TW: So many for this one, y'all - check the A/N at the start of the chapter
Rating: E
Having a relationship between two elite assassins is pretty complicated - even when that relationship is strictly friends with benefits.
“I’m not trying. To be your guard dog.” Lexa pinches the bridge of her nose again. “I know. You’re capable. I was just. Trying. To help.”
“Well stop!” Clarke gets to her feet so suddenly, Lexa nearly takes a step back. “Stop helping. I am more than capable, and I don’t need your help. More to the point, I don’t want it.”
“Well what the fuck do you want?!” Lexa can’t help it; without her consent, her voice pitches up into a frustrated shout. “You don't want a guard dog, but you yank me around on a goddamn leash well enough. What do you want me to do next time? Stand there, waiting, hoping your dose of whatever-the-fuck works? Want me to wait until you're on the ground, unconscious, to step in?”
“What I want,” Clarke puts her glass down on the edge of the pool table, “is a good time. I want your attention,” fingers curl around the edges of Lexa’s tie, “and your desire. I want your body. I want you,” she grins at Lexa, at herself, as the words leave her mouth, “to want me.”
Lexa swallows thickly, instantly mesmerized by blue eyes—when a sudden tug at her throat pulls her bodily off balance. She grunts as Clarke yanks her forward, pivots on her toes, and drags Lexa with her, switching their places and then shoving Lexa roughly down into the chair behind them.
The scotch in her glass has once again sloshed onto her hand and likely onto her pants, but there is no corner of Lexa’s brain with the capacity to care. Her heart leaps into her throat as Clarke lifts one heeled foot up to rest between Lexa’s thighs and leans forward, pulling at Lexa’s tie as she does, effectively pinning her between the chair’s back cushion and Clarke herself.
“This is a game,” Clarke says, her voice barely above a whisper. Molten blue bores into Lexa’s irises, daring her to look away. “Either you play it with me, or you don’t. And if you want to play, what I want is for you to shut up and look pretty.”
Her tie knot digs into her throat when she swallows.
“Get it?” Clarke breathes.
”Is It Over Now?” -Air bnb scene preview (Clexa celebrity AU)
Giving tumblr a little blurbo that bloomed on its own while driving yesterday, an hour+ highway drive and my Taylor Swift playlist found me listening to some of her older songs and one that I honestly haven’t heard in years hit me so hard bc I had been looking for the perfect nostalgic-type country song for Lexa to be dancing to while she’s cooking when Clarke walks in at the address that was sent at the end of my last chapter.
(Clarke’s POV chapters will start off going back through the earlier parts of summer before picking up at where Lexa’s POV left off, with the address that was sent... but given my current real-life emotional struggle I honestly don’t know when I will have it in me to jump back into writing because it is truly painful to step into either of their shoes with what I’m currently going through.)
This scene though was only vaguely imagined/loosely planned, however listening to this song caused the whole thing to form and play out fully and perfectly in my mind so much so that my eyes were LEAKING while driving at the soft, simple domesticity and sillyness of the moment between these girls (seeing as thing were starting to get a bit snippy and tense the deeper they got into summer), and I think I’ve been clinging to this specific scene, this specific moment nonstop since my drive yesterday just trying to keep my head above water emotionally, so today I threw together a quick little visual for it as well (basically so I can just keep re-watching it for my own mental health I think)
🚨 Basically, Lexa has sent Clarke the address to an air bnb, an attempt to step into a different kind of bubble (a more domestic one🥹) ….a bubble away from any and all associations either of their homes carry to all the ghosts and memories of hurt and pain of their past… (and other people)…
Lexa’s got music blasting, so she doesn’t hear Clarke come in. Clarke watches Lexa swaying and bouncing while singing along to “I want Crazy” by Hunter Hayes
- and just by the choice of music, this old-school country already has Clarke feeling nostalgic, reminded of those early months when they first started dating.
Lexa had fallen away from her country roots after their first year or so of dating, but even moreso than that, she hasn’t heard Lexa SING in years.
"No I don't want good and I don't want good enough
I want can't sleep, can't breath without your love.
Front porch and one more kiss
it doesn't make sense to anybody else..."
Even though she’s doing so in an overly theatrical tone moreso than her true singing voice, warmth blooms in Clarke’s chest watching silently from the door at the way the brunette’s whole body moves in such a loose and carefree way to the bouncy country beat - the quick plucky timbre of the banjo, the upbeat drums, and the rising and falling clash of the crash cymbals.
"Who cares if you're all I think about
I've searched the world and I know now
It ain't right if you ain't lost your miiiiiind....
Yeah I don't want eaaaasy, I want craaaaaazyyyy..."
The small air bnb itself was reminiscent of Lexa’s childhood home a little bit, at least the way it felt in Clarke's memory, from back when she first started going over to the house on Cornelia Street almost a decade ago - with its modest, homey feel and slightly outdated furniture and decor.
Lexa herself seemed lighter, completely relaxed and unburdened the way she sautées whatever was sizzling and smelling of garlic as if she did this every single night of her life. She did used to cook often for Clarke, until it became too easy to get a last-minute reservation anywhere they wanted with just a quick text or phone call. That and the habit of grabbing take-out from their handful of favorite spots was always quicker, and easier after Lexa’s long work days.
The actress' body stills for only a moment when the music ends, until the next song comes on, even MORE upbeat than the last.
It's a song by one of both Lexa and Clarke's all-time favorite artists, the kind of song that you know so well that you could go years without listening to it and still remember every single word.
[[song is 'Holy Ground' - but Taylor Swift is the only celebrity that does NOT exist in this universe lol]]
Without hesitation Lexa’s leg is tapping along to the punchy beat of the intro, head bopping side to side as she sang the opening lines, wooden spoon still stirring in her hand:
“I was reminiscing just the other day,
while having coffee all alone and lord it took me away,
back to a first glance feeling on New York time,
back when you fit my poems like a perfect rhyme…”
Clarke finally pushes off the doorframe into the kitchen, jumping in at the next line,
“Took off faster than a green light go
yeah you skip the conversation when you already know”
Once Lexa hears her voice and turns, her eyes are bright and her smile wide as she greets Clarke by pulling her in close to bounce along with her, twirling her as they both sing along together, smiling.
“I left a note on the door with a joke we’d made,
and that was the first daaaaay…”
Lexa tugs Clarke even closer for a kiss, her amped up energy surging through their lips as they swayed, still liplocked to the next lines that slowed down, dragging out in longer, softer notes.
[playing in background]
((“and darling iiiiiit waaaassss gooood,
neeeeverrr loooookiiiinnnn downnn
and riiiight theeereee wheeeere we stooood
was holy ground”))
They break apart and Lexa’s back to bouncing and dancing playfully when the beat picks back up, unable to contain her giggles and the kick drum thumps so strong through the speakers Clarke can feel the vibration in her ribcage.
The blonde laughs sheepishly, feeling a bit awkward at the entirely un-coordinated bouncing they were doing while holding hands.
“You know I don’t dance….” Clarke chuckled over the music.
She was perfectly enjoying watching Lexa, seeing a joy radiating off of her that immediately took her back to their earliest days together, when she was still just the girl who followed her off the bus one day.
But Lexa, starting to get out of breath from so much jumping around, shakes her head without losing the beat and her smile somehow grows impossibly wider.
“So? Dance with me anyway…..”
It was as if no time had passed.
Like they'd never even been apart.
Her grip tightens on Clarke’s hands, as she spins her again as the second verse starts, which Lexa sings by herself as Clarke smiles on with growing endearment:
“Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress,
we had this big wide city all to ourselves,
we block the noise with the sound of ‘I need you’
and for the first time I had something to looooose”
Clarke joins in again, as they bellow into each other's faces with even more vigor at the pitch jump:
"And I guess we fell apaaaart in the usual way,
and the story's got duuuuust on every page.
But sometimes I wonder how you think about it now,
And I see your face in every crowd."
The meaning of the words seems to sober them both just a little, as their smiles falter...
And perhaps it's the overall rush of the moment or a mutual need to stave off any more reminiscence, but no matter, both lean into another hard kiss. as the chorus repeats.
((Neverrr looooookinnngg downnnn....))
The kiss deepens and the girls grip tighter onto each other, barely able to heave breaths in the split seconds at a time their lips part, their hunger for each other now peaked.
((And riiiiight there wheeeerreee we stooood, was holy ground.))
Their hands scramble for skin or hair - whichever they can grasp as they bump into a wall, which seems to break the heat of the moment, at least for Lexa. She chuckles at their frenzied state, opening her eyes to search those pools of crystal blue, searching for the home in them she used to know, and takes Clarke's hand again and tugs her back to the middle of the kitchen to resume dancing again, and the blonde lets herself be spun again as Lexa sings the next lines with a dangerous amount of sincerity:
"Tonight I'm gonna daaaaance
For all that we've been throouuughhh..."
Clarke cuts in for the next line, raising their joined arms up to now spin Lexa around and then back again as she sings:
"But I don't wanna daaaaance, if i'm not dancing wiiiith youuuuu."
They embrace, losing the rhythm a little as they slow down to just swaying back and forth, and Lexa braces Clarke's face in her hands as they sing together, both still softly smiling:
"Tonight I'm gonna daaaance,
Like you were in thiiiiis roooooom..."
But I don't wanna daaaaance
If I'm not dancing wiiiith yoouuuu..."
They're kissing again fervidly as the rest of the song plays, and Clarke maneuvers them towards the room just off the kitchen. It's a tiny bedroom the size of an office, and she pushes Lexa onto the small bed along the far wall, atop a blue and red plaid quilt blanket.
Climbing on top of her ex, the blonde presses down onto the body beneath her as they work themselves up even more, little moans beginning to slip out between their tongues.
All the tiniest mundane moments that make up a lifetime, all the quiet nights in sweats and messy buns that you won’t ever find on social media or in a magazine….years worth of moments that were just them began playing back in Clarke’s mind. Just them and their unfiltered longing to be in each other’s presence.
Sometimes it hurt how simple it felt, that this was all she ever really needed to feel happy.
Lexa's just begun tugging Clarke's white shirt up when the music comes to an end, and in the few seconds of silence between songs, the sharp beeping of the smoke detector begins blaring.
"Ohmygod, dinner!" Lexa laughs, having completely forgotten she was cooking when Clarke arrived.
_________________________________
**(Any of this is subject to change whenever I finally get to this scene in the actual story...somewhere in the middle/second half of Clarke's cruel summer chapters))
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Jumping in on the CI appreciation. The dynamic is just so fun and deceptively beautiful as messed up as they are. You are a great writer and have a unique way of captivating a reader. Kudos and much success however you choose to pursue your talent! Speaking of… have you written or plan on writing that blowout fight scene (post hospital release) where Lexa draws the proverbial line so to say?
CI fight 😈
///////////////////////
This is the stupidest you've ever felt in your life.
Which is saying a lot, considering the sheer amount of reckless and dumb shit you have done.
But this absolutely takes the cake you decide as your hired nurse wheels you into your lounge room, the sheets already turned back on your couch-turned-makeshift bed and the mountain of your wife's borrowed pillows that are already fluffed to within an inch of their goddamn life.
Your hip kills every time you try to stand on it and your back feels like it'd gone one too many rounds with a baseball bat, and thanks to the four fractured bones in your wrist, you can't even deal with it on your own with the use of a crutch or cane. So instead, you hang on to this fucking stranger and woddle over like a toddler, sweating through all three herculean steps it takes until you can sink down into the godsend that is your new recovery zone.
You wave her off with your good arm once she gets you settled. Tell her you're fine and to stop fucking hovering because you didn't even really need a nurse to move in with you to begin with.
But your wife had insisted and left no room for argument, and well... You're not very good at telling her no when she's upset.
So here the hell you are.
Your grousing is hushed by the sweeter notes of your wife's voice when she comes trailing in behind you with that familiar sharp clicking of her heels.
She apologizes for your lack of manners and tells RN Whats-her-name she can go get settled in the guest room that she'd already showed her - you suppose she must have gotten the grand tour at some point while you were still laid up in the hospital.
Ass out in a gown and perpetually high as a kite.
Not your finest point in life.
Not the lowest either.
At least the drugs made it a good time...
Your temple throbs when your 'guest' excuses herself and snaps the doors shut behind her, making you groan and reach to rub at the bandage taped to the side of your head.
Fingers quicker than yours catch you before you can do any damage.
"Don't," Lexa warns you in a whisper more gently than you had expected, considering she's had to remind you three times already today.
You murmur your sorries and pout because it hurts, but can't help but breathe lighter when she slips into the space between your legs.
Rather than settling in your lap as you'd foolishly hoped for, she perches on the edge of the coffee table instead. She smells so good and her gorgeous face is so serene when she gets comfortable and looks at you dead in the eye.
But then she folds her fingers together and she leans her elbows on her knees, and you already know you're in for some kind of ass chewing.
Fantastic.
She levels you with that 'wife look' she gets. The one that tells you that she means business.
Nobody warned you about that when you'd agreed to this whole 'marriage' thing.
"So," she breathes, only pausing to lick her kissable lips, "Welcome home, Darling."
You snort a laugh through your nose that still hurts where it's swollen but the good drugs kinda help you not care. "Thanks for having me, babe. Nice place you got here," you say in sarcasm-dipped words.
She merely hums and gives you a narrow-eyed grin that feels sexy and distinctly lethal.
"Yes. I've missed you in it. I've missed having you here. With me."
That softens you. Lulls you into a false sense of security.
"I missed you too, baby."
"Good. Then," she says in a quick breath that sounds not unlike ripping off a bandaid. "I wanted you to know that I've taken the liberty of finding a buyer. Well, a few of them, really. All predictably salivating over the collection. But I supposed it'd be appropriate that we talk about the logistics of this before moving forward. I'm open to deferring to your expertise in this field when it came to numbers because, frankly, I'm more than willing to just give the fucking things away. So, we should talk about this."
You smile, because you're an idiot, and you think it's hilarious that she's talking to you like one of her clients. But you also smile because you're a little high off your medicine, and she's really just so pretty, and because not one word of that made any sense.
"What's... 'this'? What're you— Talk about the logistics of what?"
"Selling your cars," she answers with an easy nod, like it absolutely should've been obvious.
The silence that rings through the apartment feels loud in your ears... before you burst out laughing right in her face.
"What?" you choke out and chuckle, because you must've heard that wrong. "What are you talking about?"
"Just what I said, my love." She reaches out boops the tip of your nose with a patronizingly scrunched smile. "You know I don't like repeating myself."
"That's cute, Lexa," you titter and swipe at the hand that's already so far out of reach.
"Oh I'm not kidding, Clarke."
"Okay. And I'm not selling my cars."
"No, actually, you are."
You scoff and use the shoulder that isn't currently trussed up in a sling to push you hair off your neck so you can see her better. Or... something.
Because all you really see is the calm of her smile. Those eyes that are sharp. Hollow. Unyielding. And if you'd looked beyond the swell of anger that suddenly bursts through your chest, you might've seen the whispered-smoke of terror that hid in their depths.
But you do not.
Instead you focus all of your righteous indignation and stubbornness that burns white hot. You give a derisive laugh, and shake your head, and level her with a cold stare of your own.
Making sure she hears your every word, loud and clear.
"No. The fuck. I am not."
It almost feels like victory when her smile falls away.
"Clarke," she says with a deathly click to your name, "I want those deathtraps gone."
"Lexa—"
"I don't care."
"Lexa—"
"Stop saying my name, because whatever comes after it, I promise you, I do not care."
"Well I don't really fucking care either," you spit just to get a rise out of her, "because I'm not doing it, and I don't give shit what you say, Alexandria."
Her jaw ticks to the side as her eyes flash with hellfire.
She hates that name and you know it but right now you just want her to be every bit as angry as you are.
"Okay," she says so quiet you barely hear her over the hammering of your heart as she pushes on her knees to stand up and hovers over you for a moment.
And you think it's a victory because it feels like a victory...
Until it does not.
Because she just nods.
And keeps nodding.
Just this slow up and down of her head, her eyes empty and her face cold, but not in the way that you fell in love with.
This only fills your chest with dread.
So it's a shock when she straddles your hips, planting one knee on each side and sinks down to sit in your lap. Her weight is comforting after your stay in the hospital, if not a little painful in the way it twinges your fucked up leg. But you don't even let yourself flinch because God you've missed this. You've missed her, and her scent, and the way she practically drapes herself over you.
Your good arm wraps around her waist and digs fingertips into the soft dip of her spine, pulling her flush against you. You soak up the flutter of her lashes at the feel of your breasts pressing against hers; the way she fidgets not to grind down like her body's muscle memory is obviously screaming at her to do.
Instead she stares at you through those dark hooded eyes, now so beautifully filled with emotions that make your heart pound out a more pleasant rhythm than before.
"I love you, Clarke," she says. Whispers.
And your breath catches in your chest.
Same as it does each time she says those words, so fleeting and so rare as they are that they pierce straight through the mushiest parts of your heart. Because you know she loves you. You know it in every single thing she does. But there's just... It's just... Nothing will ever rival these moments when she lets them slip out, so unguarded and vulnerable with you.
And really... that should've been a warning.
"And I love you, pretty girl," you whisper right back instead, grinning as she preens under the praise, so lost in her beautiful face you don't even remember there exists a world beyond her.
You watch her throat dip in a thick swallow, her hands smoothing up the length of your neck. She cups your cheeks as her eyes trace every line of your face... as if she were committing this moment to memory.
She shakes her head. Sadly.
"I adore you," she says again, softer still and with more conviction. "Everything. I adore everything about you, Clarke. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. And I'm always going to love you, no matter what."
When she kisses you then, in that moment, it's possibly the softest, purest thing you have ever known. She kisses you like it's the only thing she needs in this world and you hope she knows it's the same for you. Because her lips pillow and give under every caress of your lips, and her tongue slipping against yours feels like the only home you've ever known. It's one kiss among thousands you've shared. But you know you'll think of this one for years to come, and honestly if fighting gets you loving like this then you should really make a mental note to call her by her birth name more often...
She breaks the kiss with a sigh, and a shuddering breath against your lips.
"I love you. So, so much... I just want you to always remember that."
You barely have time to blink out of your haze when she extracts herself from your arms and your lap and your lips, and stands up on shakey legs.
She lets out a deep breath and smooths her hands along the front herself, rigidly primping herself free of any creases you might've left.
Her chin rises in that regal arch as she looks down at you and nods once again.
"I'll have our lawyer draw up the divorce papers in the morning."
Your hand snaps out when she turns to leave and catches her shirt cuff before you even have time to think, gritting your teeth to try and bite back the sudden shock of pain that slices up your arm and explodes through your shoulder.
"Wait, what the fuck did you just say?" you practically yelp.
Her icy glare drops to the hand that holds her, jaw flexing as she watches how bad you tremble.
"Let go of me."
"Uh, no—"
"If you don't," she cuts in, enunciating with lethal precision, "I'll have to rip my arm away, and that will hurt you more, and I don't want that. Now stop acting like a child, and let go of me."
You grit your teeth and fist her cuff harder through the cold sweat of pain. "I guess you'll have to hurt me then, because I'm not letting go until you repeat what the hell you just said."
"You heard me perfectly well, my love."
"No, I don't think I did."
"Then you'll figure it out tomorrow, won't you."
You let out a strangled sound and collapse back on the couch - both from the pain and the sheer terror ripping through you. "Lexa, what is this? What are you playing at? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm not playing at anything, I'm telling you that I'm not doing this with you ever again, Clarke," she says in her crisp business voice. "The hospitals. The sitting at your bedside. The wondering if you're ever going to be able to paint again. Watching you limp around for weeks, just to turn around and do it again. I'm done."
You roll your eyes at her dramatics. "Oh my god, are serious? It was just an accident—"
"One that could've killed you."
"It wasn't even my fault."
"That's not the point," she nearly growls, all fire and fangs. "This is your third accident in four fucking years. I can't keep doing this."
"And what exactly is 'this'?"
"Waiting around to lose you!"
Your ears ring at the volume of her shout.
You swallow as she takes a moment collect herself.
Feel the lump grow in your throat as she mindlessly fiddles with the diamond on her finger.
You know it's a habit that calms her when she's feeling particularly out of control. A tick she picked up and never seemed to kick somewhere around the third year you were married.
"I trusted you," she starts again, sounding calmer. Less shaken, but still frayed at the edges. "I told how I feel about you. I told you I wouldn't— Couldn't... survive without you."
"So your solution is to divorce me now?" you scoff. "Tell me, how does that makes sense?"
"Because I have loved exactly two people in my life, Clarke... And this way? At least I won't have to bury one of them."
It's like a bucket of goddamn ice water has just been upturned over your head.
You can't help but stare at her, dumbfounded.
Because you are... so fucking stupid.
Your heart twists and it pounds and for a split second you wonder if you're having a heart attack, or if maybe this is what they mean when they talk about broken heart syndrome. Because nothing has ever hurt this bad. Nothing has ever devastated you as much this tidal wave of guilt. Nothing has ever scared you; made you feel this kind of shame so deep in your bones.
And when she drops her hands like she's given up and turns toward the door, you almost feel like you're going to throw up with the way your stomach clenches in a fresh wave of terrified dread. You want nothing more than to pop up and run over to her and explain and just fix this, but your hip and your leg and you just—You just...
You did this.
You did all of this.
"Okay," you damn near yell, sounding distinctly like a wounded animal to your own ears.
She pulls to a stop and snaps back around, "Okay, what?"
"I said... okay."
"Okay, what?"
"Okay, I'll fucking get rid of them," you bite right back again, desperate and annoyed and shaking so badly it's making your shoulder ache.
She stares at you, placid and unmoved.
"All of them?"
You grit your jaw and blow a breath out. "All of them... The dangerous ones at least."
She clicks her tongue and starts to turn away when you yell—
"You have to compromise with me here!"
She wheels back around with thunder in her eyes and a snarl already twisting her lips.
You know you have never needed to talk faster in your life.
"The ones that aren't street legal, they're gone, okay? Nothing that is actually dangerous stays. But I'm not getting rid of the ones that are perfectly safe, and, Lexa, I'm not getting rid of my grandfather's car. It's the only thing I have from my fucked up family that means anything to me, and it's mine, and it's not fair of you to even consider making me get rid of it."
"You hate that fucking thing—"
"I don't hate it, I love that car! That car changed my life! That car got me you."
You watch the rage bleed out of her as she slumps at the shoulders.
She runs a hand through the controlled chaos of her hair.
"That car did not get you me, Clarke," she strains out in a sigh, sounding tired and beautifully frail. "We're married because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I fell in love with you. Because I'm in love with you."
It makes your heart squeeze tight all over again.
"Maybe, but you wanted that car before you ever wanted me—"
"That is not true," she cuts you off in a hush of a whisper.
She stares at you with eyes clouded with devastation and hurt, and for the life of you, you don't know how to fix it.
You never seem to know how to...
The air between you feels frozen for a long moment before she seems to make up her mind about something all at once.
She shakes her head as she crosses the room in quick, elegant strides and drops to her knees right in front of you.
"Listen to me," she says, and tenderly - so tenderly - takes your least injured hand and folds it into her own. "There are so many things I regret about my life. But making that bet, and losing it, are not included. Half of the reason I ever even wanted that car to begin with was because of how attracted to you I was whenever I saw you in it."
Your scoff is loud enough to give your concussion addled brain another headache. "You are such a liar, Lexa."
Your belly swoops when she flits that damn eyebrow up in challenge.
"While I appreciate your assessment of my moral virtues," she practically purrs, "on this, darling, you happen to be wrong... All that windswept blonde hair? The way you looked like you owned everyone and everything in those shaders that you'd so carelessly slip down before pulling away?"
You wonder if you even still have those sunglasses as she bites her lip and lets her eyes run the length of you.
You'll have to check the next time you can walk properly.
Maybe have them make a reappearance at your next brunch date.
Just for old time's sake.
The hand holding yours squeezes gently.
"You were so damn cocky. The way you'd throw that thing in park and hop out. You'd just toss your keys at the doorman like you didn't care about anything. I hated it so much," she laughs with a rueful grin that slips into something entirely more fond. "And yet I could never seem to make myself stop staring at you, darling."
Even after all these years of marriage, the thought of younger her having wanted younger you...
You shift at the throb that weakly pulses between your thighs.
"So... You made the bet because... you thought I was sexy in my car?"
"I made the bet because I thought you were entirely too full of yourself," she corrects, "which I still believe. But I wanted the car because I'd envisioned getting fucked in it more times than I could count."
God you love it when she gets vulgar.
She reaches up and brushes a curl away from your forehead.
"It just took me a little while longer to realize that the person I had been imagining fucking me was - annoyingly - very much you."
You know your smile is kind of dopey right now rather than the teasing slope that you're aiming for, but later when you look back on this moment, you'll definitely blame it on the drugs.
"So our marriage is based off you wanting me to top you in my grandfather's car?"
Her faces pulls up in distaste. "No. It's based off the fact that you are—"
She pauses and exhales something from deep in her chest, her eyes closing under the weight of whatever it is she's feeling as she finally trembles out,
"That you are everything to me."
You really really really kind of hate that you're injured in that moment, because when she opens her eyes they glisten with a lovely wet sheen. And you just want nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her in your arms. Because it's where she belongs. It's where she's always been meant to be...
"You're everything to me too, baby," you say because she is and she should know it, and you really need to remember to say it more often. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lexa, I didn't— I didn't mean to..."
She nods when you can't find the words and kisses the bruised ridge of your knuckles.
Rests her forehead there for a moment as though in prayer.
When she looks at you again she's already pulled herself back together.
That's part of why you love her so much.
Always unbreakable.
Except... when it comes to you.
You have no idea what to do with that knowledge, but you know you'd give up anything just to keep it.
And you love her so much that it makes you smile. It makes you smile, because you just want to see her smile at you again. Always.
"Hey," you say, tossing in a lazy wink because you know she hates it. "You totally had a crush on me."
She rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."
"You had a cuh-ruuuuush on me."
"Clarke. I am married to you—"
"Still," you snort. "Loser."
Her sigh of resignation is so weary it fills your heart close to bursting with how much love you have for this woman.
Because she doesn't fight you on that. Just leans her forehead against yours and nods, kissing your lips soft enough to not make the cut on them bleed again. Her nose brushes against yours in a sweet moment of aching tenderness, and when she pulls back to look at you beneath the fall of her lashes, the whole world is once again nothing but her.
"We'll go through each one together," she says somewhere between a question and a statement.
You nod in agreement, just to be safe.
"Anything remotely questionable, goes."
You heave a sigh but dutifully nod again.
"That means anything without the right mirrors, or proper turning signals. Engines that might blow up for no reason. Anything that was recalled decades ago. Anything with brakes that have a habit of failing... Anything that doesn't have fucking seat belts."
As her list grows you mentally tick off a good two-thirds of your collection.
You glance at her lips and remember how they feel against yours first thing in the morning, and simply nod again.
"Fine. But also? You can't just start threatening divorce every time you want me to do something, you know," you murmur still, because while you're compromising here... you really feel the need to remind her that she's not domesticating you or anything.
She doesn't seem remotely affected by your pout when she just shrugs and grins and leans forward.
You feel distinctly like a puppy on a leash when she pecks a placating kiss to your lips.
Summary: On a stormy Halloween night, Clarke Griffin and Alexandria Woods are on the brink of motherhood when a devastating mistake alters their lives forever. Six years later, as terrifying news unfolds, a heartbreaking truth is revealed, setting Clarke and Lexa on a path to put back the pieces they lost along the way and rebuild their lives with renewed hope.
In the years following the Outbreak, the Fireflies have been convening as many medical minds as they can find to develop a treatment. Lexa Woods has been charged to bring one such mind safely across the country: Clarke Griffin, a medical student trained before the world went to hell. Now that they draw near to their destination, some realities have to be reckoned with--in a Clextober edition to this Clextober-inspired AU.
Chapter 6: Firelight
The firelight is low. The mountain is quiet. Lexa maintains her silence, brokering no distraction from Clarke’s listening; she’d offered the CD player in the hopes of giving her something other than her nightmare to focus on, and talking isn’t helping. Sure enough, after long enough with no interruption Clarke moves the foam earphone back over her ear and really settles in to listen. Her shoulders drop, her expression relaxes…
But it’s Lexa who finds herself somewhere else. Because in this stillness, where everyone else is asleep and the decay of their world is out of view, where there is nothing but them and the forest—where there is no one but the stars watching on. Here, in this space, there is nothing to remind her that they aren’t just…at a campfire. That she isn’t younger, that she doesn’t have the baggage she drags behind her, and that there isn’t just a pretty girl sitting with her in the quiet, listening to her music.
And Clarke is so very pretty. Lexa can’t look away from the way her lashes brush her cheeks or the perfect bow pressed into her lip; the shadow of the cleft in her chin, the dull glint of amber drawn from her hair by the fading firelight.
Tomorrow they arrive at UEC. Tomorrow they say their goodbyes, and part ways forever.
Will tomorrow be the first day of a lifetime of kicking herself for never saying anything? For having the chance right here, at her fingertips, and letting it slip away?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Death is not the end.
The rusty creak of a weather vane cut through the quiet over the leaf-strewn grounds.
Staring at the words carved in stone, Clarke traced them in her mind, over and over, as she pulled at a handful of weeds and replaced the old dead flowers with the fresh-cut bouquet she’d bought at the little supermarket on her way to the cemetery.
Death is not the end. Death is not the end. Death is not the end.
“Raven Reyes, you better unlock that deadbolt, or I swear to god-”
“Sack up, Woods,” Raven sangs in response as she pranced away, a sheet of long black hair swinging merrily behind her as she wandered back into the kitchen. Lexa can barely see her as she rounds the corner towards the back of the apartment, but her loud voice and no-nonsense tone somehow carries perfectly under their front door.
“Stop being a big baby and go get your woman! Do you know how many adolescent boys would be creaming their pants to be in your shoes right now?? You’re living out a fucking porno fantasy, Lexa! I will never forgive you if you fumble this!!”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
I have set my fics to be visible for registered users only because of AI scraping. Here is a list of my Clexa fics:
It Starts With a Chip - Complete
Lone survivor Lexa attempts to fix a broken android in the hopes of gaining a companion.
Tags: Android Clarke, dystopian/post-apocalyptic, solarpunk, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst.
Ceasefire - Complete
When Clarke goes to a sex shop in town to find a hideous gag gift for her friend, the last person she wants to bump into is her nemesis Lexa Woods. Things only heat up from there.
Tags: Enemies to lovers, smut, a/b/o dynamics.
the composition of me (through your eyes) - Complete
Music student Lexa meets art student Clarke. Sparks fly, but Lexa's journey to self-acceptance still has a way to go before she's ready to let her guard down.
Tags: Slow burn, fluff and angst, mutual pining, hurt/comfort.
At The Heart of Winter - Complete
Clarke gets captured by the Ice Queen before Roan can take her to Polis.
Tags: Canon divergent, angst + fluff and smut, there was only 1 cave.
Tensile - Complete
Three different flavors of Lexa strapping.
Tags: PWP, smut, genderqueer Lexa.
Hardwired - In progress...
Bodyguard Lexa gets assigned as movie star Clarke Griffin’s personal security detail. The one time they met when she was in college they agreed to steer clear of each other despite sharing a best friend in Raven. Now she’s going to be stuck with the other alpha for weeks while her demanding father breathes down her neck after settings an ultimatum; take over the family company and mate the omega he has selected for her like she was always supposed to before she rebelled, or be disowned.
Tags: Bodyguard AU, alpha/alpha, a/b/o dynamics, enemies to lovers.
***
I also made a Clexa supercut - all Clexa scenes in HD!
The street that matched the address in her phone was slim. An offshoot sat sleepily on the outskirts of towns, stippled with cars sitting under twin rows of shady trees that dotted the entire block.
Sedans sprinkled themselves in among driveways filled with minivans and SUVS; all decked out with bike racks, tags denoting the proud parentage of some middle school kid, and more than a few sprawling stick-figured family trees that would leave anyone wondering if these people had ever heard of birth control.
Every lawn looked manicured with its little picket fences. Every house, a revolving shade of white, eggshell, or beige.
Clarke had to double check her GPS just to make sure the satellite triangulation hadn't somehow directed her to Mayberry circa 1930.
Only one house stood out in such an HOA hellscape.
A shining beacon among the drab suburban nightmare, all ash-toned trimming and rustic finishes that complemented its deep, grey stone facade. It was a single-story lot stretched out from one boundary line to the other, creating an angular pancake sort of a house, squat and rather moody (if a house could even be described as such), topped with a slate roof with dark shutters, and a rough-cut stone chimney stretching skyward on one side.
The sight of it made Clarke smile as she parked under the shade of the house's designated curbside oak.
Lexa had indeed said she couldn't miss the place.
Clarke spared herself a once-over in the reflection of her car's window when she hopped out, taking a second to check the understated allure of her makeup and the exact placement of the deep v-line of her sweater.
A waist-high swinging iron gate decorated in blunted curls and ornate geometrics separated the manicured sidewalk out on the street from a front yard left to breathe and bend at its own will. Clarke made her way through the controlled chaos of the front walk, admiring the twin lilac bushes that flanked either side and drifted her fingers along the purpling of their first Spring bloom. An obnoxiously yellow jeep that Clarke would've never imagined for her tweed-and-tie wearing professor sat parked in the driveway in all its garish glory, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the beige single file suburban backdrop.
A heated swoop flashed through Clarke's belly as she took the two front steps in one go, and she wondered when that delicious aching had replaced the more innocent flutter of butterflies. When just thinking of Lexa had started eliciting such a violent uptick in her heart's rhythm; the mere idea of being near her rocking Clarke with these sudden shots of adrenaline.
She supposed it was probably somewhere between sneaking kisses in the studio's kiln room and exchanging dirty messages while they each, presumably, got themselves off.
Clarke hadn't had the courage to ask if she was the only one…
It really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, not when the door swung open before she could even finish her third knock. Because framed in the picturesque doorway was - possibly, potentially, easily debatably once her brain would start working again - one of the most beautiful women Clarke had ever seen in her thirty-nine years of life.
For anyone interested in my list of completed and in-work stories, see below the cut for the names, summaries, and links! Everything is on my AO3 account here. You can also click on any title name below to go directly to that story.
Current WIP
Sonraun Rein Kiken (A Life Worth Living)
Summary: Lexa and Clarke deserved more time and a happy ending. But in this world, and with the responsibilities these two have, it won't be easy. And more than one event will work to tear them apart. Experience these two learning about one another, falling in love, and taking on the world together.
Canon Fix-It that starts the night after Lexa fights Roan and kills Nia in season 3. There will be romance, angst, attempted humor, unexpected friendships, and maybe a few other surprises.
#sonraun on tumblr
Completed Works
Witch’s Chimney
Collaboration with @mozz14
Summary: Lexa is living a quiet life in the woods away from her past. Clarke and Madi are seeking a new life on the other side of the mountains. Truths will be revealed, lessons learned, and hearts captured, as the Darkness haunting Lexa returns.
#witch’s chimney on tumblr
Imperfectly Perfect Series
#Imperfectly perfect AU - tumblr tag
The Woods Are My Home
Summary: Lexa has spent months planning the perfect weekend camping getaway so she can propose to Clarke at sunset on a cliffside. But, just like her life, the universe seems to have other plans, and Lexa realizes that perfection cannot be planned.
Summary: Lexa has spent months planning the perfect weekend camping getaway so she can propose to Clarke at sunset on a cliffside. But, just
Karma, Friend or Foe
Summary: Lexa and Clarke have been working together for a month and Clarke is confused on how she feels about the newest member of her team. What happens when she accidentally overhears Lexa having a private, loving, conversation.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gracieabrams
