I have a gnarly headache so I made some Clexa Fluff
--
Clarke slips past the crack in the door, light on her feet. Far different than when she first arrived on the ground; stomping through the forest with Anya dragging her behind. She has learned so much in her short time with Lexa. She slows, the sweaty form of her lover laying on the bed breaks her from her thoughts.
One of the many things Clarke has learned since arriving in Polis was that Lexa is stubborn. She clicks her tongue, and rolls her eyes. Clarke told her time and time again to slow down, to breathe, but Lexa never listens. She warned her that she would make herself ill one of these days. Never taking a breath of her own. And now look at her…
Clarke walks towards the curtains and pulls them shut, plunging the room into darkness. Only candle light remains dancing across the walls. She crawls into bed, the furs soft against her skin. She curls herself around Lexa, her skin warm against her lips, her hair damp where it clings to her temple, and says, “I told you this would happen.”
Lexa nuzzles in closer and mumbles against Clarke's chest, “Don’t say it.”
“Then let me take care of you.” Clarke says, tucking a stray hair behind Lexa's ear. A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
“…my head.” Lexa says, with a groan.
“I know, now rest.”
Lexa sighs, sinking further into Clarke's open arms, finally letting herself rest.
“Uh Lex? We might have a problem.” Anya says, pulling her out of her day dream. Lexa groans as she gets up from her desk. The last three hours of her day could not be going any slower, all she wants to do is go home and lock herself in her room with her girlfriend who’s finally coming to visit. Okay, it hasn’t been that long since they’ve seen each other- Lexa was just there for work two weeks ago- but any amount of time spent apart is torture. Hopefully whatever the problem is, it can resolve itself quickly.
“What is it?” She asks, but there’s no need to wait for a verbal answer when she looks over her colleague's shoulder and sees the alert popped up on the screen. Her chest tightens as her heart rate speeds up. This has to be a mistake.
“You ran a background check right?” Anya asks. Lexa ignores her in favor of shoving her out of the way to take over the monitor. Suspect detained. Potential bomb threat. Terrorism. The words swirl around her head as she reads them. But It’s not the words that have ice running through her veins, no in her line of work they’re a common place, but the face attached to them? That’s something she never would have seen coming.
With shaky hands she pulls up the security feed, taking in the small figure hunched over a table, hands cuffed together but still able to clench themselves in disheveled hair. Lexa stares at the image, trying to understand how she missed something this big. It’s only when she sees what the detainee is wearing that she jumps up.
“Oh fuck.” She scrambles to grab her belongings and races up to her boss's office.
_____
Clarke likes flying. Likes seeing the world from a new perspective. Likes people watching while she waits for her flight. Likes the fact that she can cross the country in a matter of hours instead of days. She even likes the overpriced food, it’s all part of the experience.
Correction, Clarke liked flying. It’s going to be a long time before she sets foot in another airport.
It had started off a normal travel day. Arriving three hours early, a habit her mom had ingrained into her, even though she knows she doesn't need half that to get through security and get to her gate with more than enough time to spare.
She even remembered to mail her surprise to her girlfriends to prevent any potential embarrassment that could have come up had it gone through the scanner.
So when she was randomly selected and her hands swabbed, she thought nothing of it. It’s happened a handful of times before and she just waits patiently while they run their test.
When that test came back positive and she was roughly escorted to a small room with no windows and interrogated for the next two hours? All patience and calmness were sucked out of her, replaced by anxiety and confusion. Honestly it’s a good thing she went to the bathroom before queuing up for security otherwise she would be physically shitting herself instead of just mentally.
She has no idea how explosive residue got on her hands or the trace amounts they found on her bag. They keep asking her what the target is, where the bomb is, what it’s made of, if she’s working alone. For the first five minutes she questioned whether their test was faulty or she somehow switched bodies with someone, maybe it was all some sort of sick joke. But the questions kept coming and the people asking them kept getting scarier looking.
The next time the door opens she doesn’t lift her head up from the table. Her tears have long since dried up and her fear has morphed into anger.
“Oh my god Clarke!” Lexa rushes over to girlfriend. Startled eyes take her in as she smooths down blonde locks. “Baby I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Clarke feels borderline delirious after the last few hours, enough to momentarily question whether or not who she’s seeing is real, but quickly shakes it off and allows herself to be lifted from the chair. The cuffs are removed and Lexa wraps an arm around her to guide her out of the hell box.
The scary people hand over all her belongings and don’t try to stop them from leaving. It’s a complete 180 from ten minutes ago when they told her she was facing life in prison.
Clarke doesn’t even realize they’ve left the airport until she’s being buckled into a car.
“Clarke?” Lexa asks, concern evident in her tone.
“What the fuck just happened?” Clarke says in disbelief.
“We need to talk.”
“Oh great, first I’m accused of terrorism and now I’m being dumped fan-fucking-tastic. I swear I don’t even know what you need to make a bomb let alone how to build one. I don’t know how it got on-”
“Clarke.” Lexa cuts her off, “I’m not breaking up with you, you might want to dump me after hearing what I have to say, but I really hope you don’t.”
“What are you talking about?” Clarke asks and oh how Lexa loves the little furrow between her brows.
“It’s my fault.” Lexa tells her “You’re wearing my sweatshirt and I assume you pulled it from the hamper instead of washing it.”
“So?” Clarke asks the furrow getting a little deeper.
Lexa takes a deep breath. “Well it had explosive residue on it…”
Clarke blinks. Once. Twice. “I’m sorry what? Why would your sweatshirt have- are you a terrorist??”
“No of course not!” Lexa hastily puts a stop to that train of thought. “No, I- it was a work training thing and I put it after and didn’t think about the fact that you might wear it before washing it let alone try to go through any sort of security with it on.”
“A work thing? What kind of foreign policy advisor work involves explosives!” Clarke says in exasperation. She looks at her girlfriends guilty expression. “That’s not actually what you do, is it?”
Lexa shakes her head, “No. Although I know enough about it to tell people, so it could be?”
Clarke is quiet for what feels like hours to Lexa, but is really more like a minute. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I can’t believe I believed you. You’re terrible at lying! At least I thought you were, is that all an act?”
“In my defense I really wanted to. Tell you that is, but I couldn’t unless we were married and no it’s not an act. My job is the only thing I’m good at fudging the truth about. At least when it comes to you.” Lexa explains
“So why tell me now? We’re not married. Am I going to have to go live in a cave somewhere?”
Lexa laughs “no nothing like that. You’ll just have to sign a few forms and promise your first born to the government.” Clarke glares at her. “Okay okay, I’m serious about the paperwork though. My boss gave me the green light due to the circumstances and because I hope that one day we will be married, if you’ll still have me that is, but no one else can know.”
Clarke can’t stop the flutter in her chest at the word married. Even if part of her is still angry at the whole situation, the idea of marrying Lexa is something she hasn’t stopped thinking about since they got together.
“Are we okay?” Lexa asks, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
Clarke sighs, letting the chaos melt away. “We’re okay.” She snuggles into Lexas side. “If you didn’t want me wearing your clothes all you had to do was say something.” She grumps. “You’re really going to have to make this up to me and do all the flying for the foreseeable future.”
4 in the moment kiss where they’re enemies to lovers. Maybe coworkers? 🤔
I technically cheated and combined these two but I think it's okay because it ended up being over 3k words 😅
...
“How do I say you’re fucking insane if you think I’m doing all of this without getting fired immediately?” Clarke asks Raven, who sits in the cubicle across from hers.
“The new boss?” Raven asks, still typing away without taking her eyes from her screen. Looking to be just about as overloaded as Clarke feels.
“Yeah. She’s already getting on my nerves because she’s rescheduled our initial meeting like 4 times now. And she keeps sending me things that don’t even have anything to do with my department. I’m the director of People and Culture. I'm not a recruiter. I’m not in marketing. And I’m sure as shit not her personal assistant either. And it’s like -” she glances at the corner of her screen for the time “3 o’clock. I’m supposed to do the jobs of 4 people and still get out by 5? Or does she expect me to pull overtime on a Friday night? Like there’s no way I could possibly have plans. Maybe she’s one of those people who thinks that just because I’m not married and don’t have kids she can shove off everyone else's work on me.”
“Lexa’s a busy person Clarke. I really don’t think it’s personal.”
“Personal or not, it’s not fucking happening. So help me with this email or else your next cube neighbor might be some insufferable old white guy whose all-natural deodorant is just really not working for him.”
Raven relents, finding a stopping point in whatever exactly she’s doing to get up and shoo Clarke out of her chair. She ends up deleting 98% of what Clarke had written, swapping out phrases like “why the fuck didn’t you tell me you needed this done sooner” and “that’s not my fucking problem” with more diplomatic phrases such as “I’ll schedule those meetings for you at your earliest availability” and “I wasn’t involved with that project but I will forward your request to the appropriate parties”, respectively.
“You’re weirdly good at that for someone with the smartest mouth I know,” Clarke commends her when she’s finished.
“It’s all about balance, babe. Now can I please get back to my job? Or the Commander’s going to fire us both. Maybe your mom will let us turn her study back into your bedroom and we can crash there when we can’t make our rent next month.”
Clarke rolls her eyes. Then something registers. “Wait. The Commander? Is that what people are calling her?” she asks, a mixture of disbelief and disgust seeping into her voice.
“Yeah,” Raven shrugs.
“I get that she’s the boss but she’s not commanding me to do anything,” Clarke grumbles. She plops back down in her chair and starts typing angrily.
“If you add anything to that that gets you fired after I just rewrote the whole thing for you I’m going to be so pissed,” Raven warns.
“I’m not,” Clarke promises. “I just don’t want her to think she can walk all over me. Command me,” she adds, rolling her eyes.
She ends the email with Hope this helps, let me know if you would like to meet with me to go over the roles of our departments and their directors to avoid misallocation of time and resources in the future and hits send. She hopes it's just passive-aggressive enough to get the message across without being able to be used against her.
She goes back to work, furiously attempting to complete the tasks The Commander had unloaded on her. She may not have kids or a significant other waiting for her at home but she does have a cat and a bottle of red wine and a new episode of her favorite shitty reality TV show to watch.
So far the new boss has taken 2-3 days to return any of her emails. So she isn't expecting it at all when she gets the notification that someone has replied to the email she just sent an hour ago.
That sounds like a great idea. Come up whenever you are ready.
Clarke's initial reaction is oh shit. Followed in rapid succession by annoyance and frustration when she has the realization that it's already past 4 o'clock now and this means she most definitely will not be getting out on time, not that there was much hope she would, anyway. But still.
She needs to learn to keep her big stupid mouth shut.
"It was nice knowing you," she grumbles to Raven as she gets up and smooths the wrinkles from her slouch out of her shirt. Raven quirks a brow but seems otherwise unfazed as Clarke shuffles toward the elevator and her impending doom.
…
…
Clarke knocks three times, half hoping to not be heard so she can say she tried and return to her desk.
No such luck.
“Come in.” The voice is muffled by thick oak and considerable distance but Clarke manages to catch it. She steadies herself and lifts her chin, prepared to simultaneously defend herself and give The Commander a piece of her mind as she opens the door and steps into her office.
She’s wholly unprepared for the woman she finds sitting behind the desk.
She isn’t sure what she was expecting but it definitely isn’t this. Lexa looks young, for starters, nearly the same age as Clarke. Her features are somehow both delicate and sharp, with high cheekbones and pouty lips and big round eyes that Clarke can’t quite figure out the color of at first glance. Chestnut hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun like it was originally down but she’d had enough by the end of the day, strands towards the front not contained by the hair tie and instead framing her face.
Clarke’s first impression is that this might be the most attractive woman she’s ever seen in her life. Her second is that she looks tired. And her third, more of an observation than an impression, is that it looks like a bomb went off in this office. There are papers literally scattered all over the floor, boxes stacked along the walls and windows that would normally boast an expansive view of the skyline, and the couch against the far wall looks like it’s been functioning as a dresser and changing room of sorts with slacks and button down blouses draped over its back and arms.
Between Lexa’s unexpected prettiness and the warzone that is her office Clarke momentarily forgets why she’s here and that she was even mad to begin with.
“I apologize for the state of my office,” Lexa says, likely having followed Clarke’s gaze around the room. “It’s been a whirlwind trying to get everything in order around here. Titus gave us no warning about his departure and apparently was trying to run this company into the ground, by my estimations after going through what I could of the data.” She sighs, finishing scribbling something down onto a sticky note which she adds to a pile of other sticky notes on the left side of her desk. “Sit, please,” Lexa tells her, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk.
Clarke has that tongue-tied feeling that she only gets around pretty women. And that - cannot be how she feels sitting across from her new boss, especially not as the leader of People and Culture. She forces herself to speak, reminding herself why she’s here and what her end goal is; to not get fired while also putting her foot down about the scope and limitations of her role. She decides to get right down to business, voicing her concerns, and finds Lexa to be… a very good listener. She listens so well and intently, in fact, that Clarke almost finds herself losing her train of thought because those eyes.
And then she does something Clarke had absolutely not expected her to do - she agrees with her about the general mismanagement occurring and state of disarray in the company and asks for her input about the best way to move forward. She apologizes for sending a slew of information and tasks her way and explains that she never meant for Clarke to complete all of that work on her own or immediately but rather to delegate and get to things when she had the time. She thanks Clarke for her hard work and dedication and tells her that even though this is their first formal meeting she’s well aware of the hard work she does and is very thankful for her contributions to the team.
Clarke’s been working in corporate culture long enough to be able to tell when someone is just blowing smoke up her ass. When scrutinizing Lexa’s words, all she gets is that she seems like one of the most genuine, down-to-earth people she’s ever met. She’s just swamped, stressed out, and working insane hours trying to fix all of the various fuck ups Titus made over the past 4 years as CEO.
Very much to her surprise, she finds herself sympathetically offering to help Lexa get some things sorted out. And again to her surprise, she finds that she doesn’t mind staying and working in Lexa’s office with her, spending time helping her delegate work to other departments and creating a realistic timetable for the next few weeks with attainable goals. Clarke tells funny stories about some of the department heads as they work and Lexa spills secrets about the board members she works with after swearing Clarke to secrecy.
She doesn’t even realize how much time has gone by until Lexa glances at the clock on the wall and looks at her from across her desk, stricken. “You should go home. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it’s already after 7. Thank you for all of your help, you really didn’t have to do all of this.”
Clarke didn’t have to. She definitely did not expect to want to when she had sullenly ridden in the elevator up here. Raven probably thinks she got herself kicked out of the 5th-floor window since she never came back to her cubicle. But now she finds herself reluctant to leave, especially knowing that Lexa will likely be here all night continuing to work.
“Did you have dinner yet?”
Lexa looks up from her computer screen slowly. “I haven’t.”
"You just moved here, right? Have you been to Tomatoes yet?"
"I haven't," Lexa says again.
"It's a little hole-in-the-wall spot. Kind of…lackluster, but their tacos are to die for and the bartender is awesome. Would you want to go?"
"Now?" Lexa asks, pointedly surveying her desk that is, despite having been organized, still loaded with paperwork to be sorted through.
"Yes, now. You've been here all day - I know because I've been here all day and you were here before me. Those papers will l still be here Monday." Lexa looks doubtful as she chews the inside of her lower lip. "Or tomorrow if you insist on working the weekend. But let's be done for the night. Both of us."
This is so not how Clarke thought her night would go; standing in front of Lexa, her boss, The Commander, and trying to lure her out to the bar for tacos and a drink. Genuinely hoping she'll accept because even though they've been working she's actually had the most fun she's had in a while and she's not quite ready for it to end.
Lexa looks at her thoughtfully, meeting her eyes. She glances down at her desk once more and then exhales, tossing her pen into a drawer as she shuts down her computer. She stands up and grins at Clarke as she takes her jacket off the back of her chair and shrugs it over her shoulders.
"Alright. Let's go try these tacos, then."
…
…
“You have to be kidding me.”
Lexa turns around and hits Clarke with a smug, triumphant little smile. Then looks back at her achievement, a dart nestled solidly in the red bullseye circle of the dartboard, surrounded by Clarke’s failed attempts scattered haphazardly across the board. She’d gotten it on her first try, standing several feet further back than she even had to.
“You lied to me. There’s no way you’ve never thrown a dart before.”
“Do I look like I frequent establishments that have dartboards, Clarke?” Lexa asks, quirking a brow in challenge.
No, she doesn’t. Not in the pantsuit she’s wearing, even after she shed her coat and blazer shortly after they’d arrived. One half of her shirt has come out of its tuck and the top few buttons are undone, the collar sagging open and offering the view of just a hint of collarbones on either side. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the one beer she’s had and she looks messy but somehow still put together. She’s undeniably beautiful, and she stares at Clarke expectantly waiting for some kind of comeback, unaware that Clarke can hardly think when she’s standing there looking like that. Existing in her space. Out of her comfort zone but still self-assured and confident. She’s unbelievably attractive, beyond what Clarke had even perceived when she got her first look at her earlier in the day.
She’s so screwed.
“No, you don’t,” Clarke admits with a sigh. “I’ve been trying for months to get a bullseye. You must just have some kind of natural technique with your fingers.”
Lexa opens her mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it. But Clarke’s not having any of that. “What were you about to say?” she asks. “I don’t need you to pity me, Raven kicks my ass at darts on the regular.”
Lexa doesn’t answer right away, looking at Clarke like she’s searching for something. Clarke can’t tell if she finds it but waits patiently. “It’s not appropriate,” she says after a moment.
Interest - piqued. “We aren’t at work right now,” Clarke reminds her.
“But you’re human resources, essentially,” Lexa laughs, a little nervously. “Seems like a grey area.”
“We don’t call it HR because of the negative association that’s been tied with it over the years. Like this, it makes people nervous. So yeah, I’m technically HR, but I’m not a narc. And you’re the CEO anyways.”
“Which makes it an even greyer area.”
“Lexa, come on. We’ve been having a good time, right?”
She nods. Weighs her options for just a few more seconds and then says, “I was just going to say that I’ve been told I have a natural technique with my fingers before. In…other contexts.”
It takes a second for Clarke to process and then - oh. Oh.
She’s glad she hadn’t taken another sip of her drink because she might have choked on it.
She swallows, trying to gather herself, absolutely not letting herself take a closer look at Lexa’s hands because she’s already noticed that they’re nice but she hasn’t scrutinized them beyond that. “That was extremely inappropriate, Miss Woods,” she says, calling on her stern business-woman voice that she’s perfected over years of dealing with employee relations issues.
Lexa’s eyes widen. “Clarke, I told you that I didn’t want to overstep. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have -”
Clarke doesn’t have the heart to watch her flounder for more than a few seconds. She cuts her off. “It was inappropriate, but I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” She feigns more confidence than she feels as she puts a hand on Lexa’s knee reassuringly. A small gesture to make it so that Lexa isn’t the only one who has crossed a line tonight. Lexa looks a little shell-shocked, looking up and down between Clarke’s hand and her face enough times that it’s almost comical. Clarke squeezes her leg once and then lets go, standing up from the stool she’d been sitting on as she watched Lexa play darts. “Come on, let’s go sit at the bar. The next thing I want to make you try is their southwest egg rolls.”
She grabs Lexa’s hand like it’s no big deal at all and pulls her towards two open seats.
…
…
Clarke’s not sure that Lexa has ever eaten greasy bar finger food before but the southwest egg rolls are definitely a hit. The noises Lexa makes as she eats them tell her as much, and also do things to her. But they don’t affect her half as much as watching Lexa amicably interact with some of the old townies who are also sitting at the bar with them. It turns out Lexa knows enough about baseball to hold her own talking to Bonafide Baseball Expert Jim McDonnel and she doesn’t bat an eye when a very drunk Mary Lou bumps into her seat and then talks about her 13 cats for five minutes until the bartender mercifully calls her attention back down to the other end of the bar where her actual seat is.
Clarke feels a little bad for subjecting high-class Lexa to this place but she doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, when she turns to look at Clarke her eyes are bright and her smile is genuine and she says, “Thanks for showing me this place. It’s great.”
Clarke kind of adores her and her big dopey smile. And that’s a really scary thought to be having about her boss of all people but she’s rolling with it. Whatever it is between them, chemistry or connection or some other unnamed thing, it’s off the charts. And Clarke can’t take it anymore, especially knowing that the night is starting to come to a close.
Lexa is already sitting close enough that their knees are knocking together and it’s not much distance to close between their mouths at all. She doesn’t have the tact or inhibition to do it slowly, just leans in and kisses Lexa like she’s been wanting to do all night. It’s heated and languid immediately and she finds Lexa only needs a fraction of a second to adjust to her surprise before she’s kissing back, open-mouthed and hungry.
It’s stupid Jim McDonell’s hooting and hollering that breaks them apart less than a minute later, reminding them that they’re very much in public and kissing in a way that is very much not chaste.
A realization that is quickly followed by the fact that Clarke just kissed her boss. “Sorry,” she says quickly, trying to catch her breath.
Lexa holds her gaze. Licks her lips like she’s trying to taste what’s left of Clarke on them. Clarke tries not to visibly squirm in her chair as she watches, and looks back up when Lexa finally says something. “No you aren’t.”
Clarke’s alma mater would probably revoke her degree if they heard her response. “No, I’m not.” Lexa smirks, then not so subtly looks at Clarke’s mouth, desire clear in the intentness of her gaze. “Do you want to get out of here?”
When Lexa’s eyes flick up they’re darker than they were before. Heat flares in the confines of Clarke’s lower stomach and settles between her legs. “Very much so.”
Clarke’s hand flies up, flagging down the bartender to close out their tab without taking her eyes off Lexa. She tips generously and laughs when Lexa grabs her hand and tugs her hurriedly back towards the car.
On second thought, maybe she should open her big fat mouth more often.
I had this vision of Clarke and Lexa (omega verse) inviting Abby and her boyfriend to a 1 week trip in the forest of at the beach, and they’re in this cute cute cabin together, it’s really nice, and their bedroom is close to one another, however Clarke and Lexa discreetly asked if the walls were thick which the owner said yes, so one night Clarke and Lexa get in ON like for easily 1 hour right, several times, and the next morning Abby and her boyfriend look at them like 👁️👄👁️, they could hear even what was softly said, so the FILTHY things they said did not fall in deaf ears.
Lexa could be quite uptight with Abby as she’s intimidated by her, like Clarke is her only child and all, so Lexas always very proper with minimal pda you Know…
If you still take promps, could you maybe do this one ?
The insistent call of early birds is what brings Lexa back from a dreamless sleep. She blinks awake in the unfamiliar room, the low wooden ceiling welcoming her morning. She stretches like a lazy cat, and the source of warmth on her back hums at her ear.
"Good morning," Clarke whispers hoarsely, their naked legs intertwining under the fur blanket. Lexa turns and kisses Clarke good morning, teasing sleep away with another kiss on her neck. "For the love of god, I can’t go again," Clarke protests as Lexa continues to kiss her collarbone. "I’m ridiculously sore, babe."
"You okay?" Lexa asks behind the curtain of wild curls, and Clarke nods.
"Yeah, but give me a break, okay? Last night was..." She bites her lips, and Lexa follows the movement with a bite of her own.
"Good?" Lexa grunts on a marked neck.
"Very good." They meet for another kiss.
The sound of pans and cutlery cuts through their quiet room. "I think my mom and Kane are already up." Clarke bumps their noses and leans down for a long, sleepy yawn. "I could go for eggs."
"Or bacon," Lexa agrees, and they make their slow way to the bathroom.
Eggs are sizzling in the kitchen by the time the couple trots down the stairs in search of breakfast.
"Smells good!" Clarke sits by the kitchen island as Lexa sets the table. Marcus, one hand working on pancake batter and the other on the eggs, turns to offer them a smile.
"Good morning, ladies!" His teeth shine between a trimmed beard.
"Where’s mom?" Clarke asks with a grape in her mouth, eyeing the pancake toppings on the island.
Marcus turns back to the stove. "She went for a run."
"This early? That’s not like her."
"She didn’t sleep very well," Marcus says, mostly to the stove, and checks through the cabin window. "Okay, let me just get it out of the way before she’s back." He makes a 180 with his pink apron in place and joins his hands over his chest. "Let’s just say," Marcus starts, his beard not being enough to cover his blush, "the walls in this cabin are thin."
The sound of porcelain shattering on wood breaks the silence that followed Marcus’ statement. Clarke looks back to see Lexa, so red she’s purple, shocked still as the plate she was holding is now in pieces on the floor.
"We know you’re adults," Marcus continues, "but you’re her only child, Clarke, and her little omega girl."
Lexa sits heavily on the table, her once-red face now turning pale.
Clarke moves into damage control mode.
"Babe." She sits in the chair next to Lexa, who keeps staring at nothing, unresponsive. "Babe, it’s okay. We’re married. My mom knows—"
"Your mother heard us," Lexa whispers almost to herself.
"We don’t know how much she heard."
"Very much," Marcus adds unhelpfully. "By the way, kudos."
"Marcus, please," Clarke shoots back at her mother’s boyfriend, eyeing her PTSD-wife, and Marcus shrugs.
"Lexa," Clarke says, touching her wife’s hand, and it’s cold. "That won’t change how my mom sees you. Okay, she heard a couple things—"
"Lots of things."
"Kane, you’re not helping!" Clarke shouts, and it is at that moment that the cabin’s door opens to reveal Abby Griffin, dressed in winter sports gear, sweat evaporating from her temples. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she mumbles good morning without meeting Clarke’s eyes.
"I’ll help with food," Abby adds, and she kisses Marcus’ cheek as she heaps eggs onto plates.
By the time the four of them sit at the table, the silence is unbearable. Lexa can barely move, her eyes cast down; Clarke tries to find her mother’s eyes, but the older alpha avoids them every time. Kane seems to be the only one immune to the tension, happily flooding his plate with syrup.
"All right," Kane declares, feeling pitiful at Lexa’s almost catatonic state. "Let’s address this as adults; otherwise, we won’t survive the rest of the weekend."
"Marcus, no," Abby says, still avoiding her daughter and daughter-in-law. Lexa whimpers.
"Abby"—Marcus takes a bite of his pancake—"Clarke is 28. She’s married. We all know they have sex."
Lexa chokes on nothing while Abby growls softly at the back of her throat. Clarke blushes furiously but nods.
"Maybe before last night, we didn’t know for how long or the details—"
"Marcus!" Abby hits her glass on the table, and OJ flies everywhere.
"What I mean," Marcus continues, licking a drop of orange juice from his beard, "is that we are all adults and we can recover from this. Right, Clarke?"
"We didn’t know we were being loud," Clarke justifies, reaching for coffee. "We never meant to make you uncomfortable, mom."
"We still have a couple nights here, so just... please keep it down. You’re my pup." Abby finally meets her daughter’s eyes. Marcus nudges his girlfriend, and Abby apologizes, "I’m sorry for overreacting."
"It’s alright. I’m more worried about Lexa." Clarke points at her wife with her chin. "I think she’s still in shock."
Abby eyes Lexa up and down, and Lexa melts down in her chair a little bit.
"Mom, stop."
"I didn’t do anything."
"She can’t even touch me right now."
"Good."
"Abby, let the kids be kids."
"If your father were here...
"He would have laughed about it."
"I don’t know, Abby. Clarke didn’t sound like she needed a new daddy last night."
Lexa continued to melt down her chair, and Abby choked on juice.
"Too soon?" Kane places another forkful of pancakes in his mouth. "At least you know grandpups will be coming soon," he adds through a mouthful.
In celebration of recent events, here is a snippet of a clexa fic I’ve been working on, featuring 4k of yearning!Clexa.
++
Golden leaves spiral from the sky the first time they kiss.
It’s been a soft autumn, and their love bloomed with the times. Lexa’s father is away on business; Clarke’s mother is stitching up war wounds at the infirmary across the way. Like most days lately, they found themselves drifting farther and farther from home, which was a relief for Lexa, ever eager to put distance between herself and the cold, empty manor that had served as a roof over her head for all of her life; Clarke, who had shared many a laugh and comforting embrace in the shelter of her small quaint home full of warmth, nevertheless found herself eager to follow Lexa anywhere, but especially the hallowed orchard.
It doesn’t belong to either of them. They aren’t certain who owns these acres stretching farther than the eye could see, beyond the shimmering horizons, some measurable distance behind their own homes, but they’re always grateful to capitalize on its relative emptiness. Just through the orchard lay a meadow, with naught but a single oak tree to spread its shade, and it’s always there that they find themselves wandering. Clarke has long lost count of how many afternoons they’ve drowned in the comfort of this tree, the usual sharp edges to her outings with Lexa inexplicably softened when the two of them came to rest at its trunk. It’s been marked with their presence for many years now, a small heart containing their initials they carved in together with the small bowie knife Clarke stole from her father.
Clarke is never sure if it’s the magic and mysticism of the tree itself, singular and towering, or the familiar and gentle tenor of Lexa’s voice as she reads softly to Clarke from the various books she could never be found without. Just as when they were children, Clarke would slip into slumber with her head tucked into Lexa’s shoulder, and when she wakes she would always spend the first several seconds pretending she hadn’t, if only to remain there just a bit longer, dappled sunshine her blanket, head filled with the sweet scent of her friend’s soft curls just beneath her nose and the sound of Lexa’s heartbeat reverberating in her own aching rib cage. Lexa never seemed to realize when she was awake. She would read on, softly, until Clarke stirred and nuzzled deeper into her embrace, until Lexa’s lips brushed across the top of her head, and her body in its entirety burned with something she could never name.
But she suspects she’s beginning to discover it.
She has felt this way for as long as she can remember, and when she tries to think back, pinpoint an exact moment, she finds it’s as difficult as recognizing the precise instance in time that her young self learned how to breathe.
She feels as though she’s been built with this yearning, this ache that suffuses every inch of her body, but in times such as these, when they’re tucked into this haven isolated from the world, it’s hard to feel the usual shame about it- particularly when moments alone give way to a different sort of fear when her monstrous appetite spreads its jaws wide and threatens to swallow the both of them whole. She’s not strong enough to resist reaching for her, fingers curling loosely into the wool of Lexa’s dress. The fact that it serves as the only thin barrier between her fingertips and Lexa’s skin is one that tends to haunt her at all times, but admittedly most when it’s late at night.
Lexa tends to have that effect on her.
It was, in fact, only two days ago that their reading led to an epiphany. For years Clarke had swallowed down these strange and confusing feelings, had tried her best to ignore the way her skin lit up with each graze of Lexa’s body, how she seemed to glow even at mere proximity to her. Now the incessant swirling of her stomach felt heavier, fuller, in certain loaded moments where the air felt alive and dangerous, the equivalent of the tension in the sky moments before a storm. She had rattled off excuses for why she oft found her gaze drifting to various features that shouldn’t draw it- the soft swell of Lexa’s lips, the sharp angle of her jaw and elegant stretch of her neck; the defined measure of her collarbones and the subtle shadows splayed over her chest from her corset pushing up her breasts, only ever seen in brief stolen moments when they changed near the other— sometimes even the curve of Lexa’s backside, the shapely line of her ankles beneath her pleated skirts.
She reasons with herself when she realizes she’s staring too hard and for too long. When she swallows and quails beneath the pressure of her own swollen, aching heart, squeezing and suffocating beneath the graceful timbre of Lexa’s voice. When she thinks constantly about the clever way Lexa’s mind works, how she’s so unafraid to speak her mind to Clarke, how she boldly shows her anger in private moments when she raves about her frustrations with her father, the town, the workings of the world. When the very, very few times Lexa has allowed herself to expose the sorrow eating up her heart, Clarke has cried with her, has brushed away her tears and kissed the top of her head and whispered that she is here, she is here, she is here, all for her. When she fantasizes endless scenarios that involve her going much farther than simply holding Lexa’s hands and gifting her the gentle affections any woman would give a friend they loved dearly. When she imagines parting her lips and letting the truth fly free, begging Lexa, confessing she knows not what these feelings are and what they mean, except she knows exactly what they are and why she is overwhelmed with them, and perhaps she is a monster and the universe is corralling her toward certain hell, but if this haven exists— the orchard and this hidden meadow where everything but time and the two of them ceases to exist— then perhaps she is content with this version of heaven. If this is paradise, she’s wholly certain whatever lay beyond it pales in comparison.
Still, when it came to matters of intimacy, she would at times feel that heavy dread in her stomach that accompanied the flutters of warmth. Generally she reasoned with herself, in those weaker moments. This must be an anomaly. An abhorrence. A test of her will. Fight it.
But then it happened.
Two days ago.
And Clarke’s world would never be the same.
It was a day like any other. They woke, finished their chores in haste, and snuck away with a book tucked beneath Lexa’s arm. Spoke and laughed as they made their way to this spot, to this place that belonged to them, stole their fruit and settled against the tree, swathed in its reprieve, and spent the next hours with only Lexa’s soft voice and the occasional birdsong breaking the silence.
"Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance."
Clarke had been dozing lightly, drifting in that cherished limbo somewhere between awake and asleep, Lexa’s words guiding her like a safe harbor.
And then her next words, spoken with uncharacteristic hesitation followed by a gruff clearing of her throat, changed everything.
“She kissed me silently.”
Clarke’s eyes had flown open. She peered down from where her head was propped on Lexa’s shoulder, her heart stuttering in her chest as she focused on the words printed on the paper moments before Lexa said them aloud.
"I am sure, Carmilla, you have been in love; that there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on."
"I have been in love with no one, and never shall," she whispered, "unless it should be with you."
How beautiful she looked in the moonlight!”
Lexa paused when Clarke took an audible, sharp intake of breath, and Clarke cursed herself for a moment because she didn’t want Lexa to stop. But she could feel the weight of her uncertain stare, so she tilted her head, craning back to meet her gaze, and a thrill wracked through her when their eyes met. It was a calm, breezy day, barely a cloud in the sky, but suddenly it felt as though thunder could rumble and lightning strike at any moment.
“What?” Lexa said, voice small.
“She kissed her,” Clarke said dumbly, cursing herself for her lack of wit. Her face warmed, touched with embarrassment.
Lexa swallowed, green eyes flitting between each of Clarke’s as though searching for something. “Yes.”
Clarke paused, her heart thundering. She struggled to control her breathing. “They...they are both women, are they not?” She may not have paid as much attention to this book as she could have in favor of napping, but she was fairly certain of this.
Lexa swallowed again, and Clarke was enchanted and besotted by the dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Yes.”
She kissed her.
Clarke’s gaze drifted, as it was already wont to do, but typically not so openly. Lexa’s lips were full and pink and beautiful, and Clarke had felt their softness on her countless times before, however fleeting. Kisses to the top of her head, to her hand, even on occasion to her cheeks. But never on her mouth. Her body seized and burned with the ache coursing through her at the thought, the need. She realized all at once that Lexa was still staring at her, and panic struck high in her chest; she promptly dipped her head down, hiding her face in the curve of Lexa’s neck, shaking in response to the hitch of breath Lexa gave.
For a long moment they were silent, still, uncertain, until Clarke couldn’t stand the tension in the air any more.
“Keep reading,” she whispered.
It took another moment, but Lexa did. Cleared her throat first, and quietly read out, “Shy and strange was the look with which she quickly hid her face in my neck and hair, with tumultuous sighs, that seemed almost to sob, and pressed in mine a hand that trembled.”
Clarke’s face burned against Lexa’s skin, and Lexa’s wild curls tickled her nose. She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her trembling hand to the one Lexa had clenched in a fist atop her thigh. She could feel Lexa’s whole frame shaking against her, and without thought Clarke tipped her chin up to press what was meant to be a soothing, placating kiss to any part of Lexa she could reach; she landed on the column of Lexa’s throat, and her heart thudded at the fact that she could feel Lexa’s pulse thrumming wildly just beneath her flesh.
Lexa continued to read, her voice rough, lower than Clarke had ever heard it.
“Her soft cheek was glowing against mine. "Darling, darling," she murmured, "I live in you; and you would die for me, I love you so."
The words echoed within Clarke, rebounding in the confines of her skull, singing out a chorus in the caverns of her chest. It was instinct, the way she pressed more firmly against Lexa. The way she sought out more of her, nose trailing the arch of her neck and the hard line of her jaw, the hollow high of her cheek, and finally, the soft tip of her nose. All Clarke could hear was the rushing in her ears as she struggled to open her eyes; when she did, all she could see was Lexa, less than an inch away and closer than Clarke had ever been to her, her brow creased with something akin to desperation, her lips parted, rapid breaths puffing warm over Clarke’s lips.
She kissed her.
It was as easy and natural as anything else Clarke had ever done by instinct. As simple as breathing. She didn’t know who closed the gap, but one moment they were both breathing one another in and the next, their mouths were pressed together. Lexa was impossibly soft against her, warm, and Clarke realized all at once that she was wrong about breathing being easy before. She felt as though she had never breathed properly until this moment, which made little sense considering how much difficulty she was having sucking air into her lungs, but she would happily remain here like this, motionless, pressed into Lexa, propping herself up with one hand on Lexa’s knee and the other clenched tightly over Lexa’s fist, their mouths fixed perfectly together.
But all too soon, the need for air won out, and she and Lexa broke apart. They remained close for a while longer, ragged breaths mixing, foreheads resting together, until Clarke managed to force her eyes to open and she found Lexa already watching her with a particularly dark shade of green Clarke had only ever seen on a handful of occasions. She very nearly kissed her again, except then Lexa blinked, and blinked once more, before drawing back and putting space between them. She pulled her arm free from beneath Clarke’s grip as she hauled herself to her feet, bracing against the tree trunk when she swayed uneasily.
“We, um. We.” She cleared her throat, shaking her head as though to clear it. “We should probably head back, it— it will be dark soon.” The sun had yet to even set, but Clarke couldn’t find her voice. “We can, um. We can read more tomorrow.” She blinked; her face had gone from red to pale, drained of all color, and uneasiness curdled in the pit of Clarke’s stomach. She’s not quite sure what happened, except she’s squirming beneath the uncomfortable sensation that something that felt so right should have felt wrong, and there was perhaps wrong with Clarke for not knowing that. “If you...if you still want to, that is.”
The uncertain implication behind those words coupled with the terror in Lexa’s face as she said them had Clarke propelling to her feet. “Of course I want to.” She tilts her head, mouth suddenly dry as fear trickles through her— fear that they had ruined and destroyed everything. “Do you?”
“Of course,” Lexa said quickly, and it provided enough relief Clarke felt weak in the knees.
The relief was short-lived, however. They remained standing in silence thick enough one could not so much as cut it with a knife, and the longer they stood there, looking anywhere but at the other, the more Clarke burned. She shifted her weight on her legs, dazedly noting she’d never been lost under such tumultuous emotions, a verifiable maelstrom that crashed into her with all the strength and ferocity of ships wrecking into the rocks at Polaris Cove.
“We…” Clarke’s voice trailed away as dizziness flooded her again; she could scarcely believe what just happened. Despite the anxiety that was itching at the bottom of her spine, there was an exhilarating thrill thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird in her chest. She looked at her friend in an entirely new light, and realized the light wasn’t actually new at all.
“Naught happened,” said Lexa quickly, and Clarke blinked, jarred and taken aback. Her denial brought Clarke back to the ground with an abrupt jolt, for she had been at risk of surely floating right up off her toes and sailing clear into the very sky itself.
“Lexa…” she began helplessly, but Lexa shook her head at once.
“Don’t.”
“We kissed.” Saying the words aloud was frightening, but this was Lexa; this was her dearest friend, the person she trusted most in this whole entire world. A girl who was always so fearless, whom Clarke had once watched stand tall and proud against her father, jaw set and eyes blazing, despite the imminent belting she would undoubtedly receive as punishment for her failure to complete her chores in favor of accompanying Clarke and her mother to town. A girl Clarke had once spent a tense afternoon huddled in the kitchen with, tending to her bloody, bruised knuckles after a tussle with John Murphy, a low-born boy who had tried one too many times to pester Clarke by attempting to lift her skirts to display her shins for all the world to see—and another belting from her father lay waiting for her then, too, which was perhaps why she seemed so reluctant to leave Clarke’s care, watching her quietly as she’d bandaged her up with the clumsy hands of a child, and thanking her with a blush when Clarke gently kissed her knuckles to urge them to heal.
For as long as she’d ever known her, back when they were wee babes and Lexa’s wild mane of hair was nearly as big as her entire scrawny body, Lexa had been bold. So larger than life in her fierce spirit and unyielding confidence.
Yet now she stood before Clarke looking so shaky and willowy she appeared in danger of being knocked over by even the gentlest of breezes, and her eyes were filled with more trepidation than Clarke could ever have imagined her capable of feeling.
And Clarke was tempted for a moment, by guilt and her own fear, to follow Lexa’s initiative and let it go.
But her lips tingled and everything about that kiss was magic, and she knew if they didn’t discuss it now then they never would. And if there were one thing Clarke was known for, it was her mettlesome relentlessness.
“Stop.”
“We kissed,” Clarke persisted. Her entire body bloomed with warmth at the mere words. “It just happened, I can still feel you on my lips— how can you deny it?”
“Clarke, stop.” Clarke’s heart twisted into a hard, painful little knot, and she had never known such devastation as watching Lexa shake her head in dismissal. “You don’t—you don’t have to say anything. I understand.” There was a split second of blinding pain as those two little words sank in. Lexa understood? She understood but she didn’t feel the same way, she was rejecting— whatever this is? But then Lexa continued, “You were just…caught up in the book.” Clarke blinked, not connecting the words until Lexa lifted the thing in her hands, gave it this small, pitiful gesturing wave.
Lexa froze when Clarke gave an angry scoff before marching over to her and snatching the book right out of her hand. Lexa cried out in protest when Clarke promptly flung it away; it hit the tree trunk and fell with a final thud to the ground.
“The book, the book! I don’t care about the book! That wasn’t— that wasn’t why I kissed you.”
Lexa looked at her, struck dumb, her exquisite countenance a mixture of dread and heartbreaking hope that seemed so unfamiliar on her features yet the longer Clarke looked at it, the more she realized how often Lexa wore it when looking at her.
“I kissed you because every part of me has ached to for as long as I can remember,” Clarke said, voice hushed, her heart thrashing wildly and her hands trembling violently at her sides, desperate to reach for Lexa, who stood there shell-shocked. “I—I don’t know how this is possible, or what it means. All I know is that you are my favourite person, and the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, and I can’t take my eyes off you for fear you’ll disappear as I’ve imagined you up because you are so...you are so precious and perfect to me.” She swallowed hard and Lexa echoed it, green eyes wide and glossy and filled with fear and awe that Clarke was sure was reflected in her own. “And all I may do is pray that you can understand even a margin of all this I’m telling you. That you—that perhaps you kissed me back, and your own reasoning had little to do with the book as well.”
Silence, save for her heart pounding. Lexa took a shaky breath and exhaled it, once, twice, before swallowing again, and whispering, “I feel as if I can no longer remember a time when I did not want to kiss you.”
Warmth bled through the shock that stilled Clarke’s body, the relentless, fervish hope that wracked her spine. There was a time to worry about what all this meant, Clarke knew. A time to be struck with terror at how cruel life is, to love someone in the dark, forbidden, stuck in a world where they could be killed for it.
But right then, they stood in their meadow, the orchard just behind them. It was sunny and warm, a gentle breeze ruffling their hair. Lexa’s cheeks were pretty and pink and Clarke’s heart was so swollen she was sure it could burst.
Lexa took a deep breath, her eyes shining with that hope again, and Clarke felt it spread its own wings ever wider in her chest. “May I kiss you again?” asked Lexa, voice soft but hopeful.
Clarke bit her lip to curb her beaming smile, already tilting her face up expectantly. Just before their lips met, she paused, and Lexa’s brow knit in concern, previously half mast eyes lifting in renewed alarm. “For future reference, you can assume the answer to that question is always an unequivocal yes, so as to avoid wasting any unnecessary time asking me that, and skip right to the kissing.”
Lexa’s lips quirked in Clarke’s favorite crooked smile. “Is that truly preferable, my lady?”
“It truly is, my lady.”
Lexa’s eyes lowered again, dark, focused on Clarke’s mouth, and Clarke couldn’t help the way her own gaze drifted to lips she now knew were every bit as soft as they looked. “Then it will be done. As you know, I follow no one’s orders but your own.”
“Lexa.”
“Yes?”
“Please kiss me already.”
“As you wish.”
When their lips met again, it felt like coming home. Clarke shivered under the onslaught of emotions rushing through her, leaving her weak-kneed and trembling. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any better than this, Lexa’s mouth opened beneath her own.
Their tongues didn’t yet meet—Clarke was too shy to broach that far forward, and Lexa must have felt the same. But Clarke could still smell the fruit from the orchard on her breath, knew she would taste of it, burned to find out. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet.
Clarke had no idea what she was doing, but she seemed to be faring fairly well all things considered. She moved on instinct, her hands clutching Lexa’s forearms, fingers twisting into the fabric and gripping, pulling despite the fact that it was nigh impossible for them to be any closer than they were, hips aligned, breasts and stomachs flat together, so close she could feel the wild beat of Lexa’s heart keeping time against her own.
Their lips moved with a whisper of movement, languid and soft and slow. Though a part of Clarke was roaring, aching and urging her to drive recklessly forward, to tangle her hands into Lexa’s rich curls and kiss her with abandon, another part of her purred, content to remain here in this perfect bubble she never, ever wanted to leave. The gentle breeze stirred golden leaves from the tree and they floated down all around them; the birds sang a beautiful tune that wrapped around her heart. Lexa’s lips were soft and warm and Clarke had never known something so perfect could exist.
By the time they parted for air and Clarke opened her eyes again, the world around them was considerably darker. The sun was inching lower over the horizon, and the sky behind them, towards home, was as dark as the pupils focused on Clarke. Lexa’s eyes were wide and dark and luminous, and her hands no longer shook so violently as they squeezed around Clarke’s own. They stared at one another for a second longer before they each split into breathless, giddy grins, delirious with one another.
“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispered, and if Clarke did not blush at the words she most certainly did when Lexa reached up to tuck a curl of Clarke’s hair behind her ear. “There’s so much I want to tell you. So many thoughts I’ve kept to myself all this time.”
“I have the same plight but I fear there are not enough hours in the day,” confessed Clarke, grinning more broadly when Lexa gave a breathless laugh. She joined in a moment later, their sweet laughter echoing around the meadow, before they finally sobered, eyes shut and foreheads tipped together, gentle smiles curving their lips.
She could stay here forever. Truly, Clarke would be happy to. To forget about the lives that wait for them outside of this place, full of endless responsibilities Clarke didn’t even want to think about facing. One day she and Lexa both would move on from their duties of caring for their fathers and instead care for their eventual husbands and children. The thought moved Clarke to nausea, but she swiftly pushed it out of her mind. That is then, and this is now— and right now, Lexa was in her arms.
But the day was ending, dusk was approaching, and Clarke couldn’t bear it if Lexa was punished for being late.
“We need to return home,” Clarke sighed, wrenching the words free.
Lexa’s face crumpled with devastation, hanging her head and shutting her eyes as though she’d never heard such terrible news. Clarke hid her smile by kissing her again, chastely, resisting the urge to sink into it.
“You know we do. Your father already fears I am too much trouble for you, and you arriving home late again won’t help matters.”
Lexa still hadn’t opened her eyes, but her lips quirked as she tipped her forehead against Clarke’s, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “You are trouble for me, Clarke Griffin.”
Clarke hummed, loving the feel of being in Lexa’s arms. Loving the way it feels to have Lexa in her own, as she winds her arms around Lexa’s slim waist. “As if you don’t go looking for it on your own.”
“I would always go looking for you.”
The sincerity broke the teasing, and Clarke expelled a shaky sigh, her heart fluttering, tightening her arms to hold Lexa close. Lexa returned the embrace, the both of them burying their faces in one another’s neck and hair, breathing each other in.
And then, as all things do, their time had to come to an end.
Lexa gathered her book and took the hand Clarke held out for her. They made the whole journey back, some twenty minute walk, with their fingers entwined, walking in a comfortable silence filled with shy smiles and furtive glances.
By the time they emerged from the woods, the sun was nearly completely gone, dousing the world in shadows. They dropped one another’s hands and their smiles slipped away when they neared their houses. Titus’s carriage was pulled up the drive, and the house windows glowed from the lit lanterns.
Clarke’s heart sank as she turned to see Lexa’s grim face.
“We can lie. I can fake an injury, a limp, and we’ll say you helped me—”
“You know that doesn’t matter, Clarke.” Lexa’s shoulders were rigid and stiff, even as she sighed. “It’s nothing new. I’ll be fine.”
Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, Lexa turned to fully face her, and Clarke’s mind went blank beneath Lexa’s full attention. She found it difficult to meet her eyes when her own kept dropping to Lexa’s full lips.
Lexa clearly noticed, if the way a corner of them quirked up was any indication.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said seriously, her voice low. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring no one was around, before grasping Clarke’s hand and lifting it to her lips. Clarke smothered a quiet gasp, her heart thudding ever faster, and wished for nothing more than to push Lexa back against the wooden fence they stood beside and kiss her senseless. “We can go to the meadow and finish Carmilla, if you’d like.”
“Always,” Clarke answered, gaze still fixed on those damning lips. “Or,” she added, voice slipping into a lower octave, one that has Lexa’s grip on her hand automatically tightening, “perhaps we could find something else to do.”
She would happily have almost all of her company with Lexa be spent kissing, if she had it her way. By the brightening of Lexa’s eyes and consequent smile, she felt the same way, and that more than anything had elation soaring within Clarke. She half wondered if the moment Lexa stepped away, she truly would just float off into the sky.
“Goodnight, my lady,” whispered Lexa as she stepped back.
“Goodnight, Lexa.”
Clarke’s arm remained extended though she stayed standing where she was, loathe to lose contact with Lexa, but Lexa’s slender fingers moved across her palm, down her own fingers, and then skimmed over her fingertips, until there was naught but air and Clarke had no choice but to lamely drop her arm, watching, speechless and enamored, as Lexa walked backwards a few steps, maintaining intense eye contact before giving her one last soft smile and turning to enter her house.
OP | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 9.5 | Part 10 | Part 11
---
PART 12: Day 24
Clarke woke with a smile on her face. The steady breath on her neck and arm clinging to her waist was surely part of the reason. The other was embracing the fact that her and Lexa finally made the full leap into their relationship the night prior.
She slowly opened her eyes and grasped for the hand that was holding onto her, the touch started to stir Lexa to wake.
“Mmm,” Lexa sighed. “Morning,” she placed a kiss to the back of Clarke’s neck.
“Morning to you, too,” Clarke rolled over to face Lexa. “Quite a night we had, huh?”
Lexa smiled, “Small fortune to pay to be able to have my way with you.”
Clarke raised a brow, “Small fortune?”
Lexa’s smile turned into a mischievous smirk, “All the money spent on the grill and patio furniture. Plus the house of manual labor.” She pretended to tally everything in her mind, “Hmm, yeah. Definitely the most expensive booty call I’ve ever had.”
Clarke swatted her chest, “Don’t be a jerk.”
Lexa leaned in for a kiss, in which Clarke happily welcomed.
“Last night was amazing,” Lexa smiled as she pulled away. “More than amazing, actually. Spectacular, even.”
“Oh?” Clarke jokingly batted her eyelashes, “Tell me more.”
“I just can’t get enough of you,” Lexa leaned in for another kiss.
Clarke sighed a content breath when Lexa pulled away, “I’m all yours.”
Lexa nestled her thigh between Clarke’s bare ones and brought her lips to her neck. She peppered a trail of kisses up to her ear, “Good. I think we need another go this morning. For good measure and all.”
“For good measure,” Clarke repeated with another sigh.
---
“Yeah,” Clarke kicked her feet up onto the chair planted next to hers, as she let her eyes graze over Lexa. “I could get used to this.”
Lexa turned around with a smile plastered on her face, “I really should have bought this sooner.” She waved a hand over the grill, “It’s quite excellent and has really been getting my farther in life.”
Clarke rolled her eyes, “Just so we’re clear. I said I could get used to this because of the bountiful food it brings me.”
“I’m the one that brings you bounties of food,” Lexa corrected as she flipped the burgers. She shut the hood and walked towards the table. In a careful movement, she lifted Clarke’s legs to sit in the chair next to her, then lowered them back into her lap. “It’s just a new kind of food we’re having.”
“Charred and delicious,” Clarke wiggled her brows. “Should I go get the salad from inside, or do we have time?”
Lexa looked at the timer on her phone, “Five more minutes, maybe.” She took the sunglasses from the top of her head and fixed them on the bridge of her nose before she offered Clarke a smile, “I’m a fan of evenings like these.”
A grin appeared on Clarke’s face, “I’m a fan, too. Especially because of the burger I’m about to inhale.”
Lexa laughed as she started to stroke her fingers onto Clarke’s exposed ankle.
“Hey,” Clarke smiled in Lexa’s direction.
“Hey yourself.”
“So,” Clarke cocked her head to the side. “Your birthday is coming up.”
“It is,” Lexa agreed with a half smile. “Listen, before you say anything. We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. At all. You know me and birthdays…”
Clarke rolled her eyes, “I do know you and birthdays, but I want to do something nice for it.”
“You do something nice for my birthday every year, Clarke,” Lexa started. “We’re literally in a quarantine, we don’t have to do anything.”
“But it’s the first year we get to celebrate it together,” Clarke replied. “Like, actually together. I want to do something nice for you.”
“How about we order in and I get to pick a movie,” Lexa suggested, her fingers were still grazing Clarke’s legs. “I just don’t want any fuss. And I don’t want our friends to feel like they have to log on to some video conference happy hour just on my accord.”
“Our friends would be more than happy to watch you take birthday shots on a video call, Lexa,” Clarke reminded her. “We could do something small and simple.”
Lexa raised a brow, “What do you have in mind?”
“What if I had mom bring over her folding tables and chairs,” Clarke started. She paused to get Lexa’s reaction, but the lift in her brow remained and Clarke could tell Lexa didn’t know what she was getting at. She took a deep breath before starting again, “What if Anya, Rae, Lincoln, and O came over.”
“Clarke,” Lexa shook her head. “That defeats the purpose of us quarantining.”
“Well,” Clarke nodded. “We have a grill now, and this patio furniture. What if we made a triangle of three tables all a safe distance from each other. We wear masks except for when we eat. We can do it safely, we’ll all be outside. If anyone has to use the bathroom, it’s right off the porch door, anyway. Hand sanitizer and wipes for everyone that goes in and out. As long as we’re safe about it, I don’t see an issue.”
“They’ve all been seeing each other,” Lexa thought out loud. “I don’t want them to feel obligated to come here, though.”
“If they don’t feel comfortable, then we can order takeout and watch whatever movie you want,” Clarke’s voice softened. “I know they’ve all been seeing each other and I honestly just feel awful that the only person you’ve been seeing is me.”
“I made that choice,” Lexa smiled. “And sure. If you think it’s safe, and if the four of them are comfortable with it, then yeah. It sounds like it could be a nice time.”
“You birthday conveniently falls on a Saturday too,” Clarke grinned. “So we can do a lunch, do a little day drinking, then have the night to ourselves.”
“You’re not working at all?” Lexa scrunched her nose. Clarke had worked every Saturday until last weekend, and Lexa was sure it meant she had to be in the hospital this coming one.
Clarke shook her head, “Switched with someone. It’s your birthday, Lex. You really think I’d let you be home alone all day for it?”
“I would be with Sandy,” Lexa corrected her. There was a pang in her heart. A good kind of pang. “You didn’t have to do that,” she smiled. “But thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Lex,” she smiled back.
Before Lexa could reply, the timer on her phone went off. “Burgers are ready for some cheese,” she started to get up.
“I’ll go get the salad,” Clarke followed suit. “I’m going to send a group text to see if everyone’s down for Saturday.”
---
Raven raised a brow as she turned to Anya on the couch, “Griff’s throwing Lexa a birthday party? That’s cute.”
“Wonder if she’s gonna give her birthday sex,” Anya rolled her eyes. “But yes, it’s cute. I’m down to go, are you okay with that?”
“Yeah,” Raven nodded. “It’ll be nice. Clarke said we’ll all be careful about it. I don’t have any issues, and I do want to see this outdoor palace Lexa has built in Clarke’s backyard.”
“That’s a stretch,” Anya rolled her eyes. “It’s a grill and patio set.”
“Still weird that Lexa bought it for Clarke for no reason,” Raven suggested. “What’d she tell you? That it’s for everyone since we’ll all be hanging out there after all this shit is over anyway?”
Anya shrugged, “Something like that.”
“Has she said anything else about Clarke?” Raven wondered.
“Nope,” Anya shook her head. “Has Clarke?”
“Radio silence,” Raven sighed. “It’s almost been a month. They’re both secretly hot for each other. Maybe Saturday we can nudge them along a little.”
“Any more nudging from me and Lexa will literally throw a punch my way,” Anya noted. “I think Clarke is the way in with this one. At least she’s blatantly admitted to you that she for sure has the hots for Lex.”
“Yeah, true,” Raven nodded. “Griff will be easy to break anyway. Especially after two drinks.”
“Operation Clexa is in full effect,” Anya high-fived her girlfriend.
The beeping of the dual monitors disturbed the air just enough to stop Lexa from drifting off, hyper vigilant for any sounds of distress.
“Hey,” Clarke crooned, voice hoarse from disuse. “You should be sleeping.” She slid her hand along the hospital bed to interlock her fingers with her wife. “I can scoot over if you want to climb in.”
“You should be sleeping, love,” Lexa replies, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her wife’s knuckles. “You just gave birth.”
“We both need sleep, Lex. Our baby gets her penchants for dramatic yelling from you.”
“Yeah, but she gets the grumpiness from you.”
“I’m as happy as can be,” Clarke whispered, feigning annoyance.
“Me, too,” Lexa replied, even as her voice hitched. Emotion choked her as she replayed the last forty-eight hours in her head.
...
It all started when Clarke and Lexa were having it out in the kitchen.
“You’re never home!”
“I’m literally home right now, Clarke,” Lexa said with as much patience as she could muster.
“Yes, and you’ve been working this entire time! Just like every other day for the past eight months. We have a baby coming, Lexa and I feel more like a single mom than I do a wife.”
Lexa groaned. “Clarke, we’ve talked about this. I promise I’ll cut back on work once the baby gets here, but you just need to give me some space! I’m doing this for us and you’re being-!”
“Lex-“
“No, Clarke, I’m tired of you guilting me with this! I’m only doing this so you me and the baby will be okay. I’m thinking about our future. They’ll be here in one more month and I just need to prepare.”
“No, Lex -“
“You just make me feel like-”
Clarke gripped the counter with white knuckles and paling face. She wheezed, lightheaded. “Lexa... Something’s wrong!”
“What?!” Lexa spun around just in time to catch Clarke before she fell. Clarke’s water broke seconds later.
“Clarke? Clarke?! Clarke, no. Shit, no, no, no!”
Lexa didn’t feel anything after that. Her body was so overcome with fear that she could only remember going through the motions of carrying Clarke to the passenger seat and jumping behind the wheel of her car.
“Fuck, I swear, God, if you get us through this I promise I will be better. I promise I’ll be there. I promise, I promise.”
Clarke clutched at her stomach and whimpered as she sped through the traffic. “Hold on, Clarke, we’re almost there, okay? We’ll be there soon.”
As they waited for the doctor, her wife sweat and screamed and cried, and Lexa could do nothing but hold onto Clarke’s hand while the nurses bustled around her.
Clarke’s voice cracked with defeat, “I can’t - I can’t - I'm Scared, Lexa.”
“I got you, Clarke. I’m not going anywhere and soon our little boy or girl will be here and it’ll all be worth it.” She tried you force a smile to hide just how scared she was, too.
Everything turned for the worse mere, horrifying, seconds later. The doctors and nurses made the decision to take her in for an emergency C-section. Lexa was being bustled into scrubs and prepped for watching her wife be operated on. She held her breath until she heard the first cry of her baby, but before she could even blink, Clarke’s monitor beeped wildly and her grasp went limp in Lexa’s hands.
“She’s losing too much blood,” Lexa heard.
“Madi,” was all Clarke managed to get out before Lexa was being pushed away from her. Lexa was outside the grey steel doors of the operating room before she could process what had happened.
So she paced.
And paced.
And paced.
Anya crashed into Lexa in the waiting room less than an hour later, and it knocked something loose inside her - sobs exploded from her chest. “They just took her! They took her and the baby and I didn’t even get to hold her. I didn’t get to hold either of them and-and-what if…”
Anya pulled back and squeezed Lexa by her shoulder, strong grip trying to ground Lexa before she got too lost in her despair. “Lexa. She’s strong. They both are. Don’t worry about the baby… it’s yours. It’s a fighter.”
“She.”
“Pardon me,” Anya asked, a wide grin slowly taking over her features. She squeezed her sister tighter. “She’s a fighter.”
“Madi,” Lexa sighed out.
“Madi’s going to be such a badass, you watch.”
“Mrs. Woods?” A voice interrupted.
Lexa hastened to wipe the tears still spilling From her eyes and turned to meet one of the orderlies.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know that your wife is out of surgery - everything went well. We’re still in the process of moving her to the recovery room, but Madi’s been moved to the NICU, if you want to meet her.”
Anya excitedly clapped Lexa on her back as Lexa let out a watery sigh of relief. “Time to go meet your daughter.”
...
Lexa stood outside of the NICU, tears staining her cheeks. “She’s so small.”
“She’s a fighter,” Anya repeated.
Lexa choked on a sob. “I almost lost her today.”
“She’s okay, Lexa.”
“I mean Clarke. I caused this. We were fighting and I- I was - I’ve been stressing her out and I was a jerk.”
“Listen to me, Clarke loves you. All she wants is for you to understand that. She wants you around more because she loves you. And that little girl in there,” Anya pointed to the wiggling baby inside the NICU, “is so lucky to have you two as her moms. Clarke is safe and in a few days all three of you will go home and live happily ever after. Just be grateful this didn’t turn out worse.”
Lexa stared at her daughter, her guilty mind making her entire body hurt.
“Mrs. Woods, your wife is awake.” The same orderly quietly spoke. “She's asking for you.”
…
“Hey, Clarke,” Lexa said, immediately rushing to her wife’s side the second that she entered. “Anya went to get you some food.”
“Hi,” Clarke whispered. “How’s Madi?”
“She’s okay. How are you?” Lexa’s voice was strained with the emotion she held back.
Clarke reached for her wife’s hand and squeezed her knuckles once they interlaced their fingers. That was all it took before Lexa broke down in harsh, violent sobs.
Clarke tugged her hand until Lexa’s body was against hers, holding her head to her chest as Lexa cried in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Clarke, I didn’t -“
“Shhhh, hey, no, Lexa don’t do that.”
Red rimmed eyes met tired blue ones. “I could have lost you,”
“But you didn’t. And, we got to meet our little girl today. I’m so happy, Lexa.” Clarke’s smile was tired but warm. Lexa sniffed against her chest, calming down under the ministrations of Clarke’s fingers along her spine. “Be happy with me. Today is a good day.”
“I’m sorry,” Lexa said. “You were right about me working too much. I was-I am so scared. What if she hates me? What if you hate me? I don’t know how to be anything but my job.”
Clarke clicked her tongue and wiped the tears from Lexa’s cheeks. “That’s not true. You know how to be a good wife - a good friend - a good sister. You’re so amazing, Lexa. You’d be an amazing mom. I know you will be.”
Lexa snuffed, wiped her eyes and held her wife’s gaze. “I promise I’ll be around more. For Madi, and for you. For us.”
Clarke smiled and nodded. “I know, Lex.”
The orderly from before knocked gently on the door. “Mrs & Mrs Griffin-Woods, I was wondering if you guys would like to meet your daughter?”
“Please,” Clarke cooed, perking up immediately. She winced when she tried to sit up too quickly, and Lexa did all she could to not flinch sympathetically.
The orderly wheeled over the incubator with the tiny baby inside. There were tubes that seemed too large to be attached to her, but the nurse told them that everything was okay, and she was encouraged for skin to skin contact.
Clarke asked questions while Lexa lifted the lid to the tiny incubator, and picked up the tiny infant. Madi’s face scrunched unhappily at the cold air.
“Happy birthday, baby,” Lexa whispered. Madi only calmed when Lexa held her against her chest, soothing the tiny girl as the nurse helped Clarke remove her gown.
Overcome with emotion, Lexa focused on her daughter, the tiny toes, the tiny fingers, the feel of her little puffs of air. “I love you so much, Madi Griffin-Woods. You’re so special to me and your mommy. You own my heart, baby girl, you know that? I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
Once Clarke was situated against the pillows, Lexa slowly settled Madi against her bare chest and climbed into the tiny hospital bed beside her wife. She wrapped her arms around Clarke as best she could, and together they held their daughter.
Anya was right. Lexa never let anything come before her family ever again, and they lived happily ever after.
