owl127

[owl127]

So I was at this women’s basketball game—it being March Madness and all—and this player that I find really really cute (she actually kinda looks like Lexa), wasn’t warming up. When the game started she went through the tunnel and back into the locker room which is kinda weird because even if you’re injured normally you still sit on the bench. But at halftime she came out and I noticed she had earplugs in and after a little Google I found out she has a concussion so she was probably in the locker room because it was too loud on the court. The rest of the game I was thinking about how someone could totally write a fanfic where Lexa is on a sports team, gets hurt, is sad she has to sit out, but has a little mid game locker room rendezvous to cheer her up and give her a thrill. Would you please please pleaseee be that someone?

Lexa’s ears itched to remove her headphones, but the shadow of a headache had started behind her eyes, so she let the noise canceling headphones do its magic. She walked behind the starting team and watched with a frown the pile of windbreakers grow at her feet on the bench while she remained covered. She fiddled with the dark red zipper, the squeaking of rubber against shiny vinyl grounding her while the visiting team entered the arena. Lexa looked away, her eyes darting at the faceless crowd of silver and maroon. The muffled noise of the fans, something she looked forward to at each game, mounted on the pain growing between her eyes. The blinking lights of the stadium did not help with the building dizziness, but she forced a smile as she waved back at a bundle of little girls with signs with her name shining in bright silver glitter.

Lexa Woods.

She bit her lips at the thought of disappointing little girls.

On the other side of the court, the away team warmed up. Lexa looked for a familiar blonde braid, but they were in a huddle, and the amount of blonde heads was borderline offensive for basketball.

“Oi!” A ball came in her direction and Lexa held the pass in pure reflex, but that didn’t stop her frowning at Anya. “You look miserable. Smile for the cameras. It’s the fucking final fours, Lex.”

Their team captain’s shouted words were not as encouraging as Anya thought, and Lexa threw the ball back on the court.

“I’ll be out of here in a minute,” Lexa said and pointed to her headphones. “These are not working as expected.”

A rare sight of kindness flashed over Anya’s face, but it was gone just as fast. She sat next to Lexa, her mouth close to Lexa’s covered ears. “We’re here because of you. No one doubts that. We’ll win this so you can crush it at the final.”

Lexa bit her lip. They needed to win, and her concussion needed to be fully recovered for that to happen, and none of that was a guarantee. She nodded, and the movement didn’t help with her growing headache.

“I’m going back in,” she excused herself, standing up. Anya’s face softened, nodding.

“Your head okay?” Anya asked at the same time a wave of nausea hit Lexa.

Lexa moved her palm in a so-so pattern, and before their couch yelled at her, she backtracked her steps into their home locker room. She didn’t look up at the calls for her name while ducking into the tunnel, focused on escaping the noise.

The locker room was messy, with open bags and unfolded clothes littering the floor. The smell of bleach and foot powder was familiar, with a hint of synthetic eucalyptus from the shower row. Lexa finally took off the headphones, her ears popping in relief. Layers of concrete and tile protected her from the loud crowd, and Lexa closed her eyes. 

She could have made history tonight. Instead, because of a single nasty call at her last game, she cannot even watch from the bench.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, her lips trembling in frustration. She wanted to punch something.

“I know, right?”

Lexa’s neck turned at the voice, her vision blurring for a second as she focused.

She must be hallucinating, because in front of her was Clarke Griffin, point guard of the Arkadia Comets, and the usual pain in Lexa’s ass whenever they played. But why was she here and not on court? Her brain finally caught up with the full image and she noticed the clutches under Clarke’s arms and how her left foot didn’t touch the floor.

“I watched your last game.” Clarke’s dimples showed at a half smile. “I’m surprised you made it to the game tonight,” Clarke said as she sat heavily next to Lexa with a long sigh and the clacks of her crutches against the wooden bench. Her hands immediately massaged her injured thigh.

“What are you doing here?”

“There are stairs to the visitors’ locker room, and I really needed to pee. Can you believe they built this building for like, healthy people? There are stairs everywhere.” 

“I meant…” Lexa pointed at Clarke’s whole deal, and differently from Lexa, the other player didn’t wear a uniform or a windbreaker, just a hoodie with her university’s colors.

“Pulled muscle. Bad enough to knock me out. I didn’t want the sponsors to see me with the crutches.” Clarke nodded in the direction of the plastic supports. Lexa noticed a bright blue athletic tape poking out from Clarke’s joggers all the way to her lower abs visible under the hoodie. Her cheeks flushed, and when she looked up, Clarke smirked at her.

“How did it happen?” Lexa cleared her throat, ignoring the way blue eyes went up and down her body.

“Not as hilariously as the block that took you down,” Clarke said with a shit-eating grin that Lexa wanted to wipe off.

“That was a fault!”

“Sure, babe.” Clarke adjusted in her seat, massaging her thigh again. “I’m sorry you can’t play tonight. I was looking forward to destroying you.”

That made Lexa smile. “In your dreams, Griffin.”

“Oh, but my dreams about you are quite different, Lex.”

And there she was. Griffin always played the mind game to destabilize Lexa. Whispers on the court, faces from the bench; Lexa hated it. She also felt a little joy in it, but ultimately, Clarke Griffin was a distraction.

“I’m sorry you’re missing the game, too,” Lexa said, unsure if her face showed her reaction to Clarke’s comment. By the way Clarke lounged on the bench and shifted closer, Lexa must have blushed.

“It was a good run,” Clarke said.

“You don’t think you can win?” 

Clarke snorted. “Do you?”

“I trust my teammates,” Lexa said and crossed her arms. If Griffin didn’t have any loyalty to her team, that was her problem.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling—” the thin hairs on Lexa’s neck bristled at the pet name — “I love those bitches. But I dragged a bunch of future dentists and teachers to two final fours. You have other girls making draft picks in your team while I average astonishing zero bench points every game.”

“But you’ll be the first draft pick.” The truth rolled out easily on Lexa’s tongue, and she suppressed the bite of jealousy at the thought. 

“And you’ll be second, unless they go insane.”

And here they were, top two draft picks dusting in the locker room while the semi-final roared above them.

Lexa shrugged, running a hand over her loose hair. Her usual braid or ponytail was a no-go with her headache, and her hair kept falling into her eyes. “If I get top four, I’ll be happy.”

“You will.” There was certainty in Clarke’s voice. “We are one of the lucky ones.”

“I know.” There was no hiding the struggle of women’s basketball. Sure, the league had promise and potential, but it was a shadow of the sponsorship and compensation of the men’s league. With limited teams, getting a spot as a professional was already an achievement.

“So, can you help me back to my locker room, princess?” Clarke asked, pointing to her crutches. Heat rose to Lexa’s cheeks, and she crossed her arms.

“Why are you always like this?”

Clarke, halfway to standing, sat back down on the bench. “Like what?”

“Why are you so, so…” Lexa searched for a word, but unwelcomed suggestions jumped to the front of her mind like “hot” and “sexy”, and she ended up going with, “infuriating! Why do you flirt with other players only to mess with their game?”

Clarke huffed, an unusual pink dusting her cheeks. “I don’t flirt with other players.”

“You’ve been pretending to flirt with me in every game for a year!” Lexa didn’t know she needed to vent about something tonight, but Clarke gave her the opening she needed.

“Wait, wait,” Clarke said, raising her hands in surrender. “One, I don’t do that to other players. Two, I mostly do it with you because I know it won’t affect your game. I need to have something against your resolve, and flirting with a straight girl is harmless enough. Besides, you’re hot, Lex. Wow, why don’t you react like this on the court?”

Lexa’s cheeks burned, and she rolled her eyes. Once she stepped on the court, nothing else mattered and Lexa would be hyper-focused on the game. But tonight, not being under the spotlight and off her game, Lexa was not immune to Griffin’s tongue. Compliments—Griffin’s compliments! She needed to change this line of thought.

“What on earth have I done for you to think I’m straight?” Maybe that wasn’t the correct shift in the conversation. Clarke lit up like a Christmas tree, her mouth opening for a second, then closing again, settling on a half smile.

“You never reacted to me before.” Clarke’s voice was a full octave lower, and Lexa might be in trouble. Lexa swallowed and fidgeted with her jacket zipper. “And maybe, yeah, I’ve been flirting with you not only because of the games,” Clarke confessed, the heat in her cheeks darkening.

Was Clarke flirting with her again?

“I was kind of hoping you’d be able to play tonight,” Clarke continued, “so I could watch you all night instead.”

Yes, that was flirting, Lexa’s concussed brain detected. She didn’t move as Clarke shuffled closer, their thighs touching.

“I tried to find you early on, but all your teammates were wearing braids,” Lexa said. At 21, Lexa should have a better control of her mouth, but alas, there she was confessing her charms to her rival.

“They wanted to show me support.” Clarke’s voice was close, and closer still as she said, “So you were looking for me?” But the expected grin or tease was not behind her words. Lexa gathered the rest of her courage and chanced a glance at the fellow point guard, finding nothing but… admiration?

Kiss her, Lexa’s obviously concussed brain offered, and Lexa’s heart race in adrenaline as she ignored the thought.

“You’re the best player,” Lexa reasoned, swallowing as Clarke invaded her personal space. “Of course I look for you on the court.”

“Well,” Clarke said, and her hand, a tad larger than Lexa’s, reached for Lexa’s own. “I look for you outside of the court, too. I watched the video on your channel about your work against bullying in your town’s high school. That was inspiring.”

Lexa’s heart swelled with something akin to fondness, but she blamed that on the concussion. “Thank you.” Lexa whispered, the moment asking for softness.

“You, Lexa Woods”—Clarke’s large hand closed around Lexa’s, warm and steady—“You are inspiring.”

It wasn’t every day that the league MVP said she was inspiring.

Kiss, kiss, her brain supplied.

Lexa didn’t have to wait for her body to listen to her brain. Clarke was MVP for many reasons, and not hesitating was one of them.

The kiss was soft and warm, and Clarke’s hand tugged lightly at Lexa’s neck. For the first time that day, Lexa breathed easily. It lasted a moment, as Clarke showed to be dexterous with her tongue, and then Lexa was breathless.

“My team will be here at half-time,” Lexa whispered when Clarke finally, reluctantly, pulled away.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to kiss me again?”

Lexa wished she could say no to that smile, but she was learning that denying that smile was harder than to block Clarke’s 3 pointers.

“It means we can’t do it here,” Lexa said.

“I’m staying in town for an orthopedic appointment tomorrow morning. You could always stop by my hotel later tonight.” Clarke reached for her clutches and stood. 

“My team will want me around after the game.”

Clarke smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Would you rather be in a noisy bar with your team celebrating, or watching the British Bake Off with me while making out on a king bed?”

Lexa’s cheeks warmed. “The British Bake Off?”

Clarke made her way out of the locker room, slow and steady. “We can watch it on mute, which helps with your headache, and watching it always makes me… hungry.” Clarke delivered the last word over her shoulders, licking her lips for extra dramatic effect. Lexa felt her face heating as Clarke limped out of the room.

Hours later, Lexa’s team had gained their place at the final. Her headache was under control, and her utmost satisfaction had nothing to do with the chocolate cake they ordered from the 24h hotel service.

#weekend reblob #drabble #drabbles #the 100 #clexa #lexa the 100 #loved this prompt

[owl127]

Chapter 13 is posted!!!

#clexa #fic rec

[owl127]

twitter meme for fun :)

#korrasami

[owl127]

floating duck 🍑⁣

#art #cuties

[owl127]

#catradora

[owl127]

Next step colors… and candles ofc !

#clexa

[owl127]

So I was at this women’s basketball game—it being March Madness and all—and this player that I find really really cute (she actually kinda looks like Lexa), wasn’t warming up. When the game started she went through the tunnel and back into the locker room which is kinda weird because even if you’re injured normally you still sit on the bench. But at halftime she came out and I noticed she had earplugs in and after a little Google I found out she has a concussion so she was probably in the locker room because it was too loud on the court. The rest of the game I was thinking about how someone could totally write a fanfic where Lexa is on a sports team, gets hurt, is sad she has to sit out, but has a little mid game locker room rendezvous to cheer her up and give her a thrill. Would you please please pleaseee be that someone?

Lexa’s ears itched to remove her headphones, but the shadow of a headache had started behind her eyes, so she let the noise canceling headphones do its magic. She walked behind the starting team and watched with a frown the pile of windbreakers grow at her feet on the bench while she remained covered. She fiddled with the dark red zipper, the squeaking of rubber against shiny vinyl grounding her while the visiting team entered the arena. Lexa looked away, her eyes darting at the faceless crowd of silver and maroon. The muffled noise of the fans, something she looked forward to at each game, mounted on the pain growing between her eyes. The blinking lights of the stadium did not help with the building dizziness, but she forced a smile as she waved back at a bundle of little girls with signs with her name shining in bright silver glitter.

Lexa Woods.

She bit her lips at the thought of disappointing little girls.

On the other side of the court, the away team warmed up. Lexa looked for a familiar blonde braid, but they were in a huddle, and the amount of blonde heads was borderline offensive for basketball.

“Oi!” A ball came in her direction and Lexa held the pass in pure reflex, but that didn’t stop her frowning at Anya. “You look miserable. Smile for the cameras. It’s the fucking final fours, Lex.”

Their team captain’s shouted words were not as encouraging as Anya thought, and Lexa threw the ball back on the court.

“I’ll be out of here in a minute,” Lexa said and pointed to her headphones. “These are not working as expected.”

A rare sight of kindness flashed over Anya’s face, but it was gone just as fast. She sat next to Lexa, her mouth close to Lexa’s covered ears. “We’re here because of you. No one doubts that. We’ll win this so you can crush it at the final.”

Lexa bit her lip. They needed to win, and her concussion needed to be fully recovered for that to happen, and none of that was a guarantee. She nodded, and the movement didn’t help with her growing headache.

“I’m going back in,” she excused herself, standing up. Anya’s face softened, nodding.

“Your head okay?” Anya asked at the same time a wave of nausea hit Lexa.

Lexa moved her palm in a so-so pattern, and before their couch yelled at her, she backtracked her steps into their home locker room. She didn’t look up at the calls for her name while ducking into the tunnel, focused on escaping the noise.

The locker room was messy, with open bags and unfolded clothes littering the floor. The smell of bleach and foot powder was familiar, with a hint of synthetic eucalyptus from the shower row. Lexa finally took off the headphones, her ears popping in relief. Layers of concrete and tile protected her from the loud crowd, and Lexa closed her eyes. 

She could have made history tonight. Instead, because of a single nasty call at her last game, she cannot even watch from the bench.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, her lips trembling in frustration. She wanted to punch something.

“I know, right?”

Lexa’s neck turned at the voice, her vision blurring for a second as she focused.

She must be hallucinating, because in front of her was Clarke Griffin, point guard of the Arkadia Comets, and the usual pain in Lexa’s ass whenever they played. But why was she here and not on court? Her brain finally caught up with the full image and she noticed the clutches under Clarke’s arms and how her left foot didn’t touch the floor.

“I watched your last game.” Clarke’s dimples showed at a half smile. “I’m surprised you made it to the game tonight,” Clarke said as she sat heavily next to Lexa with a long sigh and the clacks of her crutches against the wooden bench. Her hands immediately massaged her injured thigh.

“What are you doing here?”

“There are stairs to the visitors’ locker room, and I really needed to pee. Can you believe they built this building for like, healthy people? There are stairs everywhere.” 

“I meant…” Lexa pointed at Clarke’s whole deal, and differently from Lexa, the other player didn’t wear a uniform or a windbreaker, just a hoodie with her university’s colors.

“Pulled muscle. Bad enough to knock me out. I didn’t want the sponsors to see me with the crutches.” Clarke nodded in the direction of the plastic supports. Lexa noticed a bright blue athletic tape poking out from Clarke’s joggers all the way to her lower abs visible under the hoodie. Her cheeks flushed, and when she looked up, Clarke smirked at her.

“How did it happen?” Lexa cleared her throat, ignoring the way blue eyes went up and down her body.

“Not as hilariously as the block that took you down,” Clarke said with a shit-eating grin that Lexa wanted to wipe off.

“That was a fault!”

“Sure, babe.” Clarke adjusted in her seat, massaging her thigh again. “I’m sorry you can’t play tonight. I was looking forward to destroying you.”

That made Lexa smile. “In your dreams, Griffin.”

“Oh, but my dreams about you are quite different, Lex.”

And there she was. Griffin always played the mind game to destabilize Lexa. Whispers on the court, faces from the bench; Lexa hated it. She also felt a little joy in it, but ultimately, Clarke Griffin was a distraction.

“I’m sorry you’re missing the game, too,” Lexa said, unsure if her face showed her reaction to Clarke’s comment. By the way Clarke lounged on the bench and shifted closer, Lexa must have blushed.

“It was a good run,” Clarke said.

“You don’t think you can win?” 

Clarke snorted. “Do you?”

“I trust my teammates,” Lexa said and crossed her arms. If Griffin didn’t have any loyalty to her team, that was her problem.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling—” the thin hairs on Lexa’s neck bristled at the pet name — “I love those bitches. But I dragged a bunch of future dentists and teachers to two final fours. You have other girls making draft picks in your team while I average astonishing zero bench points every game.”

“But you’ll be the first draft pick.” The truth rolled out easily on Lexa’s tongue, and she suppressed the bite of jealousy at the thought. 

“And you’ll be second, unless they go insane.”

And here they were, top two draft picks dusting in the locker room while the semi-final roared above them.

Lexa shrugged, running a hand over her loose hair. Her usual braid or ponytail was a no-go with her headache, and her hair kept falling into her eyes. “If I get top four, I’ll be happy.”

“You will.” There was certainty in Clarke’s voice. “We are one of the lucky ones.”

“I know.” There was no hiding the struggle of women’s basketball. Sure, the league had promise and potential, but it was a shadow of the sponsorship and compensation of the men’s league. With limited teams, getting a spot as a professional was already an achievement.

“So, can you help me back to my locker room, princess?” Clarke asked, pointing to her crutches. Heat rose to Lexa’s cheeks, and she crossed her arms.

“Why are you always like this?”

Clarke, halfway to standing, sat back down on the bench. “Like what?”

“Why are you so, so…” Lexa searched for a word, but unwelcomed suggestions jumped to the front of her mind like “hot” and “sexy”, and she ended up going with, “infuriating! Why do you flirt with other players only to mess with their game?”

Clarke huffed, an unusual pink dusting her cheeks. “I don’t flirt with other players.”

“You’ve been pretending to flirt with me in every game for a year!” Lexa didn’t know she needed to vent about something tonight, but Clarke gave her the opening she needed.

“Wait, wait,” Clarke said, raising her hands in surrender. “One, I don’t do that to other players. Two, I mostly do it with you because I know it won’t affect your game. I need to have something against your resolve, and flirting with a straight girl is harmless enough. Besides, you’re hot, Lex. Wow, why don’t you react like this on the court?”

Lexa’s cheeks burned, and she rolled her eyes. Once she stepped on the court, nothing else mattered and Lexa would be hyper-focused on the game. But tonight, not being under the spotlight and off her game, Lexa was not immune to Griffin’s tongue. Compliments—Griffin’s compliments! She needed to change this line of thought.

“What on earth have I done for you to think I’m straight?” Maybe that wasn’t the correct shift in the conversation. Clarke lit up like a Christmas tree, her mouth opening for a second, then closing again, settling on a half smile.

“You never reacted to me before.” Clarke’s voice was a full octave lower, and Lexa might be in trouble. Lexa swallowed and fidgeted with her jacket zipper. “And maybe, yeah, I’ve been flirting with you not only because of the games,” Clarke confessed, the heat in her cheeks darkening.

Was Clarke flirting with her again?

“I was kind of hoping you’d be able to play tonight,” Clarke continued, “so I could watch you all night instead.”

Yes, that was flirting, Lexa’s concussed brain detected. She didn’t move as Clarke shuffled closer, their thighs touching.

“I tried to find you early on, but all your teammates were wearing braids,” Lexa said. At 21, Lexa should have a better control of her mouth, but alas, there she was confessing her charms to her rival.

“They wanted to show me support.” Clarke’s voice was close, and closer still as she said, “So you were looking for me?” But the expected grin or tease was not behind her words. Lexa gathered the rest of her courage and chanced a glance at the fellow point guard, finding nothing but… admiration?

Kiss her, Lexa’s obviously concussed brain offered, and Lexa’s heart race in adrenaline as she ignored the thought.

“You’re the best player,” Lexa reasoned, swallowing as Clarke invaded her personal space. “Of course I look for you on the court.”

“Well,” Clarke said, and her hand, a tad larger than Lexa’s, reached for Lexa’s own. “I look for you outside of the court, too. I watched the video on your channel about your work against bullying in your town’s high school. That was inspiring.”

Lexa’s heart swelled with something akin to fondness, but she blamed that on the concussion. “Thank you.” Lexa whispered, the moment asking for softness.

“You, Lexa Woods”—Clarke’s large hand closed around Lexa’s, warm and steady—“You are inspiring.”

It wasn’t every day that the league MVP said she was inspiring.

Kiss, kiss, her brain supplied.

Lexa didn’t have to wait for her body to listen to her brain. Clarke was MVP for many reasons, and not hesitating was one of them.

The kiss was soft and warm, and Clarke’s hand tugged lightly at Lexa’s neck. For the first time that day, Lexa breathed easily. It lasted a moment, as Clarke showed to be dexterous with her tongue, and then Lexa was breathless.

“My team will be here at half-time,” Lexa whispered when Clarke finally, reluctantly, pulled away.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to kiss me again?”

Lexa wished she could say no to that smile, but she was learning that denying that smile was harder than to block Clarke’s 3 pointers.

“It means we can’t do it here,” Lexa said.

“I’m staying in town for an orthopedic appointment tomorrow morning. You could always stop by my hotel later tonight.” Clarke reached for her clutches and stood. 

“My team will want me around after the game.”

Clarke smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Would you rather be in a noisy bar with your team celebrating, or watching the British Bake Off with me while making out on a king bed?”

Lexa’s cheeks warmed. “The British Bake Off?”

Clarke made her way out of the locker room, slow and steady. “We can watch it on mute, which helps with your headache, and watching it always makes me… hungry.” Clarke delivered the last word over her shoulders, licking her lips for extra dramatic effect. Lexa felt her face heating as Clarke limped out of the room.

Hours later, Lexa’s team had gained their place at the final. Her headache was under control, and her utmost satisfaction had nothing to do with the chocolate cake they ordered from the 24h hotel service.

#evening reblog #a couple weeks late but here it is #drabble #loved this prompt #drabbles #the 100 #clexa #lexa the 100

[owl127]

So I was at this women’s basketball game—it being March Madness and all—and this player that I find really really cute (she actually kinda looks like Lexa), wasn’t warming up. When the game started she went through the tunnel and back into the locker room which is kinda weird because even if you’re injured normally you still sit on the bench. But at halftime she came out and I noticed she had earplugs in and after a little Google I found out she has a concussion so she was probably in the locker room because it was too loud on the court. The rest of the game I was thinking about how someone could totally write a fanfic where Lexa is on a sports team, gets hurt, is sad she has to sit out, but has a little mid game locker room rendezvous to cheer her up and give her a thrill. Would you please please pleaseee be that someone?

Lexa’s ears itched to remove her headphones, but the shadow of a headache had started behind her eyes, so she let the noise canceling headphones do its magic. She walked behind the starting team and watched with a frown the pile of windbreakers grow at her feet on the bench while she remained covered. She fiddled with the dark red zipper, the squeaking of rubber against shiny vinyl grounding her while the visiting team entered the arena. Lexa looked away, her eyes darting at the faceless crowd of silver and maroon. The muffled noise of the fans, something she looked forward to at each game, mounted on the pain growing between her eyes. The blinking lights of the stadium did not help with the building dizziness, but she forced a smile as she waved back at a bundle of little girls with signs with her name shining in bright silver glitter.

Lexa Woods.

She bit her lips at the thought of disappointing little girls.

On the other side of the court, the away team warmed up. Lexa looked for a familiar blonde braid, but they were in a huddle, and the amount of blonde heads was borderline offensive for basketball.

“Oi!” A ball came in her direction and Lexa held the pass in pure reflex, but that didn’t stop her frowning at Anya. “You look miserable. Smile for the cameras. It’s the fucking final fours, Lex.”

Their team captain’s shouted words were not as encouraging as Anya thought, and Lexa threw the ball back on the court.

“I’ll be out of here in a minute,” Lexa said and pointed to her headphones. “These are not working as expected.”

A rare sight of kindness flashed over Anya’s face, but it was gone just as fast. She sat next to Lexa, her mouth close to Lexa’s covered ears. “We’re here because of you. No one doubts that. We’ll win this so you can crush it at the final.”

Lexa bit her lip. They needed to win, and her concussion needed to be fully recovered for that to happen, and none of that was a guarantee. She nodded, and the movement didn’t help with her growing headache.

“I’m going back in,” she excused herself, standing up. Anya’s face softened, nodding.

“Your head okay?” Anya asked at the same time a wave of nausea hit Lexa.

Lexa moved her palm in a so-so pattern, and before their couch yelled at her, she backtracked her steps into their home locker room. She didn’t look up at the calls for her name while ducking into the tunnel, focused on escaping the noise.

The locker room was messy, with open bags and unfolded clothes littering the floor. The smell of bleach and foot powder was familiar, with a hint of synthetic eucalyptus from the shower row. Lexa finally took off the headphones, her ears popping in relief. Layers of concrete and tile protected her from the loud crowd, and Lexa closed her eyes. 

She could have made history tonight. Instead, because of a single nasty call at her last game, she cannot even watch from the bench.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, her lips trembling in frustration. She wanted to punch something.

“I know, right?”

Lexa’s neck turned at the voice, her vision blurring for a second as she focused.

She must be hallucinating, because in front of her was Clarke Griffin, point guard of the Arkadia Comets, and the usual pain in Lexa’s ass whenever they played. But why was she here and not on court? Her brain finally caught up with the full image and she noticed the clutches under Clarke’s arms and how her left foot didn’t touch the floor.

“I watched your last game.” Clarke’s dimples showed at a half smile. “I’m surprised you made it to the game tonight,” Clarke said as she sat heavily next to Lexa with a long sigh and the clacks of her crutches against the wooden bench. Her hands immediately massaged her injured thigh.

“What are you doing here?”

“There are stairs to the visitors’ locker room, and I really needed to pee. Can you believe they built this building for like, healthy people? There are stairs everywhere.” 

“I meant…” Lexa pointed at Clarke’s whole deal, and differently from Lexa, the other player didn’t wear a uniform or a windbreaker, just a hoodie with her university’s colors.

“Pulled muscle. Bad enough to knock me out. I didn’t want the sponsors to see me with the crutches.” Clarke nodded in the direction of the plastic supports. Lexa noticed a bright blue athletic tape poking out from Clarke’s joggers all the way to her lower abs visible under the hoodie. Her cheeks flushed, and when she looked up, Clarke smirked at her.

“How did it happen?” Lexa cleared her throat, ignoring the way blue eyes went up and down her body.

“Not as hilariously as the block that took you down,” Clarke said with a shit-eating grin that Lexa wanted to wipe off.

“That was a fault!”

“Sure, babe.” Clarke adjusted in her seat, massaging her thigh again. “I’m sorry you can’t play tonight. I was looking forward to destroying you.”

That made Lexa smile. “In your dreams, Griffin.”

“Oh, but my dreams about you are quite different, Lex.”

And there she was. Griffin always played the mind game to destabilize Lexa. Whispers on the court, faces from the bench; Lexa hated it. She also felt a little joy in it, but ultimately, Clarke Griffin was a distraction.

“I’m sorry you’re missing the game, too,” Lexa said, unsure if her face showed her reaction to Clarke’s comment. By the way Clarke lounged on the bench and shifted closer, Lexa must have blushed.

“It was a good run,” Clarke said.

“You don’t think you can win?” 

Clarke snorted. “Do you?”

“I trust my teammates,” Lexa said and crossed her arms. If Griffin didn’t have any loyalty to her team, that was her problem.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling—” the thin hairs on Lexa’s neck bristled at the pet name — “I love those bitches. But I dragged a bunch of future dentists and teachers to two final fours. You have other girls making draft picks in your team while I average astonishing zero bench points every game.”

“But you’ll be the first draft pick.” The truth rolled out easily on Lexa’s tongue, and she suppressed the bite of jealousy at the thought. 

“And you’ll be second, unless they go insane.”

And here they were, top two draft picks dusting in the locker room while the semi-final roared above them.

Lexa shrugged, running a hand over her loose hair. Her usual braid or ponytail was a no-go with her headache, and her hair kept falling into her eyes. “If I get top four, I’ll be happy.”

“You will.” There was certainty in Clarke’s voice. “We are one of the lucky ones.”

“I know.” There was no hiding the struggle of women’s basketball. Sure, the league had promise and potential, but it was a shadow of the sponsorship and compensation of the men’s league. With limited teams, getting a spot as a professional was already an achievement.

“So, can you help me back to my locker room, princess?” Clarke asked, pointing to her crutches. Heat rose to Lexa’s cheeks, and she crossed her arms.

“Why are you always like this?”

Clarke, halfway to standing, sat back down on the bench. “Like what?”

“Why are you so, so…” Lexa searched for a word, but unwelcomed suggestions jumped to the front of her mind like “hot” and “sexy”, and she ended up going with, “infuriating! Why do you flirt with other players only to mess with their game?”

Clarke huffed, an unusual pink dusting her cheeks. “I don’t flirt with other players.”

“You’ve been pretending to flirt with me in every game for a year!” Lexa didn’t know she needed to vent about something tonight, but Clarke gave her the opening she needed.

“Wait, wait,” Clarke said, raising her hands in surrender. “One, I don’t do that to other players. Two, I mostly do it with you because I know it won’t affect your game. I need to have something against your resolve, and flirting with a straight girl is harmless enough. Besides, you’re hot, Lex. Wow, why don’t you react like this on the court?”

Lexa’s cheeks burned, and she rolled her eyes. Once she stepped on the court, nothing else mattered and Lexa would be hyper-focused on the game. But tonight, not being under the spotlight and off her game, Lexa was not immune to Griffin’s tongue. Compliments—Griffin’s compliments! She needed to change this line of thought.

“What on earth have I done for you to think I’m straight?” Maybe that wasn’t the correct shift in the conversation. Clarke lit up like a Christmas tree, her mouth opening for a second, then closing again, settling on a half smile.

“You never reacted to me before.” Clarke’s voice was a full octave lower, and Lexa might be in trouble. Lexa swallowed and fidgeted with her jacket zipper. “And maybe, yeah, I’ve been flirting with you not only because of the games,” Clarke confessed, the heat in her cheeks darkening.

Was Clarke flirting with her again?

“I was kind of hoping you’d be able to play tonight,” Clarke continued, “so I could watch you all night instead.”

Yes, that was flirting, Lexa’s concussed brain detected. She didn’t move as Clarke shuffled closer, their thighs touching.

“I tried to find you early on, but all your teammates were wearing braids,” Lexa said. At 21, Lexa should have a better control of her mouth, but alas, there she was confessing her charms to her rival.

“They wanted to show me support.” Clarke’s voice was close, and closer still as she said, “So you were looking for me?” But the expected grin or tease was not behind her words. Lexa gathered the rest of her courage and chanced a glance at the fellow point guard, finding nothing but… admiration?

Kiss her, Lexa’s obviously concussed brain offered, and Lexa’s heart race in adrenaline as she ignored the thought.

“You’re the best player,” Lexa reasoned, swallowing as Clarke invaded her personal space. “Of course I look for you on the court.”

“Well,” Clarke said, and her hand, a tad larger than Lexa’s, reached for Lexa’s own. “I look for you outside of the court, too. I watched the video on your channel about your work against bullying in your town’s high school. That was inspiring.”

Lexa’s heart swelled with something akin to fondness, but she blamed that on the concussion. “Thank you.” Lexa whispered, the moment asking for softness.

“You, Lexa Woods”—Clarke’s large hand closed around Lexa’s, warm and steady—“You are inspiring.”

It wasn’t every day that the league MVP said she was inspiring.

Kiss, kiss, her brain supplied.

Lexa didn’t have to wait for her body to listen to her brain. Clarke was MVP for many reasons, and not hesitating was one of them.

The kiss was soft and warm, and Clarke’s hand tugged lightly at Lexa’s neck. For the first time that day, Lexa breathed easily. It lasted a moment, as Clarke showed to be dexterous with her tongue, and then Lexa was breathless.

“My team will be here at half-time,” Lexa whispered when Clarke finally, reluctantly, pulled away.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to kiss me again?”

Lexa wished she could say no to that smile, but she was learning that denying that smile was harder than to block Clarke’s 3 pointers.

“It means we can’t do it here,” Lexa said.

“I’m staying in town for an orthopedic appointment tomorrow morning. You could always stop by my hotel later tonight.” Clarke reached for her clutches and stood. 

“My team will want me around after the game.”

Clarke smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Would you rather be in a noisy bar with your team celebrating, or watching the British Bake Off with me while making out on a king bed?”

Lexa’s cheeks warmed. “The British Bake Off?”

Clarke made her way out of the locker room, slow and steady. “We can watch it on mute, which helps with your headache, and watching it always makes me… hungry.” Clarke delivered the last word over her shoulders, licking her lips for extra dramatic effect. Lexa felt her face heating as Clarke limped out of the room.

Hours later, Lexa’s team had gained their place at the final. Her headache was under control, and her utmost satisfaction had nothing to do with the chocolate cake they ordered from the 24h hotel service.

#a couple weeks late but here it is #loved this prompt #drabble #drabbles #the 100 #clexa #lexa the 100 #clarke the 100 #why not make out with chocolate cake watching the british bake off? #sounds reasonable #clarke is a cocky little shit because why not

[owl127]

My Catradora AU where they defeat Horde Prime as a power couple. Don’t have a story written out, but the visual was in my head. If anyone feels like writing a story inspired by the pic definitely let me know! Would love to read it 🥰

#catradora #love this

[owl127]

I never said I wasn't yours is a fave of mine. Would you care to write something from this universe, maybe another parents teachers meeting with Clexa as a couple now. Anything would be much appreciated. Thank you.

Original story here

As morning light broke the grayness of dawn, dew graced the front lawn, and birds chirped the night away. The cat and the dog napped peacefully on the kitchen rug, a pile of fur and soft snoring. Before alarms disturbed the new day, barely a sound could be heard in the house.

But not for lack of trying. 

Lexa bit hard on her palm, muffling her moans as Clarke worked diligently between her legs. One hand was tangled in blonde tresses, tugging and pulling, warning her that it was a weekday morning, but nothing deviated Clarke from her goal.

"Clarke," Lexa begged, unashamed, because waking up to her wife going down on her was great, yes, but in less than an hour she would have to drive four kids to three different schools. Clarke met her eyes with her nose buried in Lexa and lifted her head slightly to say,

"Focus on me, my love. It's just us. "We have a little time." Clarke's chin glistened with arousal, and Lexa bit her tongue. Nodded. She kept a palm over her mouth as her head fell back on the pillow, and Clarke made good on her promise. Lexa came with shudders and a whine, and Clarke kissed the trailing end of it.

"I just need a minute," Clarke grunted, and Lexa spread her legs further, inviting, aware of the time but even more aware of her mate. "Fuck, you feel so good," Clarke moaned as Lexa welcomed her, all warmth and want, and left over after glow. "I love you," she whispered into dark hair, and Lexa met her hips in rushed bliss.

Lexa heard the knocking first, her hips stuttering in their search for momentum. Clarke didn't stop, though, as close as she was, rutting mindlessly into her wife.

"Wait." Lexa’s finger grasped at a bulging bicep. "I think I heard something."

"It's just the cat," Clarke panted, her hips always moving. "Babe, please, I'm—"

There was no mistaking the soft knock now, followed by the tiniest voice. "Mommy?"

Lumi. Their youngest. 

"Shit," Clarke cursed louder than she wanted, and Lexa widened her eyes at her. "Shit, shit." Clarke pulled out, hard and frustrated, and made her way into the bathroom.

"Don't be so dramatic," Lexa whisper-laughed, covering her nudity with Clarke's robe.

"Says the one who's got to come!" Clarke huffed from the bathroom and closed the door.

Lexa opened the bedroom door to a fidgeting five-year-old, her stuffed rabbit being dragged by the ear at her side. 

"Good morning, darling." Lexa picked her up, noticing the frown and pout. "Is everything alright?"

Lumi shook her head and latched her small arms around Lexa's neck. "What happened, baby?" Lexa coaxed her daughter with a peck on the cheek.

"There's something wrong with Serah," Lumi whispered, then pulled back to hug her always-present bunny. "Samson thinks she's sick."

Lexa nodded, making her way down the hallway to the stairs. The twins and Lumi had their bedrooms upstairs, but their just-turned-15-year-old teenager had her own room downstairs. Lumi adored her sister though, and constantly escaped to spend part of the night in the den with Serah. 

There was an edge to Lumi, a concern half-formed, as if the youngling did not comprehend the concept of real worry. Lexa bristled. "Why don't you get changed for school, honey? I'll go check on Serah. We already picked your clothes last night, remember?"

Lumi lit up at that, since changing clothes was one of her favorite pastimes. Lexa only wished she would stop doing it in public. "I'll call you for breakfast."

Samson's head bounced on the carpet as the pup ran back to her room. Lexa tightened the robe's knot around her waist and made her way downstairs. Nuggets and Quiet were at the window, fixated on a neighbor leaving for work, and Lexa opened the door to the den. The bed was unmade, which was not atypical. The bathroom’s door was locked, and she heard faint whining.

"Serah? Are you okay? Open the door," she ordered in her mother tone, knocking twice. "Serah."

"Go away."

Well, at least she was alive.

"Serah, open the door."

"I said go away!" The plea was followed by a low growl, and Lexa bristled at the sound. She gritted her teeth, her jaw aching. Her nose itched with something new, something heavy, and she blinked it away.

"Serah, honey, what’s going on? Please open the door."

"Can you call mom?" The growling from the voice was gone, and all that was left was a pitiful wine. Her daughter was in pain, and Lexa rattled on the doorknob, as useless as it would be.

"Are you alright? Serah, please open up."

"Just call mom!" the teen yelled, and Lexa felt a shiver go down her spine. Heavy steps echoed behind Lexa, and she watched Clarke, her hair dripping from her quick shower, climb down the stairs holding a shirtless Lumi.

"She claims her shirt escaped," Clarke said with a grin, but it morphed into a frown when Lexa looked at her. "What’s going on? Lumi said Serah is sick."

"Samson said it," the young omega corrected, and Lexa picked her up.

"She locked herself in the bathroom," Lexa explained in a whisper, adjusting her daughter on her hips. "She’s asking for you."

Clarke’s eyebrows came together in worry, and she stepped up to the bathroom door. Her button-up was outside her jeans, and she was only wearing socks. Lexa made peace with the fact that everyone would be late that morning, and that was just the way mornings went sometimes.

Clarke knocked on the door a couple times, louder than Lexa did. "Honey, it’s me," she called, exchanging a glance with Lexa. "What’s going on?"

"Is mom still there?" Her voice was small and scared, and Lumi tightened her grasp on Lexa’s neck. "I only want to talk to you," Serah completed, a small voice beyond the wood. Lexa shook her head, and Clarke shrugged.

"Start with breakfast and get the kids ready. I’ll deal with this."

Lexa wanted to protest. She was always overprotective of the kids, and Serah would always have a special place in her heart. Serah was her first; it had been only the two of them for five long years.

"Please." Clarke touched Lexa’s shoulder, her palm warm and steady. "She’ll be okay."

Lexa’s jaw ached, but she nodded.

Clarke waited until Lexa had left the basement before knocking on the door again. "It’s just me."

It took a minute, but the door unlocked with a soft click. Clarke took one deep breath and understood, hiding her grimace with a cough.

"Oh, honey. It’s okay." She opened her arms, and slowly, weary, Serah accepted the hug.

The teenager had on a black t-shirt picturing whatever band was hot on the radio. The cloth was damp with sweat, and the collar tugged and pulled enough to sit loosely at her sweaty neck. She had a towel around her waist, one hand holding it tight.

Clarke checked her red eyes, took note of her heated forehead, and helped her to bed.

"When did it start?" Clarke asked, holding one hand next to Serah but giving her the option to touch it or not.

"Sometime last night." Serah’s voice was rough, all gravel and tiredness. "It just…" She hugged her own belly, sniffling. Clarke tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it away. "It hurts."

"I know." Clarke cleared her throat. "I’m going to get supplies and make some phone calls. Why don’t you take a shower and dress up in something light? No tight underwear."

Serah nodded, defeated, in pain, and ashamed. Maybe a little angry.

Yep, all the signs were there.

Clarke made her way back upstairs to find Lexa filling up bowls of cereal. She left the twins to their breakfast and approached Clarke, still in her robe. "What’s going on?"

"She’s alright." Clarke kissed her cheek. "I’ll take the day off to stay with her. Can you pick everyone up today?"

"Clarke, what’s going on?" Lexa’s cheeks were rosy with either anger or fear, and Clarke looked at the twins—who were focused on their sugary meal—and Lumi, who was making her own mess with a banana. She lowered her voice and said the only thing Lexa did not want to hear. "Serah is having her first rut. The first time it’s just pain and being uncomfortable. It will take her another year or so to mature her knot."

Lexa swallowed dryly, nodding, numb.

Her baby was rutting.

"I’ll pick up the twins and Lumi. Can you call Serah’s high school?"

Clarke nodded, her eyes calm and understanding, and Lexa hated her a little bit because of that.

"I know this is not easy for you—"

"It’s worse for her," Lexa said harshly, making her way to the stairs. "She’s at age. It’s normal. It’s normal, right?"

Clarke nodded, following her wife.

"She’s growing up. And she needs you now."

"Lexa…"

"You’re an alpha, she’s an alpha; you deal with this."

Clarke watched her trot up the stairs. She knew that had been a fear in Lexa’s life when it had been just her and Serah; how would Lexa deal with a rutting alpha teenager? Lexa had an entire plan by the time Serah was three, with Abby and Raven as emergency contacts. Everything changed when they reconnected, but that fear, that feeling of not being enough, was still present in Lexa’s heart.

And the plain rejection earlier did not help. 

"Lexa?" Clarke called, and Lexa’s shoulders rose as she stopped at the top of the stairs. "She loves you. That never changed."

Lexa’s shoulder lowered, but she didn’t stop, walking straight to their bedroom.

Clarke sighed and palmed her pants in search of her phone. It was going to be a long day.

00000

Lexa had a horrible day.

She couldn’t concentrate at work and didn’t add a single development to any of her cases. She constantly checked her phone for Clarke’s updates, but in the end, that was what really bothered Lexa: there was nothing she could do.

Her baby was growing up and didn’t need her anymore.

At least she had another three that would need her for a little longer, she thought, as she parked the car blasting Paw Patrol’s songs.

"Okay, one more time," Lexa said, eyeing the twins and Lumi through the mirror. "What are the rules?"

"We leave Serah alone," the three repeated in bored monotone. 

"Okay, good. Now let’s get inside because your mom made dinner."

The twins look at each other and gag.

"It’s pasta!" Lexa completed, and she watched her boys shrug and run inside. She took her time freeing Lumi from her car seat and followed her children inside.

The house was eerily quiet. 

"In here," Clarke called from the kitchen. "Dinner is almost ready." The twins and Lumi had disappeared upstairs. Lexa pecked Clarke’s lips, noticing her sports bra and shorts. "She’s napping. We went for a run. A long run."

Lexa nodded. "Is she… Is she okay? Is she in pain?"

"I asked the boys not to laugh at the icepack on her crotch and warned them their time would come."

Lexa tasted the boiling red sauce and added herbs from their spice cabinet. "Is she not going to join us for dinner?"

"Probably not. She ate some already." Clarke placed her chin over Lexa’s shoulder, stretching a little to do so. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Busy day."

Clarke hummed, unconvinced. "Let her come to you."

"If she ever does that." Lexa tasted the sauce and added a pinch of salt. She turned to kiss Clarke’s cheek. "Call the kids. It’s ready."

"Don’t take the glory for my dinner."

"It’s canned tomato sauce and pasta, Clarke."

"Which I boiled perfectly to al dente." Laughing, Clarke left to gather their family for dinner. Most of their family, at least.

Serah didn’t leave her room until late in the night. The shower upstairs was running for Clarke. The twins were wrapping up their homework, and Lumi had been asleep for an hour. Lexa scrubbed pasta that had dried in the bottom of the pan, so focused on scrapping the offensive carbs that she didn’t hear the den’s door opening and closing. 

"Mom?"

Lexa stopped her endless scrubbing, turning to see Serah by the door. She hug one arm over herself, curls that were the identical copy of Lexa’s damp from a recent shower. 

"Hi, love." Lexa dropped the sponge and wiped her hands, her heart full and hurting at the dark circles under Serah’s eyes. She made to hug her daughter, but Serah flinched. Lexa tried to hide the hurt, but Serah’s eyes widened in guilt.

"You smell different," Serah explained. "I wasn’t expecting it."

Lexa breathed easier in relief. "A few things will change about how you scent alphas and omegas. It can be a little jarring at first."

"Mom told me." Serah sat at the kitchen island. "I’m not sure I like it." She wrinkled her nose, tired green searching Lexa and then moving away. "Can I feel it again?" Lexa sat next to her and held her hand. Serah approached carefully, her nose sniffling quietly next to Lexa’s neck. "Is that mom’s claim on you?" 

Blushing, Lexa nodded. "Yes. You will be able to tell mated pairs most of the time."

"It’s…" Serah got even closer, her nose brushing Lexa’s skin. Lexa couldn’t resist and kissed the top of her messy curls. "It’s fresh."

Lexa cleared her throat. "Well, I do share a bed with your mother." She felt the heat in her cheeks and watched as Serah pulled back, grimacing.

"Oh my god, am I going to be able to notice when you two—" She fake gagged, and Lexa smirked.

"Not really, and not all the time. But your instincts are wired to notice another alpha’s claim."

Serah closed her eyes and leaned down on the cold marble of the island, her forehead hitting the stone with a soft thud. "This is weird."

"Welcome to adulthood."

Serah turned and looked up at her mom. "I’m sorry about this morning." Her high cheeks were flushed pink. "It was really hurting."

Lexa ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. She had a fuzzy undercut at her nape that was always soft to the touch. "It’s okay. I was worried about you."

"I’ll do better next time." She straightened up and threw herself into a hug. Lexa accepted it, inhaling the maturing alpha scent from her daughter’s neck. "Do you want to watch a movie downstairs?" 

Lexa hugged her closer. More than a decade ago, they would sometimes fall asleep watching something on their bed. When it used to be just the two of them. "Of course."

As Lexa watched some old animation movie with her daughter asleep on her chest, she realized that some changes are for the better. She wasn’t a single mom fighting to be enough for a rebellious teenager; she had a mate and a wife to help her with that. And no matter the changes Serah would go through, she would always be her little girl. Even if she was taller than Lexa already.

#ask the owl #yours #drabble #fav comeback

[owl127]

Could you write alpha Clarke and omega Lexa struggle trying to conceive a baby?

read on Ao3

The blurred image focuses on a woman sitting down on the single chair in the frame. Behind her is a large window with sleek modern architecture reflecting on tinted glass. She clears her throat, pats her button-up shirt, and an accompanying thud follows her hand.

"You don’t need to touch it," a voice says from behind the camera. "Speak normally, and we get it."

A shade of pink takes over her cheeks under the set lights. She chuckles, tucking blonde hair behind an ear. On the lower left, captions appear: Clarke Griffin, patient #013, 40 years old. Female Alpha.

"Thank you for agreeing with the post-treatment documentation," says the same unnamed voice, a soprano woman. "As we said before, this will only be shared with other future patients."

Clarke nods. "You changed my life. I’m happy to help."

"Can you talk a little bit about how you felt when you were diagnosed?"

Clarke works her jaw back and forth, looking down at her polished shoes then up at the camera again. 

"Well. Basically, it sucked."

0000

The punching bag moved back and forth with each new impact. Clarke’s knuckles ached and her wrist screamed, but she kept delivering punch after punch into the bright red canvas. Pain flared at her joints, and sweat ran down her back, but she needed it to keep her thoughts at bay.

Thoughts of how much of a useless alpha she was.

"Clarke?"

It was the second time Lexa came to check in on her. At first, it was an innocent call for dinner, but now Lexa’s voice had a layer of worry on it. 

"Clarke." 

Clarke didn’t stop the punching. Jab, lower, jab, jab. Her gloves burned with friction, but those jabs were the only thing keeping her from facing her incapacity to—

"I brought you coconut water," Lexa said from behind her. Clarke stopped, wiped sweat from her face, saw how useless that was since she was completely drenched, and shrugged. 

"Thank you." She didn’t look Lexa in the eyes as she accepted the bottle, downing it in three long gulps. Dehydration. Just what her body needed, being this useless bag of meat and—

"Clarke." Lexa placed a hand on her shoulder, coaxing Clarke to face her. Lexa wasn’t angry, which infuriated Clarke more. Lexa should be furious, doing to her what Clarke was doing to that bag. But Lexa wasn’t pitiful, and for that, Clarke was grateful. She wouldn’t be able to deal with pity. "Come up, eat something. You’ve been here for hours." 

Clarke took a deep breath and toyed with the lid of her bottle. "I needed… I needed to—"

Uncareful of her sweat, Lexa wrapped her arms around Clarke. Warm, comforting. This was Lexa, her mate, her wife. The woman she promised the world to—and who she now failed to keep promises to.

"We’ll be alright," Lexa said into Clarke’s messy ponytail, nudging at the scar she left there years ago. "I get that you’re angry. But don’t blame yourself, my love. This new treatment is available, and—"

"We only need that because I’m a fucking failure," Clarke confessed, and Lexa’s hands on her skin tightened their grip.

"Don’t say things like that." She pulled back and guided Clarke to meet her eyes with a hand on her chin. "You’re my wife, and I love you. All of you. Don’t say things like that about yourself."

"It still doesn't change the fact that I'm a half-baked alpha."

"If I were the one with a complication, would you say those things to me?"

Clarke swallowed. "Of course not."

"So please don’t say that." Lexa kissed her cheek. "I love you."

"I’m sorry." Clarke thought the hours of punching and sweating would keep the tears away, but here they were, strong and ugly and burning just like her hands. "I’m so sorry that I can’t be the partner you need." Lexa held her. In the damp air of their basement, Lexa held Clarke and let her cry like the insolent pup she was.

"You’re exactly what I need," Lexa promised. "Nothing will change that."

Lexa was convinced. Clarke admired her for that. If only she could believe it.

0000

The image depicts a bright room with green plants in colorful pots framing the lonely chair in the center. The woman sitting on it is reading a paper, glasses low on her nose.

"Ready to roll, Mrs. Woods?" The soprano voice asks from behind the lenses. Lexa folds the paper, and a blur of a person picks it up from her hands. A similar inscription from before appears on the bottom left: Lexa Woods. Clarke Griffin’s mate and wife. 38 years old. Female Omega. 

"Yes," Lexa says, folding her reading glasses and placing them in her front shirt pocket. "Whenever you’re ready."

"Have you ever dated another Alpha before meeting Clarke?"

Lexa’s facial expression does not change as she says, "No."

"When did either of you suspect something was wrong?"

Lexa sits straighter in the chair, her lips twitching twice before she finally says, "We were mated and married for six years when we tried to conceive." She pauses, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "We had never knotted before, so we had no idea what to expect. But eventually, we realized something was wrong."

"Was it a mutual realization?"

"Clarke noticed it first. But I don’t think she brought it up until it was unavoidable."

0000

Clarke never knew there was something wrong with her. She never really thought that she might be a little off until Liam. Anya had just started showing, complaining about Clarke's food and everything else. 

"I didn’t know you were planning for a baby," Clarke said, hands soaked in bubbles. "But I’m really glad for you, Raven." They could hear their wives laughing from the dining room.

"Planning?" Raven snorted, shaking the kitchen towel to get another plate to dry. "That kid planned itself. That is, I really wasn’t planning to knot, but it happened, and well, in five months there will be a pup around. Get used to the idea."

Clarke frowned at the fork she was washing and watched the suds drip down the metal surface. "What do you mean you didn’t plan to knot?"

Raven placed a dry plate on the rack. "I was in rut. You know." She shrugged, and Clarke honest-to-god did not know. 

"Do you always knot when you rut?" 

"If I’m not super-extra-careful, yeah. Don’t you?" Raven asked in a laugh, but stopped at seeing whatever was going on with Clarke’s face. "Don’t you?" she repeated. Clarke felt her face warming. 

She looked back at the fork. There was a stubborn piece of potato stuck to it. 

0000

They talked about it. Extensively. They talked about costs, space, and time. But Clarke knew what the decision would be since the day Lexa had seen little Liam—all red-faced and crying his lungs out in Anya’s arms—and some maternal instinct sparked to life in her.

They wanted a baby.

The bed creaked with Clarke’s vigorous thrusts. Lexa met her push for push, her hips seeking Clarke’s in tandem. Lexa was not a passive omega; she took what she wanted, and Clarke loved her for that. She loved her mate, she loved her wife, and now she loved that they would make a new life together. 

"Are you close?" Lexa panted in her ear. 

Clarke nodded, her cheek hitting Lexa’s chin in the process. None cared. "Yeah. I think," she exhaled, slowing their movements to adjust her hips. Lexa moaned. "I’m not sure how long it takes," Clarke breathed, hoping her tone was steady.

"I have no idea." Lexa kissed her neck, licking the mating bite there. "It’s the first time we’re doing this." It should feel exciting. Lexa sounded excited. Clarke wasn’t sure.

Don’t you?

Sometimes she thought about Raven’s puzzled look when she admitted she had never knotted. But her friend had patted her on the back and said that each person was different. Clarke had never really tried to knot, so it was alright.

But right now, in rut, Clarke was actively trying, and Lexa had come twice, and they had changed positions twice as much, and Lexa would get sore, and Clarke could not get her damn knot to work.

"Come back to me." Lexa’s hands massaged the tight clench of Clarke’s jaw. They slowed until they stopped. Lexa sighed, but Clarke continued to pant. "What’s wrong, love?"

Clarke didn’t know. Or she did, and she did not want to voice it, because then it would be real, and Lexa would care, and they would have to go to doctors, and Clarke would be a failure as a wife.

"Clarke?" Puzzled, Lexa leaned back to find Clarke’s eyes, but Clarke avoided them. Clarke pulled out, their gasps mangling for a moment before she left the bed. "Clarke?" Naked and worried, Lexa followed her into their bathroom. The room smelled of sweat and sex. "What’s wrong?"

Clarke splashed water on her face and looked down at herself. Her erection, covered in Lexa, had an uneven swell at the base. She touched it, one large palm pressing on it, but she barely felt it. It wasn't like other alphas talked about it. It was like she was numb. Lexa watched from the door, her arms crossed over her chest. 

"Are you going to talk to me or—"

"I don’t think I can knot."

There. It was real.

0000

Clarke drinks from a water bottle while an assistant runs the mic check. A voice behind the camera mumbles, "We should try asking anyway." A new light turns on at Clarke’s right and she squints at it.

"So Clarke," the same voice from before says, now louder. "How were the side effects of the injection?" 

Clarke takes another drag from her water bottle, her eyebrows rising at the question. She places the bottle next to her chair.

"Like almost everything about this treatment, it totally sucked."

0000

"Fucking hell!" Clarke breathed through her nose, hard and gasping, her hands white with the effort of holding on to their granite sink. "Give me a moment," she gasped.

Lexa kissed her cheek, brushing the sweat away. "I got you," she whispered, always calm and serene during Clarke’s outbursts.

Clarke had been all courage and bravado until the needle—bigger than what it looked like in the doctor’s office—touched her knot. The injection site felt like fire, and every day the pain got worse. She knew it would be like this, at least until her knot inflated for the first time, and hell, that was another headache she wasn’t ready to think about just yet.

"If it hurts like that, it means it’s working," Lexa tried to argue, which did not help with the fact that Clarke’s cock was on fire. "Blood is flowing there for the first time, honey," Lexa continued to sooth, an ice bag in hand, ready for the aftercare. "Most alphas take years to go through what you’re going through in a few weeks. Give yourself some grace."

Clarke grunted, sat back on the closed toilet lid, spread her legs, and nodded. "Okay. Okay. I’m okay." Lexa kissed the top of her head and went for the second injection.

0000

Lexa hisses at something behind the camera, the mic turned off and not catching whatever accompanied the reprimand. The voice-only director clears her throat and says, "Patient 13’s, that is, Clarke’s file says her mate was the one administering the injections. That’s you." Lexa focuses on the right of the camera, sitting taller in her chair in the plant-filled room."How did you feel about that?"

"I’m not medically trained, but the mechanics of it weren't hard." She smiles, a small little thing under lights and makeup. She's aging gracefully. "Clarke was very vulnerable, and she trusted me. I would advise mates to give it a shot if they can handle the whining."

"Whining?"

"I suppose most alphas don’t take kindly to injections on their knots."

There is a chuckle off camera and a loud noise; someone else is yelling, "The mic is down!" and the off-camera voice comes back, "Cut, cut!" while Lexa chastises, "You two get down here!"

0000

Clarke woke up feeling like she had gone to hell. Everything burned. Her sleep shirt was soaked, her pajama shorts drenched, and her hair plastered to her forehead. As she sat up on the bed, she moaned, her muscles tensing. Lexa mumbled something next to her, that little sleepy snort she claimed she didn’t do every time she woke up. 

"Fuck," Clarke gasped, holding on to the wall as she tried to stand up. Besides her entire body burning, her crotch ached with a pain-pleasure mix Clarke was not conscious enough to judge. 

"Clarke?" Lexa asked from the bed as Clarke tumbled to the bathroom, half-awake and limping. Clarke almost fell as she kicked her shorts and sat in the bathtub, turning the water cold.

"Babe?" Wrapped in Clarke’s robe, Lexa remained on the threshold, her eyes suddenly awake. "Is it happening?"

Clarke looked at her and moaned, nodding. "It fucking burns," she whispered, and Lexa approached with caution. 

"Do you want to be by yourself?" she asked, her naked feet silent on the bathroom tiles. 

Clarke shook her head, extending a hand to Lexa. "Can you stay here with me?" 

"Oh, my love." Lexa sat next to the bathtub, kissing Clarke’s burning cheeks. "Always."

0000

Clarke fidgets with her microphone again, and an assistant asks her to stop doing it. "And how did you feel when you could knot?" the director asks as Clarke looks up.

Clarke’s blush is more visible under the lights, and she touches an earring before answering, "Not everything about the treatment sucked."

0000

Lexa wouldn’t stop moaning. She was not always vocal, or at least not carelessly so, but as Clarke felt herself expanding inside her, Lexa wouldn’t stop the cadence of moans. Part of Clarke was worried, but most of her was lost in ecstatic bliss. 

"Lex?" She gasped, her hips slowing as her range of motion was limited by her knot. "Talk to me, love," she insisted, because Lexa was tucked under her chin, an endless stream of incoherent words leaving her lips. As they slowed, spent and satisfied, finally tied, Lexa took another minute to simply gasp for air. Clarke held her, whispering small nothings. She tasted salt on Lexa’s cheeks. "Lex?"

"I’m—" Lexa tried, and they moaned together as she moved her hips. It wouldn’t budge; people were not kidding about that part. "Fuck," Lexa said, the first coherent thing in the last few minutes. 

"That good?" Clarke wiggled her hips, and they moaned again, and Lexa slapped her back. 

"Stop moving for a bit," she hissed. "But yeah, that good." Clarke nudged Lexa’s nose with her own, a delicate gesture like a small island in the middle of a sea of intense love making. "Are you good?" Lexa asked, finally taking a deep breath. Clarke nodded and nuzzled into Lexa’s nose again. 

"I love you."

Lexa kissed her temple, and they shared a breath. "I love you too."

0000

"Why are we here?" the little girl in Clarke’s lap asks, looking up at her.

"To tell our story, baby." Clarke kisses the tops of her dark curls. 

"Hello," the director calls from behind the camera, and the little girl’s attention moves away from Clake. "Hi," she repeats, "what’s your name?"

The girl looks up at Clarke, who nods, and then back at the camera. "Serah."

"How old are you, Serah?"

She proudly shows one hand with all five fingers and another two fingers on her other hand. 

"That’s seven, right?" Serah nods, a missing incisor showing in her smile. 

"She’s our oldest," Clarke chimes in, pulling her daughter a little closer. "The twins are three."

The image cuts to Lexa’s set, with two boys running around her chair as she types something on her phone. It cuts back to Clarke. 

"So you can say, a hundred percent, that the treatment works," the director continues, and Clarke nods. 

"It changed our lives."

The image shifts to a different set, with the entire family present. Clarke has a hand around Lexa’s waist, with Serah reaching up to her belly while the twins don’t get above her waist. Lexa placed each hand behind the twins' necks, keeping them in place. 

"You have a beautiful family. Three beautiful, healthy pups," the voice from behind the says, and both Clarke and Lexa blush. Serah giggles, and the twins start poking each other. A silent conversation goes on between the mated pair, and it ends with a nod from Lexa.

"We’re actually expecting a fourth," Clarke reveals, one of her hands landing on the twin closest to her. The boys stop their poking. 

"Congratulations! I guess three were not enough?"

"They’re definitely a handful," Clarke says as she picks up one of the twins, his blonde hair messed up by his brother’s hands. "This last one kind of… planned itself." She blushed, and Serah giggled again. 

"I guess we finally understood what other couples meant by accidents during ruts," Lexa jokes, and there’s laughter in the background of the set. 

"What’s a rut?" Serah asks, and the laughter increases in volume, even with the director joining in with a chuckle. 

"I believe that’s a cut," Clarke says, grinning at the camera.

The image fades into black, and a centered caption appears.

The Woods-Griffin family had a healthy baby girl.

As expected, she was also a handful.

#clexa fanfic #clexa #ask the owl #prompts #clexa fanfiction #the 100 fantic #drabble #reading an IVF fic and thought of this #abo

[owl127]

Bumbleby Big Bang 2023

My work is on Ao3!

Shoutout to @3nsider and their awesome work with the art <3

"Yang's life is perfect. She's happily married to the love of her life and they are eagerly expecting their first child. However, when her wife, Blake, starts acting strangely with secretive phone calls and late-night shifts at the police station, Yang suspects something is amiss. Her suspicions are tragically confirmed when Blake is kidnapped by an escaped prisoner seeking revenge on the pregnant detective.

Now, with time running out and everything Yang holds dear hanging in the balance, she must confront her own past traumas and find her wife before it's too late.

or

Yang bang-bang-save-your-pregnant-wife tope from the evil hands of bullboy " Fic Link

#bbb2023 #bumbleby big bang #rwby #rwby fanfiction #abo #bumbleby #bumblebee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #a touch of rosebird becase why not #rosebird #this is why my prompts were late folks #but I'm on it!

[owl127]

Soft bees

#Bumbleby #that little thumb touch #rwby #bumblebee #so so soft #i want to hug it

[owl127]

women stories matter

#oh well #happy monday folks

[owl127]

Dear owl; you don’t know how much I need another alpha alpha clexa post again, I just can’t get enough of those ! I literally think about it like boys think about the Roman Empire, embarrassingly often

Clarke gagged as she picked up the dirty socks from the humid floor and threw them on the rolling hamper.

“This is all your fault, Woods,” she cursed for the umpteenth time, the empty locker room echoing with Lexa’s sarcastic laugh.

“How’s that my fault?” Lexa picked up a muddied jersey from under the wooden bench and threw it at the hamper between them. “Your timing for passing was awful, and your tackles were a joke.”

“You were running as if your parking brake was on.”

“I’m an impeccable wing.”

“Chicken wing,” Clarke mumbled, fishing cleats from an open locker to throw them with the rest of the dirty gear from their home game.

Which had been a series of humiliating losses because Woods couldn’t time her fucking run.

“Oh, shut up.” Lexa kicked the supply room door open, her ponytail uneven since she suffered that ugly tackle on game two.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with clean duty with you,” Clarke said as the lights turned on when they entered the room. “You’re the one who talked back to the coach.”

“Because she kept you for the third game! You’re messing up our center!” A little vein popped on Lexa’s forehead, which would make her look cute if it wasn’t for the death glare aimed at Clarke.

“Whatever,” Clarke mumbled and dragged the pile of dirty jerseys into the bin for the clean crew the next morning. “You can be such a bitch sometimes, Woods.” Almost a full year after Lexa transferred to their team, and she was as insufferable as day one.

“You watch your fucking mouth.”

Clarke bristled at the threat, because she had been tackled so many times today by strong alphas who put her down hard, and a good part of it was because of Woods.

“Or what? You’re just talk, Woods.”

The wooden shelf behind Clarke shook with her weight as Lexa was suddenly at her face, a tight grip on Clarke’s collar. Lexa had an inch on Clarke, but Clarke had a dozen pounds of muscle on the lean wing.

“Shut up,” Lexa breathed in Clarke’s face, teeth gritted in anger. “I needed this game, Griffin. You know scouts were all over the place and you screwed up our center like the stupid privileged princess you are.”

Clarke felt her face burn with anger. “You’re slow, Lexa, and you know it.” She pushed the smaller alpha away, expected the push back and pressed on until their positions changed and Lexa found herself with her back on the shelf. A couple of balls fell on the floor behind them, bouncing once and rolling next to the hamper. “Stop blaming other people for your own frustration.” Clarke pressed her elbow to Lexa’s neck for good measure, baring her teeth. “You’re not the only one worried about scouts.”

Lexa’s eyes shone gray when they brimmed with tears. Her cheeks, red and puffed, trembled, and she pushed Clarke’s arm away. “Fuck you, Griffin.”

Lexa pushed Clarke with both hands on her chest, and Clarke barely moved as she held her stance. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Clarke said and felt Lexa’s breath. “But cut it out!”

A flash of pink as Lexa licked her lips. Their breaths mingled in the heavy air of the room. Lexa’s eyes moved from Clarke’s stare to her lips, back and forth. Clarke felt the change in the tension a bit too late, a small knot of doubt forming between her eyebrows as the stalemate remained.

Lexa licked her own lips again, her nails digging into Clarke’s biceps.

The motion sensor light of the room blinked off, and in darkness, Clarke couldn’t hear anything but their heavy breathing.

A small voice in Clarke’s brain told her to expect the kiss, but she still gasped in surprise as Lexa attacked her lips with the same urge she ran on the field. After the half second of awareness, Clarke responded to the kiss with equal force, pinning the girl against the shelf with her hips. It wasn’t slow and delicate, or explorative; it was hard, with tongues and teeth clashing for dominance.

“Fuck,” Clarke said when Lexa bit on her neck, a soft tongue licking over her throbbing pulse and sweat. There was a dry click sound between them, and Clarke groaned when she realized it was their groin protectors clashing under their shorts.

“Lexa—” Clarke attempted to say before being swallowed by another hungry kiss, Lexa’s hands already sneaking under her shirt. “Oh, fuck it.” Clarke surrendered as a warm palm cupped her through her sports bra.

----

how should I finish this drabble, oh faithful readers?

#ask the owl #drabble #abo #clexa #fanfiction #alpha/alpha

[owl127]

Korrasami The 100 Crossover

Ao3

Alpha!Korra, Omega!Asami, The 100 crossover, mix of personalities from both fandoms, Commander!Korra, Skaiprisa!Asami

Heavy silence filled the room, an uncomfortable setting as the ambassadors avoided the Commander’s eyes. Hormones picked up and Asami had to use her hand to block the strong mix of alpha musk.

She couldn’t avoid Korra for long, though. Pale blue eyes found her from the other side of the table, steady and dangerous. Fire burned beneath the icy stare, and Asami was one of the few in the war room that could see under the Commander’s stoic mask.

What she saw scared her.

“Leave,” Korra commanded with calm and authority, a flick of her wrist that none of the ambassadors dared to question.

“Heda.” Tenzin, her Fleimkepa, tried to prevent something that Commander Korra might regret later. She didn’t spare him a second glance, and he bowed in understanding.

As people left the warm tent, those haunting blue eyes never left Asami. She knew that the order wasn’t meant for her. The sound of retreating feet echoed from outside, and Korra’s boot scraped the floor as she stood. Like a prey seeing their end at the glint of a sharp canine, Asami stood, unmoving, waiting as Korra closed the distance with precision.

“Why do you do this?” Korra hissed, the words brushing Asami’s lips, but never touching. Black swallowed the blue in her eyes, forcing Asami to focus on the Commander jewelry on her forehead to not lose herself. “How dare you question me like this?” Rage seeped from Korra’s posture and her shoulders sagged like an under watered plant. “In front of the ambassadors, the council …” A flash of anger crossed her face, an unusual color on the Commander’s mask. Heat rose to Asami’s cheeks, and she looked away.

They didn’t touch. Korra didn’t cross that last inch between them.

“They want any reason to kill you,” Korra confessed in an intimate whisper that sent a chill down Asami’s spine. “And you keep giving it to them like a stubborn goufa!”

Words died in Asami’s dry mouth. Anger flooded from the woman before her, along an aura of pain and protection that left her in a balance of warmth and fear. She had never seen Korra react so strongly to her actions, so raw and open. Asami had hoped for a reaction after what she did, but she had never expected Korra to sound so ... hurt.

Asami lowered her head in submission. Strong fingers closed around her chin, nails biting at her skin.

“It’s not because I submit to you in private”—Korra’s hold on Asami lessened, and the touch became a shadow of a caress—“it means I will do it in public. Do not question me.” Korra’s other hand joined its companion on Asami’s face, forcing the green of the Skiprisa’s eyes to lock on pleading blue.

“You cannot seem like my weakness,” Korra said against full lips. “Even if you are.”

Asami expected the kiss, but the butterflies in her stomach erupted madly anyway. Korra didn’t push it, like last time; and exactly like last time, Asami searched for her lips as she pulled away.

”I overstepped,” Asami said, voice low. Shame teased the back of her throat. Korra nodded and walked to her throne without looking back.

The rest of the meeting went on without further dramatic events. Asami didn’t challenge Korra again, instead politely submitting to the Heda. A faint blush under a trace of smudged war paint on pale skin was the only sign of what happened between them.

After the conference Asami watched Korra leaving with Tenzin and the generals, supposedly to a more private gathering regarding the Triku defenses. Blue eyes stared at her with a silent longing that intensified Asami’s desire to follow her. She didn’t, though.

She wouldn’t challenge Korra again.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Stars hid in a moonless sky when Asami gave up on sleep altogether. The guard at her door spared her a curious look before following her down the hall of the Polis tower.

Two guards blocked Korra’s door, and they didn’t move as she approached.

“I need to see her,” Asami said, annoyed, but neither guard moved. “Please tell her I’m here.” No response besides a sideway glance from the pair of six feet grounders.

Asami huffed, and before she could do anything stupid like fight someone twice her size, she heard steps from the inside and Korra herself opened the door.

“Asami.” Korra’s tired blue eyes lighted in concern at seeing her there. “Did something happen? Are you hurt or—”

“We need to talk,” Asami said before any of the guards could stop her.

Korra nodded, and with a flick of her hand the guards made room for Asami to enter.

Korra spoke in trigedasleng to the guards and closed the door behind them.

The Commander’s quarters were warm, but one look at the bed showed Korra hadn’t been sleeping much either, with furs untouched and cold. Maps and letters filled the table by the farther end of the room illuminated by candles and a fireplace. Asami found Korra’s eyes and there was doubt under the usual softness Korra showed when they were alone.

“I’m sorry about today.” Asami took a step closer, noticing how the muscles on Korra’s arms jumped behind her back.

Korra nodded, a small smile playing on her thin lips. “I accept your apology, Asami kom Skaikru.”

Asami noticed the dark shadow under Korra’s eyes with her skin free of paint. She knew Korra hadn’t been sleeping in the past weeks, but without her armor and war-paint, she seemed younger and exhausted.

A woman with a burden too heavy to carry alone.

”Is there anything you may need from me?” Korra asked, her shoulders tense with her hands behind her back. Asami wasn’t sure if that was a request for her to leave, or, if she may dare to voice her desires, an opening for her to stay.

Swallowing her fear, Asami came closer to Korra, stopping a breath away, like they had been hours before when Korra kissed her.

“Actually, yes,” Asami said, her lips turning into a smile when Korra’s eyes zeroed on her lips. “I bowed to you in public to show my respect.” Roles reversed, Asami was now the predator, and Korra had no other choice than walk backwards until her calves met the wooden bed. “And you evened that for me in private. Now”—Asami locked eyes with cloudy summer skies, Korra’s pupils growing under the dim light—“I bow to you to show my submission.”

Never breaking their stare, Asami knelt in a smooth descent. Korra’s mouth fell open, eyes wide. Asami tilted her head to the side, exposing a long, beautiful pale neck.

They didn’t move for a moment as Korra processed the sight in front of her. Asami lifted her hands to Korra’s thighs, pushing with enough strength to make her sit on the bed, legs spread in front of gleaming green eyes.

“You have problems sleeping,” Asami started with a low tone, hands moving to Korra’s waistband. The tent forming between Korra’s legs was enough indication she wasn’t unwelcomed. “Please let me help, Heda.”

The teasing and truth of the last word broke Korra out of her trance, and she used her elbows to brace herself against the bed. “There’s no need for this,” Korra exhaled in a clipped voice, chest heaving.

“I strongly disagree.”

Korra’s protest morphed into a moan when Asami cupped her through her pants. Encouraged, Asami searched for the waistband again, pulling the string loose. One strong hand closed over hers before Asami could pull it down.

“What is this to you?” The pain and emotion in Korra’s voice surprised Asami. She had never seen Korra exposed and vulnerable. This side of the Commander was well kept, a promise veiled as a secret.

Asami never felt more valued.

She leaned down to kiss Korra’s knuckles over her hand. “Everything,” she confessed, a breath into the cracking fire.

The grip Korra had on her hand loosened, and Asami looked up to see her nodding.

She undressed Korra with a healer’s touch, pulling the rough cotton pants down in calculated motions. Korra watched her, hands fisted on the bed furs. She lifted her hips to help Asami take off her underwear, her erection full and pointing straight at her abs. Asami looked up at Korra for a final consent. Breathing hard, Korra nodded.

Korra’s stare left Asami to close in silent bliss when the omega touched her. Asami wondered when was the last time someone had touched Korra like that. Korra leaned back on the bed, one hand leaving the furs to grasp at Asami’s hair.

A smirk played on Asami’s lips at the sight; Heda Korra of the thirteen clans opened for her in a show of submission, power, and love. Wanting to offer Korra the best she had, Asami lowered her head to capture the tip of Korra’s erection between her lips.

The groan that escaped Korra made a shudder run down Asami’s spine all the way to her panties, dampening them with want. One of Korra’s legs spasmed next to her and she massaged the calf with one hand, Korra’s groan turning into a hiss.

Another hand joined its companion in Asami’s black hair, guiding her to take more of the Commander inside her mouth. Korra was a powerful alpha in many ways, and taking her completely inside would be a challenge , but Asami was determined to try.

Her tongue poked out to explore the underside of the engorged head, and that provoked a moan from Korra. Asami’s eyes searched the Commander’s face to find her craning her neck to look at her, eyes wide and drinking every detail. Satisfied, Asami licked the sweet spot again, moaning along with Korra to help with vibrations. She opened her eyes just enough to see Korra closing her own and abandoning her head on the furs.

“Asami …” The way Korra’s tongue rolled with each vowel was enough for Asami to clench around nothing. Korra was close already, hands shaking in Asami’s hair, and Asami was proud to be the one to give her Heda pleasure.

Her Heda. Sounded better than she expected.

Swallowing once to clear Korra’s cock from the precome, Asami leaned down to take her again, bobbing her head and sucking the alpha. The next words that tumbled from Korra’s lips were a hurried trigedasleng that Asami didn’t understand, but the plea in azure eyes told her what it meant.

The hands in Asami’s hair tightened, unsure if the omega would want to be trapped in Korra’s release. One pale hand closed over Korra’s, and Asami looked up as if to say, It’s okay.

Korra tried to keep eye contact; she tried to watch Asami’s lips running up and down her shaft, but when the omega combinated the vibrating and sucking, she was gone.

A scream ripped Korra’s throat into the quiet room, and she hurried to bite on her lips to not startle the guards. Her cock swelled further in the snug heat of Asami’s mouth, straining to shoot thick jets of come down the omega’s throat.

Asami took what she could, releasing thel twitching cock when her mouth couldn’t handle anymore. Korra’s hip thrusted up in the air to paint Asami’s face with more arcs of come, a strong hand still firm on black hair.

It had been too long, and Korra gave everything she had. She marked her abs, Asami’s face, the furs, and fuck, everything was a stick mess until she finally stopped coming. Asami sneaked up the bed to hold Korra through her aftershocks, though the alpha hid her face behind her elbow.

Asami used the furs to clean her own face, revealing a satisfied smirk. She snuggled close to Korra’s neck, waiting to feel the safe scent of her alpha. However, she found the uncomfortable stench of shame, which made Assim whine in confusion.

Korra moved her arm at that, turning to face a frowning Asami.

“I’m sorry,” Korra said, tucking her face into Asami’s neck in embarrassment.

“Why are you apologizing?”

Korra took a deep breath, her inner alpha preening at smelling herself over Asami’s skin. With heavy, sleepy limbs, she braced Asami and pushed them both further up the bed.

Asami waited for a reply that never came. She craned her neck to see the furious blush covering Korra’s ear and neck.

“Korra,” she started, and Korra buried herself deeper into her. “I enjoyed everything that happened in this room. Don’t doubt that.”

“I couldn’t even …” Korra’s voice muffled into Asami’s skin, hot and heavy. “And I’m terribly spent, unable to reciprocate and—”

“Stop it, okay?” Asami nuzzled the side of Korra’s face. “You’ve barely slept in weeks. Allow yourself the rest and pleasure you deserve.”

Korra huffed against her neck, but it wasn’t a protest. Or at least not a strong one.

Soft exhales evened out on Asami’s skin, and she smiled at the sleeping alpha. She pulled the furs up, molding their bodies together for more warmth.

Asami knew that with her alpha rested, Korra would do more than what they had done. The thought excited her, and she couldn’t suppress a smile when placing her head under Korra’s chin. With their height difference, it’s a position they could only do when lying down, and one Asami appreciated.

“‘Sami,” Korra mumbled in her sleep.

Korra didn’t need to say the words Asami saw in every gesture. She kissed the base of her neck and settled to sleep.

“I love you, too.”

#korrasami #reposting and old old one from a request #pls forgive past writing mistakes #the 100 crossover #i guess i was faster to write some good old smut back then #fanfiction #drabble #lok

[owl127]

Two times Weiss Schnee regretted finding the bees, and one time she did not

"We should wait until morning to cross the bridge." Jaune had a tone of finality when he spoke now. Weiss wasn't sure if that was because of his age or his suffering from loneliness and betrayal. Maybe both. "There are wolf-boar scouts at night in the Dark Acre."

That sounded as confusing as any other threat in this place, and Weiss had learned to respect them. At least a little bit more. She stretched her neck and winced at the knot there, massaging it with a gloved hand. The small clearing they called a camp was damp from rain and quiet with just the three of them. "Hey, are you cold?" Weiss asked Ruby, who blinked and shrugged, but her skin was cool to the touch. "Where's Yang with more firewood?" Weiss didn't ask anyone specifically, but Jaune shook his head anyway. One look around, and Blake seemed to also be suspiciously absent. Groaning, Weiss set out to the task of being the only responsible and mentally stable huntress in their party.

She knew what she would find before she heard the muffled laughter, and Weiss missed home a little bit more, even if the thought of home made her feel sick. But right now she really missed doors with locks.

"I don't mind it." Weiss heard Blake's voice, low and raspy, and she never wanted to hear it again. "It's part of you."

"But don't you think it's too cold? Or too hot? The heat transfer is insane with the metal," Yang responded, giving more information than Weiss was willing to process.

"I'm approaching this area!" Weiss yelled from about ten feet away from the giggling couple. "I repeat, I, Weiss Schnee, perfectly capable of hearing and sight, am approaching this area!" she repeated, to which the giggling increased. The nerve of these dorks.

Weiss crossed a tree line to find Blake's boots just hitting the ground, her jacket rumpled, and Yang's arms still shamelessly around her.

"Heya, Weiss," Yang greeted with a grin while Blake had the decency to blush.

"Unbelievable," Weiss murmured, arms akimbo. "You left a while ago looking for firewood," she accused Yang, who shrugged and pointed to the forgotten heap at her feet. "Ruby's cold," Weiss added with a drop of teasing, satisfied with Yang's furrowed brows. "I know this is exciting and new for you," she continued, "but not everyone is in the mindset to enjoy your honeymoon phase. So please keep your hands to yourselves."

"We were about to head back," Blake offered with a small smile. "Care to give me a hand?" There was a glint in her eyes as she asked Yang, but it took Weiss a second too long to catch up.

"No problem!" Yang responded, detaching her prosthetic while Blake piled it along the firewood.

"I can't," Weiss said before walking back into the tree line without a second glance in the direction of her adorable but insufferable teammates. "And you have a hickey, Belladonna!" she added triumphantly, marching back to camp.

0000

The rain never stopped. It fell mercilessly, and they haven't seen the sun in the Dark Acre for days. Ruby had barely been speaking, and the tension between their group was palpable, like a constant heartburn in the back of Weiss's throat. They had been taking turns watching Ruby, and tonight it was Weiss's time to try and convince their broken leader to eat.

"It's not that bad," Weiss said as she chewed on stale carrot-cheese, offering a piece to Little and another to Ruby. "It's aged cheese, if you think about it."

"Yeah," Ruby answered apathetically, turning her back to Weiss. Impromptu naps were another thing Ruby had started doing, which Little celebrated at first but then understood that it was a problem.

"Rest." Weiss tried to adjust Ruby's hood around her, but the girl shrugged her off. "I'll check on Blake and Yang for more food."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know." Weiss took a deep breath and stood on the moist ground. Her fighting skirt had seen better days, but she was Weiss Schnee, and she patted her thighs with grace and elegance as she set into the task of finding more food. Rain kept its ruthless pace, though as she walked farther from camp, it seemed to slow to an annoying trickle. Her hair was not doing well either way.

She found a tree with fruits Jaune would have to clear for them before eating, and as she spotted another fruitful tree, she heard a sound that made her stop in her tracks.

Not a grimm; not a Jabberwalker. Right now, not even Salem's laughter would make Weiss this instantly mad. Weiss groaned out loud at the sound of moaning.

"What have I done to deserve this?" Weiss expressed to the picked fruit in her hands. She located the source of the sounds, a small cave to the side of a clearing. Part of her wanted to ignore it and bleach her brain, but Ruby was alone and they needed food. Someone needed to knock some sense into those two. She expected such abhorrent behavior from Yang, but pulling Blake into it was too much. She left the fruit outside the cave and took a deep breath.

"Too much, too much." Weiss heard Yang's voice echoing in the cave, followed by a hiss. "Slower, Blake."

Weiss froze on her way inside because there was absolutely no way they were up to that.

"I'm sorry," Blake replied, her voice low and calm. A sound of kissing followed, and Weiss gagged. "I'm going to try again. Try to relax."

Weiss wanted to die.

"But you also need to push a little harder on the way out, or it won't work."

Scratch that. Weiss was dead.

She jumped inside the cave, her rapier in the air as her other hand covered her eyes. "I can’t believe you two are even in the mood for such lewd behavior!" she yelled, brandishing her weapon at nothing. "I’m giving you ten seconds to look presentable before I open my eyes!"

"Weiss, open your eyes," Yang deadpanned.

"Are you both dressed?" Weiss pressed further.

"Yes," Yang confirmed in a similar monotone. 

Weiss opened one eye first, scanning the cave quickly. Both Yang and Blake were indeed wearing pants, and while Yang had her jacket off, intimate body parts were 100% hidden. Yang’s arm was detached, and Blake’s hands were around the base connected to Yang’s scar. 

"It’s been bothering me since I got it back," Yang explained. "I usually need help when detaching the base."

Heat flared in Weiss’ cheeks. "Well, I see you already have assistance." Weiss nodded at Blake, her cat ears betraying the laughter her mouth managed to dampen. "I will be heading back to camp, then."

"What did you think we were doing?" One golden eyebrow was up, followed by a half-smirk. "Weiss Schnee, did you really think Blake and I were having s—"

"You have no limits, Xiao Long."

"How dare you"—Yang placed her left hand over her heart—"I would never."

"Is everything okay back in the camp, Weiss?" Blake asked before the teasing escalated.

"We’re looking for food."

"We won’t take long," Blake amended with a small smile. Weiss frowned at Yang, who grinned innocently as she left.

"C’mon, let me tell her," Yang said once Weiss was out of earshot.

"Don’t you dare."

"It’ll be good for her!"

"Yang, no."

"It was just some hand stuff," Yang said while shaking her prosthetic.

Blake couldn’t hold her giggles, leaning to kiss Yang’s cheek. "I love you… but let’s tone it down around Weiss. She might explode."

"We should set her up with Jaune."

"Yang, no."

0000

Through the sandstorm, Weiss heard the familiar shriek of a Nevermore. Wyvern and Lancers also took the sky, attacking at random intervals.

"Ruby. Ruby, open your eyes!" she begged her unconscious teammate. After using her eye power, Ruby had fallen limply, and it took most of what was left of Weiss' aura to clear the path to her friend. "Ruby!" she yelled, sand entering her eyes and mouth. "Ruby, talk to me!"

"We gotta bounce!" Nora yelled from behind Weiss. "I’ll help you carry her!"

"Wait, where are Yang and Blake?" Weiss asked with Ruby’s arm around her neck.

"They were the ones distracting the big flying chicken."

"The Nevermore?"

Nora shrugged, shooting a flying grenade in the direction of an approaching flock of Wyverns before helping Ruby up from the other side.

"Can you take her by yourself?"

"Weiss, we need to leave!" Nora’s statement was punctuated by Winter’s chilly attack somewhere above them.

"I’ll meet you back at Shade!" Weiss didn’t look back and ran in the direction of the fight.

"Weiss!" She recognized Winter’s voice. "You need to leave this instant!" Her sister had become overprotective since they returned, but there was a layer of fresh desperation in Winter’s voice as she landed next to Weiss.

"Have you seen Blake and Yang?" Weiss held her sister’s shoulders.

Winter’s eyes widened. "Winter?" Weiss insisted, but they had to break apart as a Lancer tried to sting her from behind. As the grimm froze to death, Weiss latched to her sister’s forearm. "What happened, Winter?"

"I saw the moment Yang’s aura broke. Blake was with her, but I haven’t seen them since. Weiss, come back here!"

Nothing could stop Wiess from finding her friends—her family. Hunters ran in the opposite direction, as it was clear they had been called to retreat. They trickled in behind Winter’s line of defense, but none of the hunters were Yang or Blake. She wasn’t going to give up; Weiss would fight wave after wave of grimm to find them.

Winter had taken Weiss by the waist when she heard the familiar sound of a high-caliber weapon.

Ember Celica.

"They’re here!" Weiss yelled before her sister carried her away. "Yang! Blake!"

"Help!" Blake’s voice, followed by more shots. Winter was gone in a flash, flying through the harsh storm in the direction of Blake’s cries. Weiss watched as Blake ran in her direction, with Winter carrying an unconscious Yang above them.

"We need to go!" Winter ordered, grimm’s growling intensifying with the lack of hunters. "Now!"

Weiss took Blake’s forearm, as her hand was occupied holding the left pair of Ember Celica. "You two need to stop running away!"

Blake chuckled a wet laugh, her eyes red-rimmed. "We love you too!"

"I’ll strangle you both once Yang wakes up!"

"Don’t give her ideas!"

"BELLADONNA!" 

#rwby #rwby v9 #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #reblob #weiss my beloved #bumblebly #bumblebee #rwby fanfiction #rwby drabble #drabble #they are in love your honor