seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
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seen from Iraq
seen from Canada
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seen from United States
Every time I read the DWBYG Extra Credit one shot and get to the part where Lexa just got absolutely railed by her wife and just says "You fogged my glasses" I snort. YOU FUCKIN NEEEEERRRDDD. Clarke got herself the dorkiest sexiest wife.
Rereading Electric Feel and Clarke mentions Operation ‘Put a Ring On It’ didn’t exactly go off without a hitch. What actually happened? Was it that the proposal didn’t go quite as planned or there was angst or something before they got there? Sorry if you’ve already answered this.
Oof, this got long…
I didn’t have anything specific in mind, but let’s just say that Clarke planned this whole elaborate proposal in the woods (as I’ve previously headcanoned). She dislikes the great outdoors—too many bugs, ew—but knows Lexa feels truly at peace amongst nature, and what could be more romantic than Clarke popping The Question to the woman she loves at the top of a mountain overlooking a beautiful forest and crystal clear lake? So Clarke organises a trip to a remote cabin upstate and swears their closest friends to secrecy. Only to realise once they arrive that she neglected to pack the fucking ring. It’s still hidden inside the battery compartment of the Alien dildo in the ‘pleasure chest’ beneath their bed (the one place Lexa is guaranteed never to look, because that toy still haunts her).
This is a minor setback. Clarke just needs to contact Raven and have her drive up with the ring. Yeah, Raven will give her no end of shit about it, but the plan is salvageable. No need to panic.
Except there’s no reception. The cabin and surrounding forest is a dead zone. No WiFi either. The website had some spiel about going off the grid, digital detox, escaping your slavish devotion to screens, and communing with your surroundings. The kind of tree-hugging, hippie crap that brought Clarke out in hives when she read it, but knew for a fact would appeal to Lexa.
A dreadful realisation sinks in. She’s gonna have to hike to civilisation, or at least until she can get one bar on her phone, which she smuggled in her luggage despite Lexa’s insistence that they leave all electronic devices (including vibrators) at home. They even used an actual fold-out map to navigate the route!
Of course, Lexa is astonished when Clarke is the one to suggest they go for a walk. Within minutes of their arrival, no less. On the journey here, Clarke had made pretty explicit that the first item on their itinerary was to defile every available surface in the place and then fire up the hot tub. But if Clarke wants to stretch her legs and take in the fresh air, far be it for Lexa to argue. Maybe Clarke is finally developing an appreciation for nature after years of resisting Lexa’s attempts to lure her on camping trips with Lincoln and Octavia.
So they follow a trail to the lake. It takes Clarke’s breath away to see Lexa silhouetted against the backdrop of the tranquil water, majestic trees rising up all around, flannel shirt fluttering in the breeze, that bubble butt looking spec-fucking-tacular in those tight, tight jeans. And when Lexa turns to smile at Clarke, beaming ear to ear, all the huffing and puffing, the blisters she already feels forming on her heels are forgotten; suddenly inconsequential.
She rushes up to Lexa and kisses her, Clarke loving that moment she catches Lexa off guard before Lexa pulls her closer by the cheeks.
After they separate, several breathless minutes later, Clarke says, “Hey, um, why don’t you go take a walk along the shore? I think I’ve got a stone in my shoe. I’ll just sit here and shake it out, then catch up.”
Still a little dazed from the kiss, Lexa nods her agreement. Green eyes unfocused. A dopey smile pulling at her full lips. Sufficiently distracted that she doesn’t question Clarke’s ulterior motives.
Once Lexa is halfway to the wooden jetty, Clarke reaches into her sock and fishes out her phone. Relieved to see the blessed two bars of signal strength on the screen, she sends a silent thank you to Linda Lovelace in the heavens. Making sure Lexa isn’t looking in this direction, Clarke quickly taps out a text to Raven, thumbs flying over the keyboard.
Help! Operation Put A Ring On It hit a snag. No time to explain. Need you to go to my place, get the Alien Queen from under the bed, and bring it to the cabin tonight. DISCREETLY. Lexa can’t see or hear you arrive. There’s a wood store at the back. Drop it off there.
It’s about thirty seconds before she gets a predictably terse reply.
Wtf, Griff? I’m not touching your stash of dildos. And isn’t it like a three hour drive?
Please, I’m begging. I’ll owe you a million.
A minute passes. She glances up to see Lexa waving from the jetty, beckoning Clarke over.
“Shit. Come on, Rae, come on,” she grits out through her teeth, angling her body further away and pretending to tie her shoelace.
At last, she gets a FINE. Send me the damn GPS location.
You’re a lifesaver.
Raven replies with a succinct emoji: 🖕🏼
Love you 😘
Clarke manages to send the details to Raven and covertly slip the phone into her sock again before Lexa ambles back over, a puzzled furrow between her brows.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I guess I’m just kind of tired from the drive, babe. I thought the hike might help clear my head, but I could use a nap.”
Lexa eyes her knowingly. “And is that with or without our clothes on?”
“Well, I’m not gonna say no to naked spooning.”
Clarke gets to her feet and steps in closer to Lexa’s body. She curls a hand around Lexa’s neck, fingers toying with the wispy baby curls at the nape. Draws her in until their smirking lips are only half an inch apart.
“If hands end up on or in certain places,” Clarke murmurs, “that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
~*~
It turns out “nap” really is a code word for sex—on the faux sheepskin rug beside the fireplace, the window seat overlooking the deck, before they finally make it to the four-poster bed. Several orgasms apiece later, they fall into a tangle of limbs and soon doze off.
~*~
The sun has already sunk behind the tops of the tall pine trees when Clarke stirs, woken by a sudden movement, the dip of the mattress beside her.
“Lex?” she asks, voice rusty with sleep as she rolls onto her back.
“Shh.”
In the semi-darkness, Clarke can just about make out the details of Lexa’s face, cast half in shadow. Head tilted to one side, posture held perfectly still.
Lexa whispers, “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Clarke whispers back.
“There’s someone outside.”
Straining to listen, all Clarke can detect is the faint rustle of the wind through the trees, the distant hoot of an owl. It’s so damn quiet here that it kind of gives her the creeps, a little tingle of unease running down her spine.
Then she hears it: the crunch of footsteps on gravel.
She glances at the clock on the nightstand, reading the glowing digits, and does the math in her head.
It’s got to be Raven—failing dismally at being stealthy.
“Stay here. I’m going to investigate,” Lexa murmurs, swinging her legs off the bed.
Impulsively, Clarke grabs Lexa’s tattooed arm to prevent her from leaving, taking a second to admire the increased definition of formerly puny biceps.
“Babe, wait. It’s probably just a wild animal. If we turn on the outside lights we’ll scare it away.”
“What if it isn’t? What if it’s a prowler? Or a sexual predator? What if some axe-wielding maniac saw us by the lake today and decided two women-loving-women on their own would be an easy target to act out their sick homicidal fantasies upon?”
Clarke barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Lexa’s been watching far too many true crime documentaries on Netflix lately.
“Yeah, and what are you gonna do if that is the case? Tai chi their ass in your birthday suit?”
Lexa’s pout is visible even in the gloom.
“No,” Clarke says firmly; decisively. “We’ll go check together, alright? Safety in numbers.”
So they hastily pull on some clothes and creep into the main living area, ducking down low to avoid the windows. Just for show, Clarke grabs the poker from the bucket beside the fireplace while Lexa arms herself with… a large frying pan?
Okay, whatever.
Clarke takes it upon herself to sidle over to the door, to the narrow window next to it. She peeks through the crack at the edge of the curtain. And, sure enough, she spots a figure clad all in black sneaking past the Mustang parked out front, heading directly for the wood shed.
“See anything?” Lexa asks in a hushed tone from her crouched position behind the kitchen counter.
One quick look over her shoulder at Lexa and Clarke has to stifle a snort. Because there’s something so deeply ridiculous about Lexa being poised to spring into action with a deadly piece of non-stick kitchenware, eyes wide and alert, hair still a wild nest from their earlier bedroom activities.
This complete dork is the person Clarke wants to spend the rest of her life with. And that thought sends a warm pang through her chest.
But back to the charade.
Clarke looks outside again.
“Mm, could be a raccoon? It’s difficult to tell in the dark.”
Then there’s a different kind of noise. A crash. Logs being toppled over. What sounds distinctly like a bunch of emphatic curse words ground out in Spanish. Something about someone’s mother? Clarke isn’t sure, she flunked Spanish in high school.
“That is not an animal,” Lexa growls, standing up and twirling the frying pan in her hand. “Alright, screw this. Whoever is out there is messing with the wrong lesbian.”
Jaw locked in determination, Lexa flips the switch for the porch lights and strides towards the door.
In a slight panic now, Clarke flings herself in front of Lexa, blocking her path.
“Lex, you can’t go out there. Deranged psycho killer, remember?
“Clarke. Move aside. I’ll handle it.” The words are delivered with crisp, measured calm.
While Lexa like this is always super hot—channeling that aura of authority she adopts whenever they do the ‘Commander & Sky Brat’ role play—for once in Clarke’s life, she ignores her libido.
“You won’t be handling me if you get yourself murdered, and that’s a problem.”
Lexa just ducks her head and plants a quick kiss on Clarke, full on the mouth.
“Remember me fondly, then,” Lexa intones, earning an exasperated sigh once she pulls away and steps around Clarke.
With a flourish, Lexa throws open the door.
“Who’s out there?” she demands. “Show yourself.”
Silence reigns, except for the whispering sounds of the forest, the buzz of the porch lights and the small insects they attract.
“I‘m armed—and I know martial arts!” Lexa snarls into the darkness.
Clarke has to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from laughing at Lexa’s dramatics.
“I mean it. This is your last chance.”
A moment later, a dark shape emerges, edging into view, holding up their hands in surrender. Raven’s wearing a ski mask to disguise her appearance and Clarke really has to give her props for leaning in to the covert ops cosplay. She wonders if Raven swiped the outfit from the set of their last movie, Position Impossible…
“The police are already on their way,” Lexa continues, not a quaver in her voice as it rings out, strong and stern. “And we all know cops shoot first and ask questions later. So if you value your life, you’ll get the fuck out of here. Now.”
Clarke keeps expecting Raven to give a sarcastic retort, but she’s deathly silent. So when Lexa takes a step forward, brandishing the frying pan in a vaguely threatening manner, to Clarke’s surprise, Raven just… turns tail and runs, fleeing into the night.
Even Lexa looks astounded that the scare tactics actually worked.
“Huh. I must be more intimidating than I thought.”
Meanwhile, Clarke is quietly impressed by how convincing Raven was. Because the girl is good at faking an orgasm, it’s true, but that’s about the extent of her acting ability. This was, like, daytime Emmy-worthy.
“Uh, yeah. My hero.” Clarke blinks as she peers into the night. “But let’s get back inside, in case that creep returns.”
For the rest of the evening, Lexa struts around the cabin, a little swagger in her step, basking in her newfound status as fearless protector.
And Clarke, Clarke can’t pretend she doesn’t find it a major turn-on.
~*~
The next morning, Clarke rises bright and early, limbs pleasantly aching, leaving an exhausted Lexa sprawled out on the rumpled sheets, covered in hickeys.
After borrowing Lexa’s discarded sweater and tugging on a pair of jeans, Clarke tiptoes through the cabin and slips outside. Only to stop dead in her tracks when she sees a figure casually sauntering up the path. Sunglasses on. Purse swinging from her shoulder. Wearing booty shorts and a camisole. Looking every inch like the first girl to get killed in a slasher movie set in the woods.
“Raven,” Clarke hisses. “What the hell?”
Even behind the shades, Clarke knows Raven’s giving her a look that could curdle milk.
“Well, fuck you too, Griff. This is the thanks I get for hand-delivering your sex toys?”
Scowling, Raven digs a hand into her purse and pulls out a very familiar black and teal object.
“Here.” She throws the dildo at Clarke, who barely catches it before the 12 inches of silicone smacks her across the face.
“Jesus, Rae. You nearly took my eye out.”
“Practically an occupational hazard for us.”
With a sigh, Clarke fiddles with the battery compartment and a sudden wave of relief passes over her when she sees the the ring sparkling in the sunlight. (Maya really did a beautiful job with the stone setting and slim platinum band.)
But then, just as quickly, the nerves hit.
Clarke’s stomach churns. Anxious about the speech she’s been rehearsing for weeks, but more so about Lexa’s reaction. Because Clarke has never been good at putting her feelings into words, and this—this is the most important and scary question she’s ever going to ask. And it has to be perfect. Lexa deserves nothing less.
Taking in a steadying breath, Clarke shoves the dildo under her sweater.
“Thank you,” she tells Raven, sincerely, braving a smile to help quell the butterflies. “And I’m really sorry you had to abort the mission and come back.”
“Come back?” Raven pushes her sunglasses up. Gives a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”
They stare at each other in mounting confusion.
“You didn’t make the drop last night because we interrupted you. And that’s why you’re here now.”
“Griff. I was in at home last night. I had a thing with Anya, so I got up at the ass crack of dawn instead. I figured you’d both still be asleep.”
Clarke’s blood runs cold.
“Oh… fuck.”
“What?”
She chews her bottom lip. “Okay, so, Lexa and I came this close to being a crime statistic.”
How does Lexa react when her students figure it out? I assume she's learned to take it stride because while it's a bit 😳, she's still never ashamed of Clarke or what she does
Professor Hot Stuff was already a figure of fascination for her students, but once they find out who her wife is? They’re obsessed. Lexa’s largely oblivious until she discovers they’ve been thirstily writing real person fanfic about her and Clarke. Lexa is embarrassed—not that they know about Clarke’s work, but by how explicit and kinky the stories are. Meanwhile for Clarke, it’s an endless source of amusement. She likes to swing by campus sometimes during office hours, just to flirt with Lexa in front of her gawking students and provide some extra fodder for their torrid smut fics.
Alsjdgjsklfkj Clarke reading the fanfic while Lexa is sitting there dying inside as Clarke just mumbles to herself "wow... everyone notices the length of your fingers huh... hmm, that position sounds interesting"
Clarke completely takes it in stride. It’s not her first brush with real person fic, after all. She remembers that epic, slow burn high school AU someone wrote about Kassie and Raven, which she still strongly suspects Raven was behind.
But poor Lexa is mortified, especially when the fanfic (posted anonymously online) somehow comes to Indra’s attention. Officially, Indra has to shut the thread down, but she also takes the opportunity to provide some notes on thematic structure as an amateur novelist herself. And if it mysteriously goes viral on social media first and Buzzfeed gets tipped off... well, that’s out of Indra’s hands, isn’t it? Although, she’s not going to complain about the sudden influx of interest in her department.
Imagine: prof lexa's wfh and she's on video conference w/ her colleagues. she's in full professor mode and ofc clarke can't keep her hands to herself. Clarke proceeds to eat lexa out from under the table, and makes a game out of it. Whoever wins gets to do w/e they want in bed later that night. For lexa to win she must make it through the confe w/o cumming. But Clarke's enthusiastic tongue is just too good, so lexa drops the call just as she orgasms
Haha, oh God. Profs Indra and Tsing would quickly catch on to what was happening, but clueless Kane is totally perplexed when Lexa, red-faced and visibly sweating, abruptly ends the call.
Omg the video conference 😂 But also, imagine her online class collectively wondering why prof Lexa has an amazing 4K video set up with perfect lighting and sound.
Astounded that Prof Lexa has really gone that extra mile to make sure her students get the most out of Intro to Feminism 101.
I'm sure the video, lighting, and sound set up was a bang for the buck kinda deal 😂😂 Lexa's just a really hard worker y'know
It begs the question of: how long before one of Prof Lexa’s eagle-eyed students recognises the distinctive abstract art in the background, in particular a painting that looks uncannily like a certain body part and has been the backdrop to numerous Pornhub videos...
Oh my goddesses future dwbyg sounds like so much fun
Future DWBYG is me turning the crack up to 11.
