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banfox23 · 20 days

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I never reblogged this and don't know why, but they are my (bisexual)gays and I love them. ❤️

Well done ladies, on the enemy's desk, yes.

sneak peek about clexa fucking in bell’s desk…….. as a treattttt pleek

Not so much a sneak peek but how about poorly and quickly written synopsis?

This uh... turned out dirtier than I anticipated. I've had a really bad day so please be kind for mess ups I wrote it all on here in less than 20 minutes 😔

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Lexa wouldn't actually be the one who plans it or even executes it. That'd all be Clarke. In fact, the thought had all but flown completely from Lexa's mind by the time Clarke sees her opportunity and pounces. Because from the second Lexa had told her in a fit of champagne fizzed laughter and kisses too filled with smiles and teeth, Clarke had thought that sounded like quite a good idea. After her mild horrified stupor.

Her wife was such a genius.

And to think how everyone always assumed Lexa was the more innocent minded between them.

Granted, Bellamy would never actually know it happened but if Clarke knew anything about her wife, it was that if Lexa'd said it, she'd fantasized about it, and Clarke was big into the business of making dreams a reality.

She plans it on a Monday, Bellmay's big operating days, knowing he likes to group more routine/elective surgeries back to back and knock most of them out in one day. With a bag of peanut M&M's, a promise to have it back in an hour, and vague insinuations of wanting to leave a belated birthday present for him, aquiring a key from her favorite maintenance guy isn't a problem.

Lexa is bewildered by the cryptic text from her wife to report to Ortho, and even more so specifically Dr. Blake's office. So when the door slips open at her knock a hand unceremoniously yanks her inside, it's a bit of a shock to say the least.

But Clarke kisses her through her confusion. Kisses her through a muffled plea to just shut up and trust her. Hands pulling the shirt from her pants and quickly undoing her belt make Lexa moan and nod when she haphazardly catches on to what's happening.

Normally Clarke loves the tight slacks her wife wears to work but when she has to drop to her knees to pull them over the swell of her ass, she may huff and grumble a few choice expletives. But looking up as Lexa laces a hand roughly in her hair and pulls her where she needs her, Clarke forgets the seriously ridiculous restricting pants.

What she always loves without fail is when Lexa gets into this mood. The mood where her eyes turn dark and her touches turn demanding as Lexa lewdly groans and rubs herself on Clarke's mouth. Relaxing into it, Clarke rests her hands on Lexa's thighs and lets herself be used. Sees that perfect jaw fall open as green rimmed pools of black stare down at her every time her clit drags across Clarke's tongue. They move together with each roll of Lexa's hips as fingers clench painfully in her hair as Lexa quickly builds herself up.

Lexa keens in disappointed hunger when Clarke pulls away just as her climax hangs on the tip of her tongue, still letting go just long enough for Clarke stand and take her mouth in kiss. Clarke shakes as Lexa licks into her mouth, slick and wet and chasing her own taste. But Lexa lets herself be guided to lay back, smiling indulgently when Clarke snags loose the few pins that had held her hair up, instead letting it fall in rich tendrils around her shoulders and fan out across the desk beneath her.

It's not hard to push into her with two fingers, feeling hot wetness ripple around her and adding another at her wife's needy whine. Clarke fucks her in quick and smooth strokes. Works her back up with a few curls and drags. Rests her other hand on the soft swell of her wife's lower belly as her thumb draws tight circles around the red, swollen bud.

Thighs tighten around her hips as that wetness tightens around her fingers. Lexa's hands slide over her waist, her own breasts, cling to the edge of the desk. Her back arches eyes screw shut as Clarke watches her bow into her thrusts. A small cry squeaks past plump bitten lips as Lexa locks up in a crash of pleasure.

Clarke watches her wife collapse back onto the desk, the mental image of those perfect tits and hard nipples pressing up through her shirt leaving Clarke wishing they were already home. She watches Lexa writhe through her aftershocks, pleasant hums and breathy moans singing out around her. Strokes her gently, working her down until the quaking starts to ease.

Lexa moans with a dopey smile when Clarke pulls out, her own hands caressing over her chest and down. She runs her fingers through the wiry thatch of curls and rubs over sated and swollen folds, blue eyes hungrily taking in every movement as Lexa spreads herself open. Lets her wife see her clenching around nothing simply because she knows Clarke enjoys it. She gathers the slick and blindly holds her fingers out for Clarke to lick clean again.

It's a well practiced dance between them and Clarke lives for every performance.

Wrapping a hand around the back of her wife's neck, Clarke eases Lexa up and pulls her close. Noses bump and brush to the sound of lighthearted sighs. Clarke feels such clarity in moments like this, when Lexa is silent and looking at her with eyes softer than she can begin to describe. When hands run up and down along her spine as full lips press gently against her own.

"You know you're my always, right?"

Lexa nods with another kiss and hugs her close. Holds her. Buries an unseen smile into the bend of her neck. Because, yes, this was stupid, and entirely unnecessary, but Clarke knows well enough she'd just checked another daydream off Lexa's list.

And, yeah, they both deserve to be a little smug about it.

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banfox23 · 23 days

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banfox23 · 27 days

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Can I flip the anon question? What are those moments where CI Lexa finds Clarke adorable? :3

Honestly when Clarke is just being entirely too much Clarke for anyone's own good lol

Because see, on the flip side, Clarke is an extremely tactile partner. Clarke is the wife who kisses and holds hands everywhere they go. Who will curl herself up into Lexa's side like a little mangy cat desperate for love. Who will just open herself up whenever Lexa feels like silently crawling into her lap and draping herself all over Clarke for no reason other than to feel close. Clarke's loving side with her is kind of their baseline, so it's when she does things that surpise Lexa that really grab her attention.

Something as stupid as Lexa being gone for a business trip and aching for that familiar touch that usually fills her days, so in a moment of weakness she texts "I'm in a meeting that's so boring I want to kill myself. Entertain me, my darling? Send a video of you pleasuring yourself. I want to watch."

It's her favorite thing to do in these stuffy meetings. The baited breath and anticipation making her antsy, crossing and uncrossing her legs because Lexa truly hates being patient when it comes to watching Clarke get off.

Only to click open the goddamn video... and find her wife sensually eating a slice of fucking pizza, making those obscene moans and biting her lips and licking her fingers like its the most erotic experience of her life.

And it's so stupid. It is so fucking stupid, and yet such a perfectly asshole-Clarke thing to do it has Lexa hiding a smile behind her fingers so that the very boring businessmen peppered around the conference table don't realize that she's not, in fact, just the emotionless cutthroat head of the Woods' Empire. That she's actually just a woman hopelessly in love with the same fucking idiot who has kept her on her toes every day since the first second they met.

That's what does it for Lexa. Because Clarke is a lot of things: ruthless, cruel, unyielding and filled the most delicious kind of ill-intent. She loves more fully and wonderfully than she gives herself credit for, and is forgiving even when Lexa's not sure if she deserves it. But what keeps Lexa falling in love over and over again, what makes Lexa's heart pound, is the brightness in her. The silliness, the funniness, how clever she truly is. It's the playfulness that she keeps hidden behind the darkest pieces of her heart that only Lexa is ever allowed to see

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banfox23 · 27 days

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prompt idea - “I’m pretty sure that’s not what the directions said to do.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what the directions said to do.”

Lexa's eyebrows met perfectly in the middle, a thundercloud brewing above the crown of her head as she threw the Allen wrench down.

"Clarke, if you think it's that simple, then why am I the one that's been squatting on the floor for the past fourty-five minutes, trying to get this damn screw to thread?"

The ikea couch sat in front of her, taunting her, as it teetered, the second set of legs half- attached.

Clarke swung her legs from her perch on the kitchen counter, smoothing the 14 page direction set in her hands as she looked down at her grumpy girlfriend.

The instructions crinkled as she brandished the paper in question, wordlessly shaking the graphic in her hand.

"Lex, it's not my fault you won't read the directions prior to starting the damn project. Also, I am the one who is growing an entire human, and you told me that would get me out of squatting on the floor, furniture duties for the next 15 years."

Lexa felt her lips quirk into a small smile as Clarke slipped off the counter, good naturedly propping her hands behind her back to stretch her spine, a pale flash of 6 month pregnancy belly showing momentarily under her cropped black top.

Lexa, as if pulled by magnets, found herself sidling up to her pregnant wife, threading her fingers through silky blonde hair, nosing her way towards a toasty warm neck, dappled with baby hairs.

"You're right my darling- I'm sorry. Let's get my girls their lunch and then I'll call Raven to put the damn thing together- she owes me after that prank last year."

"How was she meant to know that you were going to actually slip on that banana peel, Lex--"

"She owes me!"

The sound of Clarke's laughter floated through the open doorway as Lexa tugged her into the kitchen, dust motes swirling through the buttery light of the late morning.

#ehehehehehehehe #ikea furniture is pure evil

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banfox23 · 1 month

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So we know CI Clarke like to nibble nibble on Lexa whenever wherever. But are there any instances where she’s literally latched on her coz of something her wife did or say that’s just too adorable?

There's plenty of times in their day to day where Lexa is simply too cute, too gorgeous for words and Clarke quite literally just wants to eat her up. Her secret little pair of reading glasses or the way she smacks her lips in her sleep, the way she gets broody and tucks her face into Clarke's neck when she isn't feeling well. The way she can volley between curtious and so fucking rude it'd make your eyes water, the way she scrunches her nose up at something she finds so tacky she can't even begin to contain herself.

There's just so many shades of Lexa, and each one is perfectly wonderful, and extremely biteable 😌

But also, the thing with Lexa is that she's not a particularly outwardly vocal person about her feelings. She's not a partner who says "I love you" often, because she prefers to show it in her actions. Words are too easy to fake. And she's not the kind of person who uses pet names in a genuine sense (beyond Darling) very often, because she loves Clarke's name. The sound of it, the taste of it, the way it makes her feel knowing that name and that girl belong to her, every bit as much as she belongs to it. So she uses it.

So when it comes to Lexa, it's always in the quiet moments that Clarke has learned to listen for the big things. To recognize big moments that really show all the thoughts and feelings that have sat tidy behind the veil of Lexa's carefully crafted indifference.

Because those are the moments when Lexa will turn to her and say something that just... knocks the absolute fucking wind out of her. A random Saturday morning that feels so mundane her past self would cry in agony just at the thought of it, silently drinking their coffees and sharing pain au chocolat that the cook made fresh that morning. Reading or scrolling their phones while ignoring each other's incessant yawning and absently running hands along each other's back, still stiff from sleep.

Those are always the times when Lexa will just let the veil drop to Clarke's "What are you thinking?" with a thoughtful and slowly hummed, "That I'm happy... That... if one day I had no memory of my life, I'd never want to forget this. I think I'd be fine not remembering one single other thing about myself. Except you. And us. Just like this... I'd want you to always tell me stories about this."

It's bizarre and seemingly out of nowhere, but that's why it's so perfectly Lexa in that in way, and truthfully, how is Clarke expected to do anything other than physically attack her wife with nibbles, bites, and kisses that leave the kind of marks that make sure she wont forget? Can't forget. At least not for the rest of the day.

#that's it #cruel intentions au #clexa #i want to cry

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banfox23 · 1 month

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for the reverse trope writing: divorce of convenience (something new or an au of your choice, both sound fun!)

Her eyes watch as the ink bleeds slowly into the paper. They watch neat, slanted script combine in the fragmented loops and dashes that make up that achingly familiar signature. X marks the spot. On the dotted line. Not a single scribble out of place; right where the lawyer had highlighted it in garish neon yellow.

Forever and ever.

They were eleven, and it's promising to always be best friends. The kind that stick together through thick and thin. Like white on rice, as their teacher often said.

Forever and ever.

They were fifteen and it's smiling with the awkwardness of young love. The kind that sets fire to racing hearts from a first kiss stolen behind their school's abandoned gymnasium.

Forever and ever.

They were seventeen, and it's shaking hands that still can't believe they get to touch their best friends that way. The kind of way that makes them both let out hungry sounds and pretty moans in the backseat of her dad's station wagon.

Forever and ever.

They were nineteen, and it's stiff-jawed goodbyes through desperate kisses. The kind rotten with promises that this isn't the end. That it's just a ‘see you later’, but never goodbye. Not for them.

Forever and ever.

They were twenty-eight, and it's handwritten vows and white satin gowns with matching bridal bouquets. The kind that they picked out together to remind them that all this was worth it, that it's finally the day they'd been planning for since their junior year in college. The culmination of sleepless nights and teary phone calls from three states away.

Forever and ever.

They were thirty, and it's whispering in the nursery of their freshly furnished house, standing wrapped in each other's arms at the edge of an adorably small bassinet. The kind decked out in purple frills with sunshine yellow along the trim, because they'd agreed from the first plus sign to not know the sex. It's fingers running through brown curls carefully enough not to wake their baby up, while watching lashes twitch in dreaming that hide those baby blue eyes. The exact shape and shade that'd had them both wrapped around a tiny pinky from the start.

Forever and ever.

They are fifty-four, and it's an empty nest that's too quiet in house that sometimes feels too big. The kind they'd joked about missing for years, but now that it's here, they don't entirely know what to do with it.

It's medical bills, and denied claims for benefits, and meetings with stuffy lawyers who explain the finer points of income brackets. It's physical therapy visits and losing her job at the hospital and endless prescriptions that never seem to be covered by their insurance. It's everything, and all the time, because life refuses to slow down for even one damn second, despite a hip that simply will not work anymore.

They are fifty-four and Clarke never thought she'd be here. That they'd make this kind of choice. Never thought she'd feel quite this stuck. Quite this useless. Never thought she'd be in this situation at all.

But it's clean and it's neat, just the way they like it. A mutual agreement for them both. A fresh start after the accident, one that'll let them move on with their lives, instead of trying to hang on to this thing that only leaves them drowning.

At least that's what they'd agreed.

She watches her wife— her ex-wife, dot the i's of her name with an overly dramatic flourish. Watches her click the pen with her thumb and toss it aside with a sigh from deep in her bones.

She smiles and feels her chest squeeze with that familiar pang of deep friendship and love.

“Cheers,” Clarke says, holding up her flute of champagne.

She'd had to hobble through four different specialty liquor stores just to find it, but it'd felt fitting to toast the signing of their divorce with the same bubbly they'd shared on their wedding day.

Lexa picks up her glass and clinks it soundly against her own, only managing the barest sip around a smile of her own. “Cheers, single lady.”

“Mm. This is good.”

“Even better than I remember from the first time,” Lexa agrees as her gaze makes a lazy rake over Clarke's body.

It's not lost on Clarke how ridiculous it is to be blushing over the signed stack of her divorce papers, but something about the way Lexa looks at her has always set her on fire.

“So,” she tries, casually, seeing aside her cane and leaning heavier against the kitchen tae, “what are you going to do next?”

Lexa takes another sip of her champagne, watching her closely over the rim. She swallows with a flex of that elegant throat and shuffles closer, sets her glass down on Clarke's other side, effectively boxing her in.

“Go to Disneyland.”

The sound of Clarke's snort rings through the kitchen. “Smartass.”

“What about you?” Lexa asks with a bite to her lips, hands still bracketing the sides of Clarke's waist and eyes twinkling with mischief. “Any big plans for the future, newly divorced Ms. Griffin?”

Clarke scoffs. “Nice try. But it's still ‘Ms. Griffin-Woods’ to you.”

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Uhuh,” Clarke nods and loops her arms around Lexa's shoulders. “Sorry not sorry, but I'm never giving that one back.”

Lexa hums and presses closer. Paints her body to Clarke's curves and breathes her in the same way she has for forty years.

“Greedy, but I think I can live with that.”

“Such a hardship. I seem to remember you loving that about me.”

“Among so many things.”

Clarke moans when Lexa's lips find the hollow dip of her neck, relaxing into the wet warmth of a plump, suckling kiss. Champagne has always made Lexa brazenly affectionate. She tips head back to grant more room and sucks in a gasp at the nibble of teeth. Tangles her fingers in greying, brunette hair that only serves to make her bombshell of a wife look that much more distinguished.

Well. Her ex-wife, that is…

Hands trail down Clarke's hips and wrap tight around her thighs and before she can yelp a single word she's lifted onto the table.

Lexa lets out a half-laughed grunt when she gets Clarke settled in place, looking equally as amused as she does grateful that the little maneuver actually still worked after so many years.

“You good, baby?” Clarke chuckles along with her, mindlessly going to rub the shoulder that had started being a pain around birthday forty-seven. “Didn't pop anything, did you?”

“No, I'm good, I'm good,” Lexa says, smiling and shaking off her ill-coordinated prowess like the champ that she is. “That just used to be easier.”

“Is that a crack about my weight?”

“More like a crack about me being old.”

“Oh. Well then yeah.”

“Rude,” Lexa gasps, taking the hips in her hands and pulling them closer. Pressing Clarke firmly against her stomach. “There's still giddy up in this old girl, I'll have you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“My, my, Ms. Woods—”

“Griffin-Woods,” Lexa's quick to correct. Suddenly serious in how intense she looks Clarke in the eyes. “You're not getting that back either.”

They share a look because things like this have never required words. Not for them. But with everything and all of it, with the ink still drying on the paper beside them, Clarke gives in to her last bit of worry.

“You're still my girl,” she whispers. Swallows. Feels a stinging prickle along her eyes at the sudden need to feel this connection with her favorite person in the world. “Even with me, and having to do all this… You know we're still us, right? You're still my girl?”

Clarke melts into the kiss she knows is coming because she knows this woman better than anybody, and it feels more like a promise that nothing could ever break them than any piece of paper ever could. She wraps her good leg around Lexa's hip and deepens it, kisses back with every ounce of love her heart has to offer. Cherishes each massage of tongue and slide of lips that have met thousands of times before.

Lexa kisses her once, twice more, and pulls back with a soothing smile.

“Always, love… Forever and ever.”

#ughhhh #my heart T_T #it's fine #they're fine #I saw what you did with Lexa and champagne... The CoA move ehehe #Well done 😏

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banfox23 · 1 month

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REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS - Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

“So you’re really telling me you’re dating Lexa now?” Raven asked, her tone dripping with disbelief.

“Yes, Raven, for the last time, we're together,” Clarke insisted, her hands gesturing emphatically.

Raven laughed, a loud, incredulous sound that bounced off the walls. “Okay, Clarke, sure. And I'm the Queen of England. Seriously, have you even kissed her?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Yes, we’ve kissed. A lot, actually.”

“Uh-huh, and I’m hacking into government websites on the weekends,” Raven quipped, her smirk wide as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Clarke’s frustration was palpable, her voice rising slightly. “We've even slept together, Raven.”

Raven’s eyebrows shot up, her expression unchanging. “Sleeping with someone doesn’t make you a couple, Clarke. Hell, by that logic, half the college would be in serious relationships.”

Clarke sighed, her gaze flickering to the ceiling as if seeking patience. Raven leaned back against the cushions, her face the picture of exaggerated skepticism.

“Look, until I see you two picking out curtains or planning a wedding, I’m gonna reserve my right to remain skeptical. Hell, I'll believe it when you two get joint bank accounts. That’s real commitment.”

“I don’t need a joint bank account to prove I’m in a relationship," Clarke protested, though a small smile broke through, unable to resist Raven's humor.

Raven nodded, her voice taking on a mock-serious tone. “Oh, my sweet, naive Clarke. In the world of Raven Reyes, it’s not official until it’s Instagram official or you’re screaming at each other about whose turn it is to do the dishes or who didn't replace the toilet paper roll. That's the real deal.”

Clarke threw a cushion at Raven playfully. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re delusional if you think I’m buying this whole ‘Lexa and Clarke’ fairytale without some solid evidence,” Raven retorted, catching the cushion and hugging it to her chest.

“Maybe I’ll just invite her over for dinner,” Clarke suggested, an idea sparking in her eyes.

“Oh, bringing the alleged girlfriend home to meet the skeptic? Now that’s a plot twist.” Raven chuckled. “Make sure she knows how to dodge a grilling, because I’m not holding back, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded, a determined gleam in her eye. “Challenge accepted. You’ll see, Raven. It’s real.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Raven replied with a laugh, settling more comfortably into the couch as Clarke began planning her proof.

#oh that's nice #I think I unlocked a new favourite #clexa prompt

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banfox23 · 2 months

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It should be illegal to be this cute.

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banfox23 · 3 months

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Can I have what they have? Pls and thx.

First time Clarke and Lexa slept in the same bed for starlet au?

The first time they sleep in the same bed is surprisingly (?) not the first time they have sex (which I will cover in the next one of these asks I promise 😬 sorry I've had doctor stuff going on I'm getting back on my bullshit)

As we've seen these two moved at roughly the average speed of drifting tectonic plates, so...

No, the first time they literally slept(only sleep) together was the night of their first kiss. Because the thing is, Lexa was so jetlagged, so absolutely emotionally and physically depleted, her eyes were constantly in this state of half-open from the second she's swayed her silly ass in through that door.

What Clarke had initially taken as a romantically forceful kiss - all tender hands and Lexa leaning into her, crowding her against the wall to kiss her more thoroughly - was in reality the tiredness of the poor woman practically rolling off of her in waves of exhaustion (Lexa will refute this the entirety of their relationship every time the story gets told to their friends)

Because Lexa had stayed up for the entirety of her nearly 11 hour flight, right on the heels of an 17 hour shoot day.

So. What Clarke had taken as a loose limbed but robust kind of advance had, in fact, just been the robustly off-kilter slumping of a Lexa who could barely stand on her feet. A rather hazy declaration of her feelings, if you will. But it hadn't taken much more than a pause in the sudden onslaught of Lexa Lips for Clarke to actually get a good a look at her. To see the droopy hang of glassy eyes and the darkened circles that puffed out just beneath them. To see the way Lexa swayed on the spot when not braced on Clarke's hips, her entire body listing this way and that, as though ready to topple over at a stiff gust of wind.

There was something sweet in the absurdity of it.

Naturally Clarke insisted she spend the night. Where Lexa had argued that she couldn't - not like this - because staying wasn't smart or at all a part of her brilliantly un-thought-out plan, Clarke made the very convincing argument of, "shut up, yes you can."

And it was a revelation to learn that tired-Lexa was actually rather agreeable. Much less of a pain in the ass than Lexa with a solid 8 hours of sleep at least. Not to mention, sleepy Lexa was unfathomablly handsy, more so than Clarke would've ever given the girl credit for just from knowing her as... friends. But when she'd told Lexa to follow her to her bedroom, she'd barely made it three feet before those arms had wrapped sure and possessively around her.

From the broken dam of all the kissing or pure sleep deprivation alone, Clarke really didn't know, but for the first time since that day in the waiting room, Lexa wasn't the subdued, collected women Clarke had grown to know. To love, even if she was only willing to admit that fact within the shadows of her own bedroom.

Instead, tired Lexa was a woman who practically draped herself along Clarke's back, swaying with each bow-legged step it took to keep them in such close contact. She was a woman who traced her nose along Clarke's neck and told her how much she had missed the smell of her perfume. Who kissed Clarke's shoulder, the hinge of her jaw and hummed happy noises against her temple. Who let her lips wander to whatever was within reach just to linger on the patch of skin below her ear. She was a women who caressed her hands along Clarke's ribs and hugged her tighter than she could ever remember. As though if she just hugged her tight enough, neither of them would remember all of the reasons why she really should let got.

Which, while lovely to actually feel after so many months of telling herself that this exact thing was everything she'd never need, practically dragging the half-limp pile of gangly limbs that normally made up one(1) Lexa sized person to her bedroom without tripping and injuring them both proved to be a bit of a feat.

The undressing part was even trickier, given sluggish muscles and slow blinking eyes that just watched her every move. Because Lexa was beyond useless through the whole process, apparently content to sit on the edge of Clarke's bed while Clarke fluttered about and fussed over her. But finally, fucking finally, she had Lexa, and all her bits, and even those insanely long legs that proved unwieldy when trying to dress and undress tucked into an oversized sleep shirt and a pair of boxers that actually fit her quite nicely (not that Clarke was looking...)

After that it was rather simple luring Lexa into the actual bed - Clarke's lips acting as a dangling carrot of sorts was more than enough to have Lexa collapsing under the sheets.

It was even more simple scooping her up into Clarke's arms. Not even thinking about it. Just doing it for once in her goddamn life. Because Lexa's kisses had turned to syrup and her lips felt like too-warm butter, and while in any other circumstance having a girl half fall asleep while kissing her would've been mortifying, it just made Clarke's heart squeeze even tighter. So instead she just pulled Lexa closer and did her best to comb through the wild curls of her hair. She listened to her breathing turn more even. Felt her heart go slow and steady where it's beating pressed snuggly against her own.

She never would admit this in all of their years together, but Clarke didn't end up sleeping a wink that night. Instead she just laid there watched over Lexa sleeping safely in her bed. Chased away any frowns that might've signaled impending bad dreams or nightmares with her lips, pressing hundreds of kisses to Lexa's forehead and cheeks. Kissed every last one of the freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. Even snuck in a few extra ones, just for her own amusement, because she'd wasted too much time as it was not kissing those ridiculously tiny ears.

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banfox23 · 3 months

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And then they married and stayed married forever.

Great.

I love it.

Omg the first time they held each other was so sweet 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I love starlet au musings so much. Now I HAVE to ask…. First kiss?

The first kiss is appropriately dramatic, given the fact they're both rather talented actresses. It's in their blood. It's in their DNA. Of course it had to be dramatic.

A couple of months after the night Lexa spent the night on Clarke's couch, holding her close and feeling her weight as she slept, they find themselves in this weird state of limbo. They've kind of given up on all pretenses of pretending to not want to be in contact at all times, but at the same time... they fall back into this habit of keeping each other at a vague arm's length.

It's not nearly as bad as before. Not after Clarke had woken up alone on her couch to only a post-it stuck on the table next to her head that read,

"Thanks for letting me lead. Even if I do have two left feet...

L."

in neat, looping script.

She'd spent the next 7 hours of the day mentally berating herself for having not only crossed such an intimate line, but having basically made such a fool of herself in front of her not-crush right after. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things when her extensively thought out and painstakingly crafted text of, "Hey, so, sorry for getting pathetic on you last night. Yikes," is met with a simple, "Nothing to worry about, Clarke. I'm much more pathetic than that when I'm just hungry for lunch." Followed immediately by another, "If helps, you're actually kind of pretty when you cry. You should put that on your resume 👀"

And it does help.

It helps because it lets Clarke breathe a little more easy; lets her feel like she can laugh at that white flag of confirmation that she hadn't gone and ruined absolutely everything.

So yes, after that night things change between them. But not in any kind of earth shattering way. They still text everyday, but the calls become longer. More frequent. Good morning texts and bids for good nights and sweet dreams, all peppering the tail ends of too-deep conversations for people who are supposed to be just friends. All the flights and the downtime, and all the hurry up and waiting of their lives, is set to the backdrop of a new message's chime. Lexa now saved in Clarke's phone as Fred Astaire (which earns her a very nonplussed selfie)

Neither mention that Clarke was saved in Lexa's as Rosemary...

It's not until Lexa's birthday that the house of cards they've been building for all those months finally came tumbling down.

Because Lexa had to work.

She had to work - out of town - for the entire goddamn week, and there's nothing at all she can do about it. Which was how she found herself sitting in the Primeclass lounge of the airport, head in her hands, quietly sobbing.

Because of course Clarke had called her at exactly the stroke of midnight just to wish her a happy birthday before her red eye was scheduled to take off. Because of course Clarke had insisted on singing that stupid song right into her ear, all syrupy words and husky voice slightly off-key, which meant she'd set an alarm just to make sure she wouldn't miss it for something as trivial as sleep.

Lexa had barely held it together long enough to get her off the phone - to lie and say they were almost done boarding and that she had hurry and go. It'd taken everything in her just to not let her voice wobble, whispering her thank you's and a gentle urging for Clarke to go back to bed.

Because of course the second the call ended Lexa finally, finally, let herself break.

Very, very messily.

And she didn't care if people looked or took pictures or made up ridiculous theories, because it was just too goddamn much to keep buried inside. She'd been strong about this for so long it felt like she was suffocating under its weight. As though all the good pieces of herself were slowly dying.

Because she loved Clarke. She loved Clarke with her entire broken heart, and there was not one single thing she could do to stop it.

She had tried.

And so she held her head in her hands and hiccuped through a hundred silent sobs until a nice woman eased her way over and said as gently as she possibly could that it was her last chance for boarding.

The next week flew by in a haze of early call times and late night reshoots that had Lexa almost too busy to wallow. Almost. But between her own internal revelations and a set of extremely poorly timed publicity shots being posted of a certain blonde on the arm of her leading man, both enjoying a carefree and flirty looking night out on the town, Lexa cobbled together a rough draft of a plan. A smart plan. A logical plan. A plan to ask Clarke to meet her somewhere and just talk this crazy whole thing through.

A plan that went right out the window about an hour after she had landed back home, and somehow had found herself on Clarke's apartment building's front stoop.

And the truth was that even though she apparently couldn't wait, she had every intention of just going there to talk. To knock on Clarke's door and explain her feelings like a perfectly rational adult. Except then there was Clarke, with those piercing blue eyes and all that beautiful, curly blonde hair. With those lips dropping open and that unfairly attractive beauty mark perfectly dotting her sudden smile.

So their first kiss was dramatic. All relieved sighs and gasps of surpise when Lexa stepped into her a d threaded her fingers through Clarke's hair, cupped her face and pulled her close, and kissed her right there in the darkened doorway of Clarke's apartment. She kissed her through Clarke's initial startle and the slow relaxing of her bones. Kissed her harder when hands found her hips as Clarke melted into her and moaned.

For all the passion she poured into it, Lexa took her time with the kiss, stretching the moment and making every brush of lips and sweep tongue achingly slow. Because if this moment of weakness was all they would ever allow themselves... then Lexa was going to savor it.

#starlet au #clexa #i love them too

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banfox23 · 4 months

Note

I woke up this morning feeling really awful, NOW I'M FEELING GREAT.

How about Easy A for Clexafication? I could see Clarke trying to help out a fellow gay by telling other kids in school that she slept with him. And then, thanks to her loud mouth friends, it gets out of hand with her trying to help out other guys and she gets labeled the school slut even though she’s never slept with anyone. At first Clarke leans into it and plays up the slut bit but soon realizes that it’s all too much. Her actual crush Lexa seems to be the only person who doesn’t believe the rumors. I see Lexa as the school mascot (the warriors) and she does the whole warrior getup with black eye makeup and riles up the crowd at pep rallies. Lexa also works at a local seafood restaurant where she dresses up like a pirate which is also a look that Clarke quite enjoys. Eventually the truth comes out and Clarke and Lexa become everyone’s favorite couple at school.

Ahoooo do I have a cavalcade of HCs for an Easy A au 👀.

First of all, they'd be childhood friends. The kind with weekly sleepovers and even a joint a 5th birthday party one year (despite their birthdays being 3-4 months apart, much to their parents dismay. But they insisted.) I'm talking the childhood friends who practiced witchcraft in each others backyards (potions of mud, cool lookin rocks, and leaves. Highly dangerous stuff), who learned to ride bikes together, who caught fireflies in glass jars together, who promised to grow up and get married to each other 'cuz boys are yucky' kind of friends.

And then middle school happened. And they both kinda went their separate ways.

Well.

More like Lexa grew into her own person. Doing things like joining the girls basketball team. And then volleyball. Even ruining their weekend plans with track and field practice one too many weekends in a row. She started branching out in her interests and making new friends, and left Clarke totally behind. Or so that's what Clarke has always thought (more on that later)

Cut to high school and they haven't spoken to each other in years. Not since about 3 weeks into 6th grade. There's no animosity or anything, it's just... They're strangers who occasionally wave and smile at each other in the school halls. Lexa way more often than Clarke ever does, but it's not like anybody's keeping a tally. Right? Because it doesn't matter because they don't know each other anymore. Clarke doesn't even really recognize Lexa as the same girl who used to wear matching Mutant Ninja Turtles pj shirts with her and stay up late staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on her bedroom ceiling while they talked for hours. Now Lexa is like, Ms. High School with all her Track and Field trophies and her badass Warriors mascot credentials (the pauldron, plastic sword, and warpaint coming across much more threatening than their old mascot, The Raccoons 😕 (tho there will always be something to be said for their freshman year when Lexa was forced to rally in the overstuffed costume while menacingly rubbing her lil raccoon-y painted hands together...)). That all has cemented her a seat at the Cool Kids Table.

Not to mention the fact that Lexa spent all of sophomore and junior year with her arm permanently attached to her (now ex) girlfriend's hip.

Not that Clarke ever cared. Or even noticed. So like, why did you even bring it up? ಠ_ಠ

Anyway.

So when her not-really friend but general acquaintance Monty asks her to... well, be his beard, Clarke agrees. In a way that, jesus fuckin hell, really got away from her faster than she ever anticipated. Because then Monty tells Jasper, and Jasper asks her to do the same, and before she even knows what the hell happened to this simple favor, everyone in school seems to believe that a painfully virgin Clarke is fucking the entire AV Club. And more.

It all spirals from there with the usual slut shaming and everything that goes along with society's hatred of women who have sex. It's only when her own best friend Raven/Wells (whichever, doesn't matter) turns on her - accusing her of being a slut and a liar and a terrible friend for not even telling them - that Clarke just says "haha Ok Fuck This" and goes all in.

Which. Whew. This is Clarke Griffin we're talking about. She's aware she's been blessed by puberty. So when she starts shaking her ass around school in tight jeans and corset tops, it has the exact effect she desires.

And then some.

More, in fact, than she had initially bargained for.

In the melee that follows of more guys bribing their way to be on the Griffin Bedpost Notches of Shame (and few a who missed the fucking memo that all of this is actually fake 😒), there is... Lexa.

Seemingly out of nowhere.

Where people had started parting in the hallways just to not touch her, Lexa seems to start showing up out of nowhere.

The smiles still come, and the friendly waves too. Nothing big. Nothing imposing, or like she wants something like everyone else. But then things like Lexa coming over to sit next Clarke during her break at the pep rally start happening (in her full Warriors getup to boot). Things like Lexa making little jokes to Clarke in passing. There's the moments when she asks Clarke if she's ok and offers her a ride after school, which Clarke always absently turns down. It's weird having Lexa back in her space again, but honestly, she's got too much on her plate to give it much thought. Because Lexa's just Lexa, and now Clarke's apparently the school slut, so... Their worlds are still very much divided.

Until eventually one night Clarke thinks she's actually going out on a date with a nice guy. I mean, she's known Finn since 10th grade. And he picks her up and opens the car door for her and everything. Like,,, this is most definitely a real date!

Except it's not, and he's a pervert asshole just like everyone tf else.

But thankfully, wouldn't ya know it, guess who happens to work at the very seafood/pirate themed restaurant that fuckboy Finn had decided on?

It's finally, FINALLY, in the quiet of Lexa's car when she parks them outside of Clarke's house that they actually talk. It starts with Clarke feeling like a fool for even thinking Finn could—... Not after everything. And Lexa of course does that thing she's taken to doing again. That calm, knowing, entirely too wise for her years kind of smile that Clarke still remembers from when they were kids.

Even in her ridiculous yet oddly attractive pirate's uniform (complete with a discarded eyepatch and clip on parrot) it's distractingly charming.

It's what has Clarke admitting that she doesn't know how she got into this mess. That she never meant to become this person. To which Lexa, in her infinite patience and wisdom, replies, "Clarke, you're still the same person you've always been. I know you. Nothing about you has changed."

Of course Clarke's dismissive answer to that is a smartassed, "Haven't you heard? I'm the school slut."

She can't help but smile at Lexa's laugh. "Actually, if I recall, you're the girl who once convinced me if I hung upside down by my feet from a tree, it'd help me grow taller."

"You can't say for sure that it didn't help," is Clarke's automatic response with a wave toward Lexa's general lanky, goddess-esque physique. Which earns her another laugh. Again, not that anyone's keeping a tally.

"True," is Lexa's response and, dammit, she's doing that all knowing smile-y grin thing again. "But you're also the girl who used to help me tie my shoes. And traded her pickles for my carrots. And taught me how to fold our secret notes so that nobody else could ever read them."

And, yeah, Clarke does remember that. Which in hindsight had been kind of stupid. It wasn't like they ever let their class time correspondence fall into the dastardly hands of anyone but each other, so the chances of interception were zilch making the whole exercise rather moot. But at the time it'd felt... important. Because what'd they'd had was only ever meant for just them.

What the hell even happened to those girls?

"You stopped answering my calls," is Lexa's simple reply. It doesn't even seem to hold any blame. "It was like... one day you just cut me out."

Which was not what had happened?

Was it?

Except, as Lexa gently explains that while, yes, she did start getting into sports, she still always tried to make time for Clarke. She did call and leave messages that kept going unanswered. Sent texts that more often than not were left on read. She'd ask Clarke to go to her games and track meets, sometimes would call her just to come out to eat with her and her teammates. But Clarke had always given her a disinterested promise for a million next times that never actually came.

Eventually Lexa just stopped trying because Clarke made it clear that she didn't like who Lexa was anymore. And it stings ten times worse because Lexa's doesn't sound angry or blaming. Just a little hurt. Maybe still a little sad even after all these years.

It's just one more thing to feel absolutely awful about. Like, she really is the universe's biggest asshole. She has no idea what to do with this revelation of her own failures, or the soft way Lexa keeps looking at her.

After that night things both change, yet stay completely the same. Because after that night when she'd apologized to Lexa and said she regreted doing what she'd done - that 6th grade her was an idiot. 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and 11th grade her as well 🤧 - she was still the "school slut" and a social pariah, but she had her best friend back at least.

Her best friend who smiled her every time they passed in the hallway and sometimes walked her to class. Her best friend who now ate lunch with her and texted her on the weekends and would laugh at every single one of her jokes (fINE we're keeping a fucking a tally).

Her best friend, who when Clarke mentions is the only perso who talks to her without looking at her corset wrapped breasts, nonchalantly corrects, "Oh I look. Just... Respectfully."

It's hard to return the decency of that favor when Lexa walks away after leaning into Clarke's ear and whispering, "You know I prefer Ninja Turtles pjs anyway."

Clarke eventually comes clean about the whole fiasco, too the shock of everyone. Everyone, that is, except Lexa. Because Lexa kind of knew. Because, as Lexa says in all her glorious Warrior gear, when she kisses Clarke in front of the entire school at the end of the football team's pep rally—

"I told you, Clarke. I know you."

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banfox23 · 4 months

Note

Is that Costia? 👀

Oooh it's gonna be FUN. 😳

But anyway, Sal is a big fluffy guy and we already love him.

I can totally see myself putting my head on his belly for a nap and cuddles.

How is my favorite ball of floof, Sal?

I was just writing him today while waiting in the doctor's office 👀 he's good, he's good. Living his best life. Meeting one of his soon to be bestest friends ever

//////////////

The door swung up open before she could even finish her third knock.

Clarke felt all the air escape right out of her lungs.

Because framed in the picturesque doorway was - possibly, potentially, easily debatable once her brain would start working again - one of the most beautiful women Clarke had ever seen in her thirty nine years of life.

Just… not the one she'd expected.

“Can I help you?”

Clarke blinked back at the rounded, deep amber eyes that stared at her in gentle questioning. Blinked at the sight of a messy curled bob of black hair that fell carelessly across the elegant line of petite shoulders. Dark brown skin looked almost velvety in the shadowed threshold between inside and out, and Clarke physically swayed foward on her toes just to catch a stronger whiff of her floral perfume.

Mentally rolling her tongue back up into her skull, Clarke recovered enough to lean a sharp hook at the waist toward the left, just far enough to take another glance at the house number tacked on the side.

‘Hm… Yep, I can still read…’

“I uh...” Clarke managed to right herself and actually stammer out loud when whatever celestial being she was gawking at only continued to look at her with serene patience, “Does, uh… Does Lexa live here?”

“Yes?”

Clarke frowned when nothing else came. “O-kay… Is she… Is she here right now?”

“Well I certainly hope so. Otherwise I'm breaking and entering.” White teeth shined in a perfectly aligned row when this riddle-baring goddess's lips bent into a teasing smile. But rather than feeling like the punchline of some joke she was being left out of, the effect of this sweet angel faced woman's charm only made Clarke smile in return.

Before she could reconfigure the slog of words bumping around in her brain, a clatter of lazy tip-tap tip-taps grew loud enough to jerk Clarke's attention toward a rather large and decidedly hairy nose wedging its way into the exchange. A nose became a muzzle, became a panting white, black, and brown face. One with droopy eyes and even droopier jowls that nudged the door-guardian out of its way.

“Dude, c'mon.” Those ridiculously white teeth flashed in another soul brightening smile as the woman pushed herself away from where she'd been hip-checked into the door, and gave the beast-sized brute of a Saint Bernard a few scratches on the head. “Manners, my guy. What would your mother say about this kind of violence?”

Doleful eyes slid shut in a look of ecstasy at the rake of fingernails through his coat of cowlick laden fur.

A distant echo of muddled footsteps had the beautiful stranger turning, craning around to look behind her into the shadows of the house, which seemed entirely like an open invitation for Clarke to lift up on her toes and chance a peek into the darkeness beyond as well. Nothing gave itself away even as the padding of steps drew closer. Clarke rocked back onto the flat of her feet just before the door widened enough for another face to fit into the bizarre tableau, though it was the one single face that helped Clarke stop feeling like she needed to have an evaluation done of her own sanity.

“What is the hold up out here— Clarke,” Lexa breathed as a smile lit up her blessedly familiar face. Glasses propped on top of her head and normal school attire button down exchanged for a tight knit Henley, the sudden vision of this entirely different version of Lexa added itself to Clarke's mental catalog of the woman. Lexa slipped past the mountain of a dog, giving it an absent command of ‘Back it up, big man,’ along with a snap and a point at the floor beside her that seemed sufficient enough to have him reversing several feet out of her way. She elbowed past the woman in the doorway to beckon Clarke inward with a wave of her hand. “Sorry, I didn't know it was you. Come in. You're early.”

“Uh, yeah. I hope that's not a problem.” Clarke floundered as she stepped in at the urging, eyes darting between Lexa and the dog who'd sat itself in a flop of limbs at her side, and the stranger now silently watching it all.

“Not even a little.” The easy cadence of Lexa's words only helped to ease a fraction of Clarke's nerves. “You just said you couldn't make it for another couple hours.”

Clarke tugged upward at the collar of her sweater that suddenly felt a touch too revealing. “I dropped Madi off with her dad a little early. Much to her numerous complaints.”

The soft tilt of Lexa's lips dipped into a frown. “Everything okay?”

“Of course. Just, getting her to understand that I actually had plans was met with great disdain. It's a theme we've developed, she and I. Ever since she's gotten her license, she doesn't seem to understand the concept that my car is not somehow now her car.”

Lexa's face relaxed into a kind of relieved understanding. “Ah, I see. A driving teenager. I don't envy you.”

“We're braver than the marines,” Clarke said amidst a roll of her eyes.

In the quiet and fondness of Lexa's smile, Clarke let herself uncoil another fraction of an inch. She returned the soft sweetness of that green-eyed gaze with a herculean effort to not be the first to reach out. She'd pictured this moment more than a few times on the drive over - a few hundred more the previous evening, if she were being honest - but where'd she'd fantasized about just grabbing the woman and kissing her very pretty face off, possibly backing her into a hazy and ill-defined wall to have her way with her the second she would walk in, Clarke found herself rather perplexingly stuck to the spot. Unmoving in the relief of being in Lexa's space again. Unrushed and content to keep sharing smiles like a couple of idiots.

It was only an inelegant ruffle of fur and flapping jowls that broke the moment, followed immediately by a rather wet sounding sneeze prompting Clarke to finally drag her gaze away.

“You have a dog.”

Lexa glanced down at the mountain of black and tan fur at her side and back up. “I told you that I have a dog.”

“Uh, no,” Clarke laughed at that wild understatement and gestured to the device in her hand as though proof enough. “You text me an hour ago, ‘You're not allergic to dogs, right?’ And when I said no, you marked it with a thumbs up.”

Lexa seemed to pause in thought as her teeth worried at the plumped corner of her bottom lip. “... I did do that.”

“You did.”

“Okay, I think I might see where the breakdown in communication happened.”

“Solid work, Professor,” said a voice that drifted from over Lexa's shoulder.

“Your input isn't appreciated,” Lexa said to the startlingly still present but unidentified goddess hovering near the door. Forcing down a rather painful looking swallow as she nudged the glasses more securely up the slope of her nose, Lexa buried the obvious lede in the room and instead gestured to the hulking pile of dog sitting patiently where Lexa had left him. “Right, so I suppose introductions are in order then. Sal. This is Clarke. Clarke, this is my dog Sal. Sal, say hello.”

As if on cue, a giant paw went up in a clumsy mimic of a wave.

Clarke let out a surprised chuckle at the display, waving back on instinct before realizing that she was, in fact, waving at a dog. She let her hand drop. Idiot. “Hey, Sal. He's a… big guy, huh?”

“I'm convinced he's part moose,” Lexa sighed with an affectionate ruffle of Sal's ear. “In my defense, he was not this imposing when I got him.”

////////////

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banfox23 · 5 months

Text

I wake up to this.

It's not fair, I was having a very innocent dream and I wake up to this.

How am I supposed to go to work now?

Wrote some fic for the first time in ages, and it's for a second part of Hot Mess of all things xD I had started on a sequel to that ages ago and it never went anywhere. Guess it's going somewhere now!

Here's a little sneak peek.

“Your parents will be here in less than twenty-four hours. If you don’t fuck me in the next minute? I’m going to die. Okay? I’m not being dramatic, I’m being honest. That’s it, I’ll die. Or I’ll start losing my mind. Gnawing at my own leg or something.”

It’s the first thing Clarke has said to Lexa all day, and it’s thrown at her the minute she walks through the door into their dorm room. Granted they have been quite busy today taking the last of their finals, but still. Clarke is lounging in her bed, splayed out with an arm above her head, like she’s one of those tragic Greek goddesses wasting away. The fact that she’s only wearing panties with an oversized t-shirt, her go-to comfy clothes the moment she’s back in the dorm, only supports the aesthetic.

Lexa says nothing, at first. Just stares at Clarke as she drops her backpack to the floor and then walks toward her, slow even when Clarke perks up, blue eyes widening as she hurriedly swivels around to sit on the edge of her bed. “You,” Lexa begins, face serious as she begins to undo the buttons on her own shirt. Clarke is entirely unbothered by Lexa’s tone, gaze zeroed in on nimble fingers working the buttons. “Are the biggest,” Lexa shrugs off her unbuttoned shirt, letting it float to the ground. She pulls her tank top overhead, running a hand through her wild mane of hair; Clarke hungrily watches her every move, eyes dark, blown pupils eating away the ring of blue, “drama queen I have ever met.” Lexa unbuttons her pants, slides the zipper down at an excruciatingly slow pace— so slow Clarke’s eyes narrow and snap up to her face. She’s pushing off the bed a second later but Lexa only extends her arm, stopping her with a palm to her chest. Clarke’s lips twist in a pouty frown, and Lexa just smiles. Pushes so Clarke stumbles back to the bed and sits with a scowl. The scowl slips away a second later as Lexa finishes unzipping and then begins to push her jeans down her hips.

Clarke gapes, making to stand again and stopping when Lexa shakes her head. “You’re not wearing any underwear! That’s cheating.”

“No, cheating is you sending me a video of you touching yourself while I was in Senior Sem. Knowing I couldn’t do anything about it considering I had to present in five minutes.”

“Oh, but it’s fine for you to send me a nude during my sculpting final?” Clarke demands, her frown belied by the way she’s appraising Lexa, licking her lips as Lexa’s jeans are pushed down her long legs. “I started groping my sculpture’s tits without even thinking about it. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until Lincoln asked me what the hell I was doing. You know he’s going to tell Octavia. She’s never going to let me live it down.”

“Good.” Lexa kicks the crumpled jeans away. “I had to put my phone on airplane mode in case you sent me more, and the whole class got a show.”

“They’d be so lucky.”

“My professor might not agree.”

Clarke opens her mouth to argue, but she falls silent when Lexa reaches behind to undo her own bra. Blue eyes glaze over as the bra falls, straps slipping off Lexa’s arms. Lexa nudges it aside with a foot and steps forward, Clarke automatically spreading her legs to let Lexa stand between them. She’s good, though, and doesn’t lift a hand to touch. She flattens her palms to the mattress instead, and just looks at her. Lexa remains still, entirely naked, and allows Clarke to drink her in. Clarke’s eyes are at half-mast, her breathing fast, and Lexa knows she’s itching to reach out. To touch.

“Do you want me to apologize?” Clarke finally breaks the silence, her voice raspy. She lifts entirely unrepentant eyes to meet Lexa’s. There’s the ghost of a smile curling her lips. “Because I’m not sorry. I don’t think you are, either.”

“I was wet through my entire presentation,” Lexa tells her; Clarke’s breath hitches, and her dark eyes flit down to the apex of Lexa’s legs, as if to see the proof. “I stumbled over my words twice. I can’t even remember the conversation I had with my professor afterward. I was too busy thinking about what I’d do when I came back here.”

Clarke lifts an eyebrow, her cool composure somewhat betrayed by her shallow breathing and the way she’s fisted the mattress sheets in her hand. “And? What ideas did you come up with?”

Clarke’s lashes flutter as Lexa slips a hand into her hair. She brushes through it before shifting to the back of her skull and fisting her hair tightly. Lexa pulls her head back and leans down to taste Clarke’s sharp intake of breath.

“I bought you a graduation gift,” Lexa says mildly as she releases Clarke, who falls back on the bed, breathless and flushed. She blinks like it takes a moment for Lexa’s words to register. “Well, it’s really a gift for both of us.”

#clexa fic #clexa smut #eheheheheheh

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banfox23 · 5 months

Note

I think I can now understand wolves starving for days and meeting a juicy meat on their path.

No but it's amazing, I love the concept, I love the soft gazes and touches and... Yeah. I really love everything here. 😭

I think I speak for everyone when I say the answer to “Y'all want a lil snippet? 👀” will ALWAYS be HELL YES WE DO! No matter which story.

That's cuz you guys are sweet 🥰

Ok, it's only mildly edited and also my first attempt at canon. So, please lmk what you think, but be gentle 🥺 👉👈

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tap against the door barely breaks the silence of the night for how soft it is. The sound makes Clarke's stomach swoop with elation and a wonderful sense of dread as the hairs on her arms rise on end. Instinct has her grabbing up her knife and resting a hand on the pistol at her hip again. She slips away from the table, back to the very edge of the shadows, prepared to sink further into the darkness that cloaks the farthest corners depending on what comes through the door that eases open.

Her own heartbeat pops like gunshots as Clarke holds her breath, watching. Waiting. But the fingers that wrap around the wood have her sighing in instant relief.

She knows those fingers intimately.

The hinges whine in protest at being shaken yet again from their slumber after such a good long sleep. Still, they obey, and twist enough to allow a head of intricate braids to ease past. Clarke's heart jumps to her throat when the head turns and surveys the candlelit room, eyes as dark as the kohl mask that surrounds them sweeping from one corner to the next, before landing squarely on her.

A flurry of emotions wash through Clarke at the silent stare that seems to stretch far past dawn. It feels as though days pass in the static silence that hangs between them in the cramped space of the room, despite it surely only being a handful of seconds. It is The Commander who breaks the moment and slips the rest of the way inside, of that there is no doubt. Her shoulder guard, sword, and dagger strapped to a lean thigh scrape against the wood as she squeezes herself in through the gap - all the trappings that mark this meeting as purely business.

Clarke's heart sinks.

The door shuts with a thump that echoes in Clarke's ears long after it's settled in its frame. The sight of her causes some piece of Clarke to uncoil in violent release of breath, like a spring let loose from its point of tension just to wobble and fall riotously still. Dark eyes stare at her in silence. Reminding Clarke so vividly of her first weeks here on the ground. Their depths carry the memories of alliances born and broken in the deathly quiet of night. Of trust found and lost, of promises made and broken, back when she'd gone toe to toe with the foreboding commander of the blood and somehow lived to tell about it.

The glittering pools of those eyes seem endless against the burnished amber of the room's candle light. But… Despite looking every bit as menacing as she had in those early days before Clarke had seen the girl beneath the warrior, Clarke can't help seeing the tenderness she knows is patiently waiting underneath. She can see it in the way her throat flexes with a swallow as Lexa takes another step into the room.

"You came."

The hand holding her knife drops back down to her side as Clarke lets out a whisper of a laugh. “Of course I did.”

The thought of anything else twists like snakes in the pit of Clarke's stomach. The question that laces the words feeling almost like a slap to the face. Lexa had asked her to meet here. After so many weeks of one-way messages being delivered and left unanswered, the slip of scroll with a crudely sketched map next to a date and time had felt like a lifeline. After everything, in what alternate timeline would Clarke have entertained being anywhere else?

Lexa's eyes scan her face, trace her shoulders, fall to her feet and back up. “You're well?”

Horrible, unimaginable thoughts race through Clarke's mind. Thoughts of crying, of collapsing in a relieved, exhausted heap at the Heda's feet. Thoughts of crossing the room and flinging herself against the commander's chest just to feel the strength of those arms cradle her close and make things simpler again. It's a humiliating collection of scenes that play through Clarke's head in the seconds that they stand there simply watching each other. Neither moving. Neither breaching the chasm that divides them.

All Clarke does is lean heavier against the wall behind her. “Yes, Lexa. I'm, I'm fine… You?”

Lexa's chin dips in the mere suggestion of a nod instead of answering, but Clarke hopes that she is reading the lines that flex along the edges of her eyes for what they are: a chip in the armor. A crack in the facade. An acknowledgment that, maybe, Lexa had been as nervous for this meeting as her.

Whatever the emotion is, it's gone as quickly as it came, because it's all business when Lexa draws herself up a moment later. Her body falls into its second-nature stance of a queen ruling from the steps of her throne. Even in the absence of her halo of antler horns, the effect is just as striking.

Lexa's hands tuck neatly together at the front and her shoulders set, she nods toward the table between them. “Your last correspondence suggested you have news?”

The tap-clunk, tap-clunk of Heda's boots against the neglect-brittled flooring as she steps to the table is enough to startle Clarke from her staring. Apparently the time for pleasantries was over. She loops her way around to stand beside the commander as Lexa takes in her every move with that cool, detached gaze she seems to have down to a science.

It's unnerving. No, she thinks. Not unnerving. Rather it's… Disarming. Penetrating in how it cuts Clarke down to the bone. That constant sensation of Lexa's eyes on her, taking in Clarke's every minute act and twitch of her face as she upturns the rest of the contents of her bag into a pile on the table. She'd forgotten the exact flush that inches up her neck whenever she feels that weighted stare on her.

In a crowded council meeting, across a village bustling with life. Far too often than is strictly necessary: exactly three damn inches from her own face. In the beginning, Clarke had wondered if such blatant disregard for personal space was simply a Woods clan quirk. But in the preceding months on the ground she's learned that lapse in skaikru etiquette is most definitely just a, ‘Lexa Thing’.

But whatever the distance or cause, Clarke finds herself entirely too aware of herself whenever Lexa's eyes land on her. Which does nothing to help steady her hand as she lays out the newer sketches of Arkadia she'd painstakingly prepared in the days prior. Nor does it make her find the specific page she'd marked in her journal any faster. Flashing past sketches of hands draped across furs, collarbones bruised by fervent lips, past drawings of tattoos committed to memory put down on paper without pause.

“So, things are… progressing,” Clarke says more to buy her time than anything. She sets the journal down and slides the nearest candle closer to better read the script of her own writing. Lexa leans her hands on the table next to Clarke's as she looks over the pages. Clarke only lets her eyes dash to the inch of space between them before continuing on. “The, um, the first month was basically a lost cause because I was stuck in solitary—”

“Your messenger informed me,” Lexa interjects in an expelled breath, tight lipped in its delivery, but adding nothing more.

Clarke nods to that, knowing she herself had been the one who made sure the information was delivered. Because three nights into her confined stay at “home” had been all it took for Lexa's, admittedly dramatic, words of ‘You've been living with their enemy. If it were me, I would kill you on the spot’ to begin ringing continuously in her ears. Knowing her own tendencies to always brace for the worse, the decision had been easy. With little more than a scrap of napkin and chip of charcoal from the remnants of her drawing set, Clarke had sent word with Octavia - the only one she trusted to wriggle her way in and out of Ark without detection - to pass the whereabouts of her status along.

Still, Clarke rolls her eyes for good measure.

“Right. And, as you also know,” she says with a pointed edge to her words, “these last few months have been… difficult. But I'm making ground.”

It feels like a race against the clock explaining what she's been doing the past few months since they parted ways - convey in carefully selected tidbits of information how the days trickle by only inches or miles. Nothing in between. It sounds feeble to her own ears, the lack of tangible progress to show the commander undoubtedly growing impatient with the ever troublesome Skaikru, but Clarke barrels on with each lack of response from Lexa whenever she dares to pause for breath. Doesn't give the Heda time to point out the finer points of her lackluster coup, thus far.

She leaves out any glimpses into her days that her better judgment tells her to keep hidden. Ones that allude to exactly how precarious the situation is behind the Ark's heavily gated walls. Like the fact that she had to run for her life the second she crossed the skaikru boundary - that sneaking past the commander's own kill-order guard wasn't the thing that had spiked her adrenaline, but rather the trigger happy guards set to walk the parameter. The ones collared with a kill order of their own.

Every glance at the commander leaves Clarke grasping for another sentence. Something more to prove that this time hasn't passed in vain. But it all feels empty under the scrutiny of the woman standing at attention beside her, not a twitch of muscle or bend of brow giving any of the Heda's thoughts away.

She's just staring. In that arresting way only Lexa seems able to do. Eyes a midnight slate wiped clean of emotion, brittle in their vacuum of light - iris and pupil so cloaked in the shadow of her war paint it's hard to discern between the two.

A near quarter mark of the candle burns in rifts of her fumbling vibrato and drops of spilled oily wax, when the air becomes more stifling at Lexa's sudden shift closer. Near enough Clarke can feel her body heat slice clean through the cold. “I'll admit, at times it's like pulling teeth. Everything is always two steps forward, one step back with them. But I promise, Lexa, my people— Our people, they're getting restless with—”

“Have you slept?”

The question lands like a punch just below the ribs, the softness of Lexa's voice feeling almost violent as it slices through the ringing in Clarke's ears. It cuts her off as effectively as clamping in vice grip around her throat. The skim of a glove-clad knuckle against her cheek makes her sway. She'd almost forgotten such tenderness actually existed in this world.

Her eyes flutter closed and she leans into the touch without a thought. The table wobbles under Clarke's hands as she gives up the fight and sags her weight onto her palms. She opens her mouth to assure the commander just how fine she is despite the display, but—

“Not much,” is all Clarke can manage in the sudden exhaustion that floods her bones. “I try. When I can, but…”

The knuckle slips down to bend a delicate hook around her chin. It curls inward, turning her face with it. Eyes darkened in shadow and half-spent candlelight take their time with her, searching for everything Clarke doesn't have the energy to say. Time expands and contracts to the razor point of a knife, plunging itself into her most vital, beating organ in those few precious moments when Lexa simply holds her there. Giving her every chance to pull away.

Despite all the unanswered questions and emotions that still linger between them - doubt, mistrust, hunger, betrayal - Clarke doesn't have the words to explain why she can't make herself move even one inch away. Or… exactly how much she doesn't particularly want to.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers in an exhale that sounds like it's been held since the day Clarke had left her standing there in her room. She is so close Clarke can measure the exact flutter of her lashes as she warms under the chilled puff from her lips. In her silence, Lexa inches closer, leaning down enough to bring her forehead to Clarke's. Barely close enough for the touch to tickle against the fine hairs of her skin, but Clarke feels its burn everywhere. “Breathe.”

Fingers fan out and smooth along her neck. The feel of them tangling in the curls that cling to her skin send a shiver down Clarke's spine. It makes her tip forward, press fuller into the steeled softened woman all but propping her up, trusting Lexa to accept even more of Clarke's burdens as her own.

“It's hard sleeping there now,” Clarke admits. It feels like a weight lifting off of her shoulders just releasing that truth into the world. But the guilt of it lingers. Because how can she explain that the stale air and metal of the Ark's inner workings that used to give her a sense of peace and safety, doesn't anymore? How can she explain that despite her duty, and her unyielding love for her people… none of it feels like home anymore? How can she explain that between the darkest hours of midnight and the breaking of every dawn, feelings of home come in memories of incense scented furs, and a breeze that winds through cracked windows of a certain tower?

Most nights she pushes the feeling away. Stares at the rust lined rivets and peeling paint of her quarters on the Ark, chastising herself for just how far she's drifted from being that girl who crashed down from the stars.

Clarke pulls back and meets the worry that lingers in Lexa's eyes with a wry smile. “The war drums beating twenty-four seven don't particularly help.”

There's something endearing about the guilt that creeps into Lexa's stare. “It's strategic.”

“I gathered as much. Is the strategy to drive everyone insane?”

Clarke finds Lexa's hand when she sighs and lets her arm drop, unwilling to break all contact just yet. Not after so many weeks apart. The shadow of Heda's eyes slant down to the touch and linger there, watching the way Clarke's hand holds hers. “Not… entirely.”

“Lexa, that really isn't—”

“I need your people to see what being part of the coalition means. And more, what breaking from it will bring,” Lexa cuts her off. The tenderness with which she laces her fingers through Clarke's is starkly at odds with the frustration that bleeds into her words. “All that most of them know is what they have heard from your chancellor, or decisions made before they were one of my clans. They take no time to see things beyond the gates of Arkadia. But now it is there. We are there so they can see the strength in our numbers. The unity in which we fight. They can see with their own eyes the safety that comes from being with us.”

It's annoying that an argument doesn't immediately spring to Clarke's mind, even as the more stubborn pieces of herself howl a tinny echo of revolt. But her exhaustion keeps her quiet. The higher reasoning within her, too. All the pieces of herself that have heard the misgivings of so many of her fellow Skaikru, and still know that what Lexa is saying is… not technically wrong.

“And the dangers of being against you,” Clarke tacks on just for the hell of it, sighing as she untangles their fingers and turns to lean back on the table. “I understand that, Lexa, I do. But I'm not entirely sure if psychological warfare is the right tactic given the circumstances.”

The shuffled thunk of Lexa's boot as she steps closer is enough to pull Clarke's gaze back to her. “While a show of strength is a factor, that is not the only goal here, Clarke. And I believe you know that.”

Again, the lack of obvious points to needle at or undermine is infuriating, because what Lexa says is true. Because the boundary of warriors that stretch off in the distance does do so much more than stand guard over the lines of the blockade.

The first flood of the kongeda infantry that had erected the initial boundary of the kill-order came in a wave of tents, fanfare, and flying coalition flags. Axes and hammers had split through the surrounding trees like warm butter to make room for large temporary settlements, each dotting the forest eye-line with the colors and symbols of the twelve clans. At every angle from the watchtower's view from the Ark, the only sight that mingled within the sea of forestry was warriors of the coalition converging in a united front. Floukru beside Sankru. Yujleda beside Ingranrona. Azgeda camped close, under guarded Trikru eyes.

It hadn't taken long for the second wave to join them. And then a third right on its heels. Even warriors from the Capitol join their ranks - faces covered in familiar streaks of warpaint, ones that Clarke had spoken to personally within the beating heart of Polis itself peppered throughout the encampments to stand vigil among the festivities. All bringing with them a level of noise that Clarke knew meant the warriors must have been given explicit orders to be as loud as humanly possible. The weeks that had followed had been nothing but an unending cacophony that surrounded Arkadia on all sides.

Each day the forest filled with the sounds of relentless training from each settled camp; the singing clash of swords and the whistled-thump of arrows, blotted only by seconds of eerie silence between rounds. But the nights. The night's were somehow even worse. A fresh hell with every setting sun. Because after full days of training, the warriors are allowed to rest at ease. Under a canopy of stars, the air swells in a clattering of music that mingles with the steady beat of the war drum. Each night the forest echoes with the roar of their laughter as the salty perfume of mead and slowly roasted meats hangs heavy in the noses of Skaikru.

Clarke understands the strategy for what it is: a mindfuck on all fronts. An unambiguous message to the village of invaders-turned-kru directly from Heda herself. A truth simply waiting to be accepted. You're either with us, or you're against us. Flourish beside us, or wither within your cage. I understand your struggles - your hunger and your fear. And while one day all of our bodies will return to salt the earth, carrying on this way only ensures that death is far, far more miserable. Either way. We're thriving.

And we are not going anywhere.

It's an effective strategy, if not polarizing in its delivery, at least as far as messaging goes. Though to be perfectly honest, at the core of Clarke’s frustration is the fact that she hadn't exactly been prepared to deal with the pain in the ass fallout of yet another political pissing match to begin the second she'd slunk back to the place she once considered home.

Lexa reaches out and picks Clarke's hands up from where they'd fallen against her lap in a sigh of utter defeat. “I'm not trying to make things more difficult for you. Our agendas are the same, Clarke. And I think, given time… they will see it too.”

“Yes, but when you called for the blockade I was expecting, like, a sentry or two. Not a thousand warriors practicing their knife skills and having nightly feasts.” If Clarke squeezes Lexa's hands back a few hundred pascals tighter than strictly necessary, the commander has the grace not to show it.

“That had been the plan. Initially. I had every intention of waiting Pike out. But then, after we… After everything…”

Clarke feels her heart wobble at the flex of Lexa's jaw. “What?”

“I felt… inclined to hurry the process along. I do want to give you time to work within your ranks, because I trust you, and I know how capable you are. But also I—” Lexa falters, then swallows. Gives the barest shake of her head, her eyes staying glued to the hands held within her own as she visibly forces herself to speak. “Selfishly, I want this conflict finished as soon as possible.”

/////////

#clexa fanfic #in secret au

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banfox23 · 6 months

Note

I need to say things on this: I was late for work when I read this snippet the first time.

I almost crashed my car thinking about it and I almost lost a tooth going into work, because I finished reading when I was walking up the stairs.

(I didn't read while I was driving mind you, you fools!).

So.

I almost died and I was almost late to my almost death for this snippet but was it worth it? Yes.

CI ILY pt 3???? 🫢🫢🫢 I’m so excited. Can you share a little snippy to tide us over? 👀

Aight but only a small bit

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Maybe I just love you that much…

The sentence bounces around your head in a way that makes your skull ache.

It scratches at your scalp and runs fingers down your neck, tickling itself along the notches of your spine and settles in a pool that makes your legs shake. It's a boulder that lodges itself just south of your larynx and strangles off any chance of a breath.

You feel yourself stiffen. Feel your whole body fight the sudden urge to recoil from her hand that cradles your face, her thumb sweeping gentle arcs across your cheek and jaw.

Because why would she say that?

Why would she hold you so tenderly and say such a hateful word?

Why would she put that kind of shit on you when she knows the damage that fucking word does? You hate that word, because you know it's meaningless. Because it symbolizes every single thing bad in your past. That word is what people use to hurt you, to make you feel small and insignificant. That word is what people use to make you let your guard down right before they walk away.

And you'd promised yourself a long time ago that you'd never fall for that again.

And she knows that.

She knows it because you'd told her in a quiet moment of idiocy when it'd just been the two of you. When she'd looked so pretty sitting snug in your lap, with her head lazed on your shoulder and her hand cupping your breast while her lips did ungodly things to that spot that sits tucked just under your jaw. You'd been whispering some of your darkest secrets to each other between kisses. Been showing each other the ugliest pieces of yourself just for fun, and in that split second of weakness, you'd whispered the truth into the curls of her hair.

You'd told her everything. That you don't think you can love. That you don't even know what the hell being in love means. That just the thought of someone you actually care about ever saying it tears you to pieces.

So you hate the word almost as much as this feeling glowing red hot inside of you. And more than that, you hate her for making you feel it when she'd become a safe space for you.

Her head is on your chest as lounges half on top of you, and her hand feels like a white poker where it sits dangerously just above your heart. It swirls patterns of nonsense and scratches with nails still sticky with come. You're barely paying any attention to her you're so deep in your spiral, that when that hand slithers up to cup your cheek, you flinch.

If she notices, she doesn't show it. Instead just coaxes your chin to tip down to meet her. Eyes still closed and face relaxed like this somehow means nothing, she stretches her neck up and kisses you in a tangle of honey mushed lips. Sweet and pliant. Her tongue massages your own in strokes that are so lazy you wonder if you could fall asleep doing exactly this.

When she pulls back she watches you mentally run screaming from the room, despite you not being able to move a single muscle. Because a less jaded and more whimsical part of you knows hearts were never made to survive beating quite this violently. Never this fast.

You're fairly certain none of this can be healthy.

Your mouth opens to say something, anything, even though you truly have no idea what, but she leans in again and shushes you with another kiss.

And another.

And another after that when you creak a sound like you might try to speak again.

"Shhh. Don't. Don't," she murmurs between presses of her lips. Still lush and bruised from how intensely she'd kissed you while you'd fucked, and it's unsettling how it makes the knot inside your chest uncoil a little further.

But it also makes your head feel like more of a wreck than it already is, and you can't seem to parcel out meaning to her words.

'Don't… what?'

"Don't think about it," she says as she pulls away from your lips, answering the thought you hadn't even realized you'd said out loud. You feel her nose brush against yours and the sheets rustle as she tucks in tighter to you. Her hand smoothes over your hip and you feel that little touch everywhere. "Just be with me."

"But you hate me."

She shrugs and smiles at you from her shared spot on the pillow. "Yeah."

"You've always hated me."

"Yeah," she laughs.

"Then how—"

"There's a thin between love and hate, Clarke. And you, infuriatingly, have always straddled it for me."

There's no time time to put meaning into any of her less than illuminating summation, because she leans in and kisses you with something that distinctly tastes like the kind of fondness that had colored her words. It's languid and all lips, nothing demanding. Entirely giving.

She pulls back when she tastes your frown and meets it with a grin. You open your mouth to cobble together some vague attempt at a biting remark for a chance at self preservation, only to feel her finger tap your nose in reprimand. "I said don't. You're trying very hard to ruin this, and I won't let you."

You grab her hand and fling it away from your face. "Stop doing that."

"Stop being stubborn."

"I'm not—"

"Mmm, are you sure about that?"

You scowl at her sudden roll of laughter, and how she can never seem to resist making you feel like a goddamn dog in one way or another.

And see this, this is exactly why you hate her.

Or… whatever the hell it is that you feel for her.

She shakes her head at your silence. Like that was all the answer she needed. Her eyes make lazy loops around your face, her excursion calm. Adoring. "You can't help yourself, darling. It's Pavlovian with you."

And that— She— "Okay, you know what, Lexa? Fuck off."

You move to buck her off entirely, because the last thing you need after teetering so dangerously on the edge of a meltdown is to have her make you feel like an idiot, yet again. But as you swing your hips her hands find your wrists, her body rolling and bucking back into you as she mounts you in one fluid movement.

You really need to remember to set her personal gym on fire one of these goddamn days.

The surprise attack has you thrusting up into her hips and she rocks into the feeling, letting her body ride the motion of it with a moaned gasp. She keeps her wits about her enough to pin your wrists to the head of the bed. To lock her knees around your waist and drop all her weight to rest on her ass. Her skirt fans out around the sides and, fuck, you feel the slick of her cunt leave a strip against your stomach through the drenched slip of her panties.

Her fingers slide up your palms and slot between your own when she leans down and kisses your pout before you can argue. Not that you have the brain capacity in this position to even try. Her hair tickles across your shoulders as she deepens the kiss. Not the messy rush of tongue from before, just her lips on your lips, kissing you with a heart twisting intensity that leaves you sighing in her grasp.

It scares you half to death.

But when she leans back she looks so serious. More serious and exquisitely vulnerable than you think you've ever seen her in your life, and something about seeing your own fear reflected back in her eyes makes you stop breathing, stop moving. Lying entirely limp.

Her throat bobs in a swallow as her eyes dart back and forth between yours. As though she's willing you to be as serious as she is. As though she needs you to be just as vulnerable in that moment too.

"I want you, Clarke—"

"I want you too," you cut in immediately because you have to, and you hope she knows just how much that is true. You've always wanted her. You've wanted this girl since the first time she swung her pretty little ass down the staircase of your penthouse.You want everything there is about her.

You want her smiles, and her pouty frowns, and all of her seriousness and all of her anger. You want her pride, lust, wrath, and her every single sin that lies in between.

Everything about her is simply wonderful. And so deliciously terrible at the same time. It has you hooked. Has kept you hooked even after all this time. Being around her has the odd effect of making you feel better. It makes you feel whole, or as close to it as you've ever come, because she understands your every intricacy and compliments it with her own.

The thought of not having her keeps you up at night. The thought of not being at the center of every smile, of every glance from her eyes being toward someone who isn't you makes you feel violent. Reckless, cruel, and destructive. Because what if one day she sees someone who makes her never want to look back to you again?

How are you supposed to handle the idea of a someday when you don't get to have these stolen moments with her anymore?

So, yeah. Yeah, you fucking want her, and you don't understand how she doesn't see that.

You just… You have no idea what to make of that wanting.

And you sure as shit have no idea what to call it.

But she doesn't push for more than that anyway. She just nods like that's the only thing she needed to hear from you to begin with. Her hands flex and stretch your arms above you to the point of breaking. "Then don't think about it. Just be with me."

"Lexa—"

"I'm not asking for anything from you that you don't already want." Her words are clipped, like she's annoyed at your incompetence. Like she wishes you'd just shut up and figure out what she's known all along. Her eyes are infernos, never wavering, as she holds your gaze and sucks in a shaky breath. "Just be with me... You fucking idiot."

Somehow, that's the most soothing thing she's said in the last five minutes.

You can't help the smile it brings to your lips. "Romantic."

"Were you hoping for flower petals?"

The drollness of that answer makes your smile widen.

"Go fuck yourself, Lexa."

The lift of her brow sends the butterflies in your belly into a riot. "But, darling… I have you for that now."

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