ritual of bartering various pieces for the superior candy haul, just for negotiations to devolve into heated arguments regarding the equitable exchange rate that is Snickers versus Butterfingers.
Having to pull Lexa away before she decks a Mario-clad upperclassman for a rather disparaging remark regarding the merits of red starburst alone lets Clarke know all of her efforts have been worth it.
Her buzz long since gone but still feeling drunk on such dumbass fun, Clarke moves to dash across the street to another house, when the hand in hers tugs them to a stop.
Willing to follow Lexa anywhere she may ever wish to go, Clarke playfully stumbles back into her beautiful girlfriend's body, slinging her arm around Lexa's waist to keep her close as they sway under the dwindling streetlights.
“What's up, baby?” Clarke says in a breathless laugh.
She's only met with silence.
Her smile slowly fades as she realizes her carefree joy isn't being mirrored back.
“Baby,” Clarke whispers, confused by the unreadable expression on her girlfriend's face.
Lexa looks so serious, so focused on nothing but Clarke, it makes her heart skip a beat. She stays quiet when Lexa just slowly shakes her head and continues to stare at her with eyes brimming with a sheen of tears. Clarke wants to say something, do something, anything to console this beautiful girl she adores more than anyone in the world.
She loses it when that full bottom lip starts to tremble.
“Oh, baby, don't—”
“I love you,” Lexa cuts in, her voice thick and strained and raw. The hands on Clarke's shoulders slip up to her jaw, cradling her face tenderly in Lexa's palms.
Clarke covers Lexa's hands with her own and smiles, trying so hard to put her at ease. “I know, baby, I know.”
Lexa shakes her head again, more forceful this time, her eyes shining brighter with the intensity of her conviction.
“No. No you don't understand. I love you, Clarke,” she says in rushed, shuddering breath. “I—”
Lexa's words trail off as she seems to lose whatever battle that had been waging so viciously inside of her. Clarke doesn't mind it in the slightest, only makes herself more malleable when Lexa wraps Clarke up in a hug.
The way Lexa holds her so tight takes Clarke by surprise.
All Clarke can do is return the affection as best she can, running her palms along the length of Lexa's back while trying to soothe away whatever was causing such a reaction.
“Shhh, Lex. It's okay,” she says again, sighing, making herself softer when the arms around her hug tighter. “I'm right here, baby. Talk to me.”
Lexa pulls back from the embrace only for enough to rest her forehead against Clarke's, every warm puff of her shuddered breaths a testament to how hard she's trying to keep control of herself.
In this moment, Clarke knows she'll prove to Lexa that her heart is safe. That she can be as vulnerable as she needs to be. She will prove it to her. However long it takes.
Clarke keeps up the soothing passes of her hands as Lexa struggles to swallow through the swell of her emotions. She holds her girlfriend just like that until Lexa is ready to speak.
Eyes still closed but chest now falling in more even rises and falls, Lexa whispers, “I've never had anyone love me like you do.”
Clarke's heart shatters all over again.
“Oh, Lex—”
“I just need you to know that nothing is ever going to stop me from loving you. And I'm going to do everything I can to deserve you, okay? I promise.”
Every break in Lexa's voice sends another ache through Clarke's heart; a marrow deep sort of pain reminiscent of prodding at a bruise. Because Clarke understands that Lexa doesn't always know what to do with herself when feeling so overwhelmed with emotion. A person so good at showing kindness, always caring and thoughtful in big and small ways… but receiving the same? Accepting love without caveats?
Fighting these demons will always be an uphill battle for her love, Clarke knows.
She's looking forward to being by her side through all of it.
Clarke sighs and lifts away enough to look into the big, teary eyes of her ridiculously pretty girlfriend.
“Lexa,” she says as gently as she can while still flattening her lips into a thin line that reads ‘all business'. “There is no ‘deserving’ someone loving you.”
It nearly breaks Clarke to see the way Lexa's eyes flicker down; the way her jaw ticks as though she's biting back a well thought out argument to that fact.
Clarke cuts off whatever those thoughts are with a quiet, “Hey,” as she takes Lexa’s hand from her waist and presses it to the flat of her chest. “This?” she says, forcing Lexa to feel the steady thump of her heartbeat. “This is for you. This will always be for you. And the only thing you have to do to earn it or deserve it or—or whatever it is you think… is to just be here. Just existing is good enough for me.”
Bringing her arms up to hang over the mostly-bare expanse of Lexa's shoulders, Clarke leans down just enough to catch Lexa's eyes.
“Well, that and grilled cheeses,” Clarke adds, biting her lip with a sultry flutter of her lashes at the reminder of that particular memory.
Lexa agrees with a shaky smile even as her ears flush an adorable shade of red. “Can't forget those. As many as you want.”
Unable (and unwilling) to stop herself, Clarke tips forward and presses a sweet kiss to Lexa's lips. “You and me and grilled cheeses forever, baby.”
Those big doe-eyes stare at Clarke like she holds every last secret of the universe.
“I promise not to be this dramatic when we take our kids trick-or-treating for the first time,” Lexa says with a wet laugh.
And oh good Christ in Hell, this girl has no idea what she does to Clarke. A natural born heartbreaker, Clarke thinks, swooning at the way Lexa says it so casually. So mindlessly. As though it's already a foregone conclusion for her, too.
Needing to see this pretty girl in her arms smile before the entire world collapses in on itself from the weight of her sad, puppy eyes, Clarke snorts lazily, “Don't worry, I will.”
“What?”
“Cry. Oh I'm gonna cry like an absolute idiot the first time we take our kids trick-or-treating,” Clarke says, feeling her skin warm pleasantly at just saying the words herself. “Seriously. Like I'm going to embarrass them. Probably you as well. It'll be a scene.”
Lexa shakes her head with another soggy sounding laugh. "Clarke—”
“No, I'm telling you it's going to be gross, baby. Makeup running. Definitely snot. A lot of it. You're going to really regret all your life choices in that moment.”
Visibly pulling herself together, Lexa swipes away the tear tracks that line her cheek and shoots Clarke a knowing look. “I won't, but just to clarify, are you planning on bribing all of our neighbors to give our children candy too, or…?”
Clarke gives a completely convincing exaggerated scoff. And waves her hand in dismissal. And looks steadfastly forward, right over Lexa's shoulder.
“What? I don't even—I don't know what you're even talking about? I've never seen any of these people before in my life,” she says in a way that would undoubtedly be convincing to someone who is very, very stupid.
Unfortunately for Clarke in this particular moment, her girlfriend is not.
Without waiting for a reply, Clarke shouts a resounding, “Candy time!” as she grabs Lexa's hand and takes off across the street in search of more sweets… ignoring the bounce of the cock between her legs every step of the way.
Never again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whether it's the sugar rush at play or simply the effects of the costume, Clarke really can't be sure. But what she does know with every ounce of her soul is that… they're definitely getting another noise complaint.
Probably a fine, too.
And not one single part of Clarke can make herself care.
Not when Lexa had practically tackled her the moment the door to her room had shut behind them, candy bags ripped away and spilled across the floor to be replaced with eager hands and lips. Lips that had kissed Clarke backward until they'd both tumbled onto the bed, and hands that pawed at her bound chest until a joint effort was made to free her.
The struggle had been worth it, Clarke reckons with a grin, if Lexa's glassy-eyed focus on every bounce of Clarke's tits is anything to go by.
Clarke tightens her grip on Lexa's thighs straddling her. She squeezes with every forward rock, spurring on the punishing rhythm as Lexa fucks herself in short, hard snaps of her hips.
“Fuck, baby, just like that,” Clarke sighs, bowing her back just to bring her chest closer to her girlfriend's mouth.
The call and response feels pavlovian when Lexa dips her head down to wrap her lips around the stiff peak of Clarke's nipple, the vibrations of her moans traveling through Clarke's body like a shockwave. She clenches hard around nothing. Jealously picturing how filled Lexa must feel right now as she lifts the tattered ends of her girlfriend's loincloth to see how good she looks wrapped so tight around the toy strapped to Clarke's hips.
“You're so soft, baby. So soft and wet. I love being inside you,” she breathes.
Lexa moans out another filthy sound and plants her hands on Clarke's ribs, using the leverage to fuck even harder while grinding the reddened tip of her clit against the harness. Her panting builds with every thump of the headboard against the wall, her eyes never straying from the effects of her rhythm playing in the sway of Clarke's tits.
Three booming knocks from next door only seem to egg Lexa on more.
As Lexa slams her fist against the wall and comes with a feral groan, Clarke knows in that moment that every costume she ever wears… will absolutely have a dick.
Her eyes scan the room and take in the luxury of beauty before her. Their faces are all different, and yet unnervingly the same in just gorgeous they are. Striking. Chiseled jawlines sculpted around attractively pinked lips and eyes that glow like moonlight. A sea of finely coiffed hair and skin as smooth as silk, the air rich with expensive smelling colognes and perfume.
Nothing of the sallow look of death or red-tinted stares that Hollywood and her imagination had insisted upon in the days leading up to this night.
Clarke finds herself watching them, her focus sliding between those already paired up among the room. How they speak, how they lick their lips, smiles polite and closed around the edge of their teeth. How they laugh from their chests and lean closer. Always closer. How they brush her lips against ears and whisper things Clarke can only imagine, seeming to revel in the bursts of pink across such fragile human cheeks. How their fingers trace skin with a kind of intimacy that looks intoxicating; as if their whole world is centered on their companion.
It's in her scrutiny of the nuances of all these interactions that Clarke sees her. An angelic face with ghostly greenish-grey eyes already watching her from across the room.
WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN? IN THUNDER, LIGHTNING OR IN RAIN?
Macbeth (1948) dir. Orson Welles
The Witches of Eastwick (1987) dir. George Miller
Stardust (2007) dir. Matthew Vaughn
The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (2018 - 2020)
The Pale Horse (2020) dir. Leonora Lonsdale
Hercules (1997) dir. John Musker, Ron Clements
Sleeping Beauty (1959) dir. Clyde Geronimi
The Black Cauldron (1985) dir. Richard Rich, Ted Berman
Sabrina the Teenage Witch (1996 - 2003)
Halloweentown (1998) dir. Duwayne Dunham
A Wrinkle in Time (2018) dir. Ava DuVernay
The Craft (1996) dir. Andrew Fleming
Charmed (1998 - 2006)
Hocus Pocus (1993) dir. Kenny Ortega
"We're nearing the forest," Lexa says uselessly, knowing Clarke's entirely aware of where they are. "This is what I wanted to show you."
She takes a deep breath and steadies her resolve against Clarke's flinch when Lexa places a hand on her arm.
"If you're willing to go just a little bit further," she says, voice quiet. Soothing. Raw.
Clarke doesn't pull away, but equally doesn't soften an inch. "What is it? Why are you taking me to the forest?"
The naked distrust in the question stings against already poorly healing wounds.
"I realized that I—that I've been unfair to you. Unfair in how I let you live here. I realized that there were things I could've done, and I didn't. Things to make this place more comfortable for you, and I wanted to change that. So that you can… You can feel as though you're not relying on me to be here. Should you not want to."
Silence blankets the threshold of the dense entrance of the forest, only the occasional far off chirp and balk of birds overhead breaking the air between them as Lexa waits for an answer; a symbolic olive branch in return for her peaceful sprig of laurel.
Clarke's eyes dart back and forth, as though willing herself to see any traps that lay hidden. "So… What did you do then?"
The release of the breath Lexa had been holding comes in a rush and an unbidden smile. "Right. Well. If you'll just take your cane, and sweep outward, you'll see for yourself."
I'm like the sneaky snakes, I love these two idiots so much. ❤️😭
The path, the forest, the cliff, the kith, the hugs, the touchy touches, if those useless Gods are not going to do something beautiful for these two lost and precious souls...
In another life, she would have been a woman of the trees. A vine dweller, a swinger of branches, a mercifully less complicated existence life spent drifting through a sea of leaves. A soul born of the wild, not a baby wrapped in rags left to perish beside a well, but rather a life sprung from the loving breast of Gaia herself, painted in shades of clear crystalline skies and flutters of opulent, earthen greens.
She'd have leapt and bound with the deer. Perched on high hanging spindles alongside the watchful eye of the owl. Soared past the treetops to brush feathers with the circling hawk.
In another life, she would have let the clever spirits of the forest carry her soul higher than the cosmos; beyond a world the wings of Icarus ever dreamed of…
In this life, Lexa stares up at the canopy of leaves that blot out any hint of stars, and wonders how the feeling of solitude had become so foreign when once it was all she yearned for.
Do you have or care to share any thoughts on the way Canon Clarke's body might change with her time on earth? Growing stronger physically, eating better or worse than in the ark? The way Lexa reacts to those changes 👀
You talked once about how Medusa!Lexa's body changes throughout the year depending on the season and how Clarke will notice it, I would love to know if you have any thoughts like that for canon clexa :D
Ya know this might be a point of contention, but I actually don't think Clarke would ever like... bulk up. Or become much leaner than she ever was. Just cuz I mean, Clarke is so not doing drills 🥴 she is not going to do training. She is so not taking on a "warrior's lifestyle" by any stretch of the imagination. Like I genuinely think if ever faced with any offer for something like that, her reaction would just be pure
So I don't particularly see her ever changing a whole lot except for the natural progression of age. She came to earth with the dream of being able to exist and start a new life, and while the ground has consistently thrown her nothing but bullshit and violent curveballs, I think in the times of peace and general non-chaos, she'd enjoy life and what the ground has to offer. I believe that she'd step foward in the sort of vaccum of power left after Pike's fall and push to broker more peaceful relations. And as those relations between the newly aligned Skaikru and the rest of the kongeda evolved, she'd make it a point to brazenly and publicly indulge and appreciate what the differing clans have to offer.
So really what I think canon Lexa would appreciate the most is the evolution of Clarke as a worldly person. What I think she herself would indulge (with a rigidly straight face) is Clarke's little moans as she tries a particularly sweet treat from one clan, and then have to bite her lip to keep from laughing while Clarke's eyes water as she chokes down a rather strong tasting offering from another. I think she'd enjoy hearing Clarke's Trig evolve. The nuances of her accent and watching the way her mouth curls around every new word.
Mostly I think she'd fall in love again and again watching Clarke grow into herself as a person on the ground. Clarke kom Skaikru, kom Polis, kom Earth. The ever-changing evolution of her complicated identity. Settling into her role among the clans. Her position of power. Embracing her strength and forgiving herself for her weaknesses in a way that only becomes easier with age.
I will say physically tho, I absolutely do see Lexa repeatedly becoming Feral as Clarke ages. That noodle armed little nerd would continually lose her collective shit every time shw stops to just Notice her lover 👀. Like Clarke's hair growing lighter and lighter with each passing summer until one day she realizes she's been sleeping next to a bonafide silver vixen for awhile now 🫦.
One day having her breath taken away when Clarke really truly smiles one of her big bright smiles, and all at once she sees the effect of her laugh lines. The striking lines that crinkle out from her eyes.
An afternoon spent reading in silence as Clarke draws; one hand holding her book, the other tangled with Clarke's own. Feeling how soft and delicate the skin on the back of her hand has gotten compared to the first time she held it so many years ago.
Clarke tsking barely an inch from her face as she cleans a cut sliced right through Lexa's eyebrow. Lexa barely even hearing her chiding, "Well. This is gonna leave a scar. Good job," because the sting from the ointment made her hands instinctively squeeze and, oh... oh... Clarke's hips feel fuller under her palms than she remembers... mmmmmmm...
The rest of her meetings get cancelled that day.
So I guess that's my answer. I see Lexa more reacting to the novelty and excitement of getting to grow older with Clarke, and experiencing all these different eras of her lover.
Missing your Cruel Intentions clexa something fierce. Especially after you broke down how you come up with your stories which I still can’t believe someone so brilliant can also be lowkey/highkey 👀 (you write on the phone?!!!! are you ok?! we’re gonna get you some help!!) Anyways, I was thinking about the scene in the film with I Am Ready playing in the background as she comes up the escalator and how iconic it was, is there a similar scene (emotional, plot etc) that you visualize that isn’t part of the finished story?
The first time they truly make love to each other after Clarke finally says I love you.
And it's very different from the first time they have sex necause remember as Clarke says in an earlier chapter: with them, fucking and making love are two very different things.
Sometimes they can and do overlap, sure, but the feelings and energy behind it are entirely different. And without pause (but definitely with dreamy yet petulant sigh) Clarke would chalk that all up to Lexa.
Lexa somehow makes it different, and Clarke can always feel it.
Their first time having sex is all about... the novelty of it, you could say. It's like a release valve on a pressure cooker being let loose and they just get swept away with it.
Their first time making love to each other is a different experience entirely.
Because where before it almost felt like this race to the finish line of finally finally finally getting to act on these very intense emotions and attractions that had been building and building for weeks, months, years... this felt more like getting to exhale after holding her breath for entirely too long.
Nothing about it feels like a race. No heady thrill of danger or excitement, and yet Clarke's heart beats all the faster for it.
Because Lexa is so calm. She is so calm as she watches Clarke from across the room the entire night through the crowd of people. She is so calm in the way her brilliant eyes blink slow and steady at Clarke, as if she knows something about Clarke that no one else does. Something good. Something worth saving. Something meant to be protective over.
And Lexa is so soothingly calm when Clarke finally slips away to find her in her room; already half out of her evening attire and looking as though she never had a doubt that Clarke would follow her.
As if she'll always be willing to wait for Clarke to catch up.
It's the way she undresses her. Touching Clarke like she's both the strongest and most sure thing in her life, and yet somehow so precious she just might break...
It's the way Lexa doesn't rush a single kiss, but also makes every kiss feel like it goes on for hours. No desperation in her lips, just this flow of grounding energy that tastes like she knows she wants to keep kissing Clarke forever.
It's the sweat of their bodies as they press close in the tangle of Lexa's sheets. Fingers constantly roaming; caressing cheeks, massaging breasts. slipping against the divots of sensitive ribs. Rounding over hips. Palming at thighs. Brushing away damp hair from foreheads before kissing her again; hot and wet and panting just to never relinquish each other's mouth.
It's even more the way she stops every once in awhile just to look at Clarke without a word. Nothing in the world making sense in those infinite moments but Lexa's beautiful eyes looking down at her so heartbreakingly gentle.
Like she could never be anything other than magical.
But then she kisses Clarke again. Across her chest. Her belly. Laps at the insatiable want pooling between her thighs. And it all keeps building in this new, terrifying way, because Clarke's never had someone kiss her so deeply. Own her so irrevocably. Experienced something this raw and unravelingly passionate at the offering of someone fingertips; a tongue that seems to enjoy the taste of her more than anything.
And while something in her chest knows this is what being loved beyond reason must feel like... it takes her entirely too long to be able to truly comprehend why it feels so different when Lexa fucks her so resolutely. Why every flex of her bicep and the power of her hips behind the thrust of her fingers feels so possessive. Why her neverending kisses, and the humid mix of their sweat, feels as if Lexa is giving just as many pieces of herself to Clarke for safe keeping.
Caravaggio Chapter 3 - Hit it from the Back (just so you don’t get attached)
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“Before we begin,” Lexa says lowly, her eyes focused on Clarke’s mouth, “I require your verbal consent.”
Clarke nods absently. There’s a small strip of skin between Lexa’s sweats waistband and her plain cotton T-shirt. It’s tantalizing, but that’s nothing compared to the fact that Lexa’s nipples can be seen through the shirt. She’s not wearing a bra. Clarke’s throat works around a swallow, her mouth dry, pulse kicking up so fast it’s hard to even breathe.
“You did mark your acknowledgement in the contract,” Lexa continues; the way she speaks is practiced and automatic, like a script she’s rehearsed a million times, and Clarke’s sure it is. But the way Lexa’s voice seems to shake around the words…that’s not rehearsed. Nor is the way Lexa’s hand lifts, long fingers shifting over the door handle, grazing over Clarke’s and drawing a shiver from her; the touch is electric. “But verbal approbation is required as well. Do I have your consent?”
“Fuck yes,” Clarke breathes without missing a beat.
She barely notices the way Lexa’s drags her eyes down her body, too focused on watching those full lips curl up on one corner, tipping into the ghost of a smirk that has Clarke’s stomach clenching as she distinctly recalls the press of that smirk between her legs.
She’s never been more certain spontaneous combustion is a thing. Also never more certain it’s a real possibility for her.
Especially when Lexa steps closer. Clarke takes a sharp intake of breath. Lexa’s eyes flit to her parted lips before shifting, glancing somewhere over Clarke’s shoulder in the direction of her darkened hallway. “No boyfriend?”
Clarke narrows her eyes, because she’s pretty confident Lexa is fully aware they’re alone here. She’d told her last time that she and Finn were done, plus she’d made no mention of another person when she booked the appointment.
Lexa’s lips curve higher, a challenge in the quirk of her eyebrow, like she just wants to hear Clarke say it.
Clarke tips her head up, eyes deliberately locked on Lexa’s mouth with a challenge of her own. “Just me.”
“And you live alone?” Lexa asks the question nonchalantly, at complete odds with the way she drops her car keys to the floor, and shifts her body so she can close the door behind her. It casts them both in shadow, the only light leaking in from the living room a little ways down the hallway.
Clarke hasn’t had a roommate since she was in her twenties, and only one person has her spare key. Raven's working tonight, so there’s zero chance of any interruptions.
Clarke shakes her head, unable to speak, too busy staring at Lexa’s lips. There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air, thick and heavy. It has Clarke’s hands trembling, has her clenching them into fists at her side just to still them.
Lexa notices the movement, glancing down. She tilts her head as her gaze flicks back up to study Clarke’s face.
Clarke takes a deep, steadying breath that doesn’t quite fill her lungs. “Lexa,” she begins slowly, the warning in her tone not quite landing the way she wanted, considering her voice is strained.
The twinkle in Lexa’s eyes shifts to hunger, and that maddeningly calm curve of her mouth fades, lips parting as her gaze drifts down to linger on Clarke’s mouth. Clarke’s pulse spikes as Lexa leans in, and she barely registers that she has Lexa’s shirt in her fist, tugging her forward. She exhales roughly as warm hands cup her face, thumbs sweeping over her cheekbones. Her lashes flutter, eyes crossing in order to watch until the last second as Lexa draws near, the tip of her nose grazing across Clarke’s own. Her lips tingle expectantly, but when a second passes and there’s still no pressure, she blinks dazedly and finds Lexa watching her, eyes dark jade in the low light.
Clarke’s breath hitches as their eye contact holds for a beat, the humid air between them volatile and sparking.
Lexa’s lips brush against her own as she murmurs, “May I kiss you?”
Clarke's hands clutch at Lexa’s waist with a desperation she can’t hide. “You know you don’t need to ask.”
It’s hot, that Lexa still takes the time to make sure she has consent, despite the fact that Clarke is weak-kneed and trembling before her.
Really hot, and really unnecessary.
Clarke doesn't wait for a follow-up. On another day she might have a line in her back-pocket, something to make Lexa’s brows rise. Today, all she knows is this magnetic pull between them, the way her breath falters as their lips brush together once, twice, before pressing firm.
Preview of the Vampire Bordello fic for Clextober because I'm: Impatient😌
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The soft velvet of the rope tightens around her suspended wrists as she teeters and tugs, offering little in the way of any illusion of safety, and nothing to her balance. Instead strong hands grip her hips and hold her steady. Press in with possessive intent and yank her flush against the cool length of Lexa's chest.
Clarke's gaze falls to the haunting glow of Lexa's eyes watching her. Staring up at her from her knees, as though a predator paying its penance in exchange for Clarke's offering.
Blunted nails scratch along Clarke's skin and send a shiver through her body.
“Shh,” Lexa coos in little more than a perse of lips. “I've got you.”
Those same lips move to the sensitive skin of her inner knee, mouthing along the softer, fleshy swell of her thigh in slow, suckling kisses. Clarke gasps at the sudden scrape of fangs that follows. Whines at the sight of Lexa running her the razor sharp tips over such delicate skin with a breathy growl.
Lexa dips forward and noses at the wiry patch of darken curls, inhaling deeply and letting the coolness of her exhale wash over the heated skin of Clarke's slit. She traces the tip of her tongue along Clarke's cunt, so teasing and delicate, Clarke finds herself canting her hips to chase the touch. To feel more. A pathetic sounding whimper escapes her throat when Lexa smears the arousal slickened tongue across Clarke's thigh.
Bright, translucent eyes jump to Clarke's own, predatory and devastatingly beautiful in the dim light of the room. Plump lips hang loose in a show of fangs, lethal and tantalizing, as Lexa watches her, seeming to wait for something.
Clarke bites her lip and nods.
The air explodes in deeper rolling growl as Lexa grins, baring the glint of her bite even more. Her hands caress Clarke's thigh and hold her in their grip; infinitely gentle in her touch, even as she sinks her fangs into the skin of her thigh.
Clarke's head flings back at the flash pain that erupts in white hot pulses of goosebumps. She clenches around nothing, hands curling into fists with the desire to bury themselves into thick locks of brunette as pillowed lips wrap around the bite and begin to suck.
Another moan rumbles from Lexa's mouth and out through her fangs sunk into the flesh of Clarke's thigh. It makes Clarke drip at the wanton sound, hips jerking forward in search of relief as she digs her heel into Lexa's back at the tongue gently lapping at her skin, knowing she's tasting the notes of Clarke's arousal and blood all at once.
“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke breathes, moaning as well when strong hands slide to her ass and pull her closer; deeper under her control until the pain dulls to a pleasant throbbing that echoes the need between her thighs.
I kinda like the idea of them having this little bubble. The cabin is Heda's property but Clarke had no idea when she stumbled on to it and after three years she was sure it was abandoned.
So when she hears the door opening, she is ready to attack, only to be greeted by a startled and very confused Lexa.
And Lexa wants to respect Clarke's wishes and go back, leave the cabin to her but she needs to sleep first. And when a snowfall comes down that night that all but precents them for leaving the cabin they are forced to spend their time there together.
That means they are forced to talk. Or at least Lexa is. She apologizes for Mt weather, tells Clarke she believed her dead, she mourned her. Clarke tries to remain quiet but its Clarke and of course after some accusations thrown, she closes herself off again.
Lexa is sleeping on the couch but it is cold and the only night clothes she has in this cabin are light and breezy, made to be worn underneath the millions of furs on the bed. And Clarke can no longer stand to see her shivering so she, very roughly, grabs Lexa in her arms and brings her to bed, throwing the covers over her and turning her back.
It goes slowly as they barely speak during the day, finding activities to entertain themselves, sometimes playing cards together and making almost no sound other than to accuse the other of cheating or being a sore loser.
And quickly, the nights turn into the only time they let their affection show. Between rough sex and soft love making, they pretend none of it happens when its light out.
The snow melts but Lexa does not leave, enjoying what's supposed to be a two month solitary stay to lead the best she can.
That's when Lexa notices she did not bleed. And how sick she feels.
She can't be sure really, but she knows. An old book of medicine tells her to go and collect and assortment of herbs to cause the fetus to disappear.
Clarke knows medicine. Earth skills combined with her medicine knowledge helps her put two and two together when she sees the herbs.
Lexa is sitting outside, the tea hot and untouched. After a while of not hearing or seeing her Clarke goes to look for her and finds her on a chair, spaced out, tea on the table, a slow tears escaping her eye.
She asks her not to do it. Or to at least speak to her about it. Lexa chuckles darkly and asks her what else does she want her to do. She's the commander, she cannot carry a child. As Clarke heard about the state of the coalition?
Still, Clarke insist and Lexa humors her. Clarke knows there is not much to talk about, that Lexa will still go through with it. But for a night, they can pretend. That it will be alright if they raise this baby together, perhaps right here in this small cabin. That Clarke forgives her fully for everything. That Lexa is free to leave the title of commander behind.
They make love anf share a quiet 'I love you'. The next morning Clarke awakes with Lexa at the kitchen table, the tea cup half empty.
She is there with Lexa through the whole process, holds her as she cries in the tub, cries just the same when they bury a box filled with nothing.
And then Lexa leaves.
It is a year before Clarke shows up in the throne room, kneeling down without hesitation in front of Heda. Ready to fight with her.
Are there any deleted scenes from your demon Lexa story that didn’t make the final cut?
I always wanted some kind of scene of them coming into work after officially being together. Clarke being able to see just how pleased Lexa is with herself but trying, and failing, to be at least somewhat lowkey about it. Because while Lexa isn't shy about literally anything by any stretch of the imagination, she knows Clarke can be... skittish. Like the feral cat who you feed and who rubs against your legs, but runs when you try to pet it.
So it's kind of adorable when Lexa oh so casually slips her hand into Clarke's right before the elevator doors slide open, interlocking their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze as if to tell Clarke it's ok.
Or maybe just to ensure she doesn't actually run away...
But of course Clarke wouldn't because she's past all that by then. She much prefers the lopsided grin on her girlfriend's face, topped with the light dusting of red along ridiculously tiny ears. So fucking smug. So visibly happy when they reach Lexa's door and instead of pulling away, Lexa tugs Clarke's hand so she lazily swings around in a loop, until she's pressed quite pleasantly against Lexa's chest.
And then it's all quiet, 'Have a good day's and 'call me when you take lunch's. Lexa being exceedingly unprofessional as always in how she rests her forehead to Clarke and drops 1, 2, 3, 4 kisses on her lips in between their meandering goodbyes.
It's all disgustingly sweet and not at all appropriate for the office, which would be exactly what Raven says from her front row seat at her desk, along an exasperated, "So are you guys just gonna do it right here?"
Lexa's goodhearted, "Haha. You're fired," really only earns her a deeply unimpressed look, one that is punctuated with a roll of Raven's eyes when she looks to the other PDA culprit and confirms by Clarke's head shake that no, no she is not.
~~~~
I also wanted there to be a scene of freshly woken Lexa shuffling around her house topless in just undies with her wings out, hair all adorably fucked up from sleep and sex as she forages the fridge for something to eat, but it just fit nowhere 😔
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
romaincrisis
titsay
kaledo-art
areudirty
