#and that one sentence kinda softened that unevenness a little bit

[kokkoro]

violet blue 2/?

A little something for clexa halloween week. Day 3, but also kind of day 2 cause why the heck not. i was born for this kind of stuff.

summary: General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones.  Make love. Howl often.     Clarissa Pinkola Estes

or

being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (on ao3)

“Mrs. Jefferson came up to me today,” Clarke begins, the both of you standing hip to hip at the sink cleaning the mess dinner left. The kids doze off on the couch, a movie playing softly on the television.

“And what did Mrs. Jefferson want?” you say, handing Clarke a plate that she dries absently and then places with the others.

“She said Chloe saw a big dog wandering around our backyard.”

It’s a testament to your self-control that the bowl in your hand doesn’t slip from your fingers and plunge back into the kitchen sink. Your face is impassive, cool and controlled, but the time it takes for you to respond is more than enough for Clarke.

“Lexa.”

“I wasn’t caught unaware, Clarke, I took a risk.”

“And you failed,” Clarke says.

You turn to shoot her a glare, but you spot that curl to the corner of her mouth and you soften immediately at the unexpected amusement playing across her face.

“I didn’t think she’d see me,” you confess, handing Clarke the bowl and she leans into your side, chuckling. “It’s not funny.”

“Kinda.” she says, kissing your shoulder. “Chloe wants to know if you’re friendly. Her mother is more worried about whether or not you have your shots.”

Clarke laughs at the affronted look that crosses your face, putting aside the bowl to snake an arm around your waist and tug you close, thumb dipping below the waistline of your sweatpants. Your hands find her hips, still sudsy from the water, and she kisses your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, and you know what she’s doing and it’s working.

“Her mother asked me if it was okay for Chloe to come over and say hello,” Clarke says, her lips finally finding yours in a brief kiss. “Her father’s allergic, so they can’t have pets and--”

“And you want me to play the part? I’m the farthest thing from a house pet, Clarke.”

Her arms wrap loosely around your neck and you brush your nose against hers. “You’re basically a big german shepard.”

“A german shepard, Clarke? You insult me.”

‘Is that a no?”

“No.”

“No you don’t want to or no it’s not a no.”

You kiss her lightly on the lips and she lets you go when you pull away, fishing for the dish cloth in the luke-warm water to finish off the last of the dishes still soaking in the sink. “What are you going to tell the kids?”

“Is there something I should tell them? Besides to behave?”

You laugh at that. “They’re not exactly…” you trail off though, unable to find the right word.

Her arms circle your waist and you feel her against your back. “What was it you said about taking risks?”

“I said they were strong. There’s a difference.”

“Difference between what.”

“Recognizing that there are times when I can and can’t be their mom,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly tough spot of caked on spaghetti sauce. Simply the thought of having to ignore them for sake of humans and a world that isn’t ready for you is outrageous to you. “They’re toddlers, Clarke, they wouldn’t know any better. And they shouldn’t have to.”

She gives a you reassuring squeeze. “Then we’ll just make sure they’re preoccupied.”

“All because one little girl likes dogs?”

“You’d make her day.”

You huff under your breath, shaking your head as you place the last plate in the clean sink to drip dry. “Fine,” you concede after a moment and Clarke pulls you into a hug, pressing her forehead to the middle of your back

“You have such a soft spot for kids it’s unbelievable.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” you joke despite the serious tone to your voice and Clarke laughs.

“Not a soul.”

You’re waiting patiently by the entryway to the kitchen when Clarke goes to let Mrs. Jefferson in, a sleeping Madi draped over her shoulder and the other’s napping in the playroom. Chloe trails behind by just a smidge, holding her mother’s hand. She’s no older than your kids, four at the most and maybe as tall as Lily, with curly hair and large brown eyes and a cute little striped sweater. You trot over to Clarke’s side as the pleasantries are made, claws clacking against the floor, and take seat at her side.

When Chloe spots you her eyes go wide with wonder. Mrs. Jefferson jumps. “--good lord.” The hand at her heart gradually lowers, but the apprehension is more than apparent in her eyes. “And this is?”

“Heda,” Clarke supplies and if you could roll your eyes you would. She’s quick to follow up with, “My mother’s german shepard. We’re dog sitting for the week.”

“A little big for a german shepard.” Mrs Jefferson muses. “He’s good with kids?”

“She’s great,” Clarke says, the unsaid obviously hanging between them.

You’re only paying half attention to the conversation around you, focused mainly on the little girl partially hidden behind her mother’s legs. She stares at you and you wag your tail, letting your tongue loll out of your mouth. You feel more than a little ridiculous, but she giggles, clutching tighter at her mother’s pants, and it’s worth it.

“Can I, momma? Can I?”

Mrs. Jefferson eyes you suspiciously, but after one look at Clarke, who smiles and gestures encouragingly, she leads her daughter closer. You lay down, stretching lazily, and then rest your head on your paws. Chloe seems unsure of what to do now that she’s close, and she looks back to her mother before squatting in front of you. Her hands are small, covered partially by her sweater sleeves, and when she reaches out to pat you lightly on the head you’re reminded just how precious children are.

“Good dog,” she says seriously, and you hear Clarke try to stifle her giggles against Madi’s cheek.

Clarke and Mrs. Jefferson move into the kitchen to chat, but they keep an eye on you and Chloe from their seats at the table. Not that they need to. You’re more than capable of watching her by yourself even in this form, but that’s not exactly something you can say. She sits between your front paws, reaching for your ears that you flick away from her grasp and running her little fingers through your thick fur. She’s as gentle as human children can be, which is far more than you’re used to. What with every one of your children besides possibly Lily feeling the need to test all their boundaries with their teeth. It’s a welcome change of pace to be sure.

You nudge her with your nose when she tugs a little too hard, the coldness causing her to recoil giggling, and that’s the moment Danny chooses to come hurtling from the other room, roused awake from her nap by who knows what but certainly feeling a bit left out.

“Danny!” Clarke yelps, bolting upright from her chair, Madi still held close, and in some form of a miracle is able to snag her daughter by the back of her shirt before she barrels headlong into your side.

“Momma!” she says, directed at you, eyes pleading as if you’ll free her from Clarke’s grasp.

“Is at work and will be back later just like she promised,” Clarke says, holding fast, and the glance she shares with you is uncanny in its resemblance to Danny’s. Imploring. You’re not sure what they think you can do.

Danny goes limp, her frown large and exaggerated, and Clarke’s grip loosens in stages until she allows Danny to wriggle free. Your daughter stumbles over to you, sidling up close to rub her face in your fur. Chloe eyes her warily and you shift to nudge Danny with your nose, licking at her cheeks and she presses closer.

“Do you like dogs too?” Chloe whispers, and Danny peeks from your fur, giving a small nod.

“Yeah,” she says, just as soft, fingers threaded tightly through your fur, holding on.

Chloe smiles brightly at the admittance and you hear Clarke sigh. You turn to watch as she settles back into her chair, rubbing Madi’s back. You know she’ll be hungry soon but so does Clarke.

She places Madi down gently when she begins to wiggle a few minutes later and she hobbles over the moment she’s stable on her feet. Her steps are uneven and a bit clumsy, and she drapes herself over you, giggling. you flop onto your side with a dramatic huff. Clarke likes to say you baby them, but who doesn’t like to be warm.

Clarke invites Mrs. Jefferson and Chloe to stay for a little snack but the offer is politely declined. You can hear your children in the other room slowly rousing from their naps. Mrs. Jefferson picks herself up from her chair to retrieve Chloe from where she’s found a spot next to Danny, babbling intently as the both of them lounge against you, Madi playing with your paws.

Chloe stops mid sentence when her mother hoists her up, taken aback by the sudden predicament. “No,” she pouts, cheeks puffed and squirming. From what you can see, Danny looks just as disappointed.

“I’m sure Mrs. Woods will let us visit Heda again sometime.”

“Clarke,” your wife insists, a small smile toying at her lips. “You can call me Clarke.”

Mrs. Jefferson smiles, adjusting Chloe on her hip. “Thank you again, Clarke.”

“Anytime,” Clarke says, glancing at you before walking them to the door.

You sigh, a whine building in your throat as you stretch. Standing up takes a bit of wiggling, though. Danny clings when you’re like this, but you growl playfully and she takes the hint, giving you space to clamber to your feet. You give a whole body shake, enjoying the aftermath as you watch Madi attempt to replicate the action with little success. She ends up toppled over on the carpet but at least it looks like she’s having fun.

You peer around the corner into the hall to make sure the Jeffersons are gone and then climb the stairs to your room, nosing open the door and padding across the room to the dresser. The shifting feels natural, a mindless stretch and an ache in the joints of your limbs. You remember when it used to be painful, but those memories feel far away now.

The door creaks as you slip a t-shirt over your head, pulling it down over your bare thighs, but you’d know Clarke’s footsteps anywhere. It’s an unintentionally quiet presence, soft as she slips an arm around your waist, her other hand pulling your hair gently from where it's still tucked under the collar of your shirt. She brushes the mass over your right shoulder, her lips finding where your shoulder and neck meet.

“Next time I’ll be the dog and you can entertain the parents.”

You chuckle, placing a hand over Clarke’s. “I don’t know, I quite liked it.”

“Softie,” she mutters against your skin before picking up her head and kissing your cheek. Her arms falls from your waist, giving your butt a light pat, and you turn to watch her over your shoulder. “Steak sound good for dinner?”

“Is that even a real question?” you say, unable to hold back your grin.

Clarke doesn’t even bother trying. “Put on some pants. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You turn away mouth stretched wide in a smile and you take your time, rummaging through the drawers for a pair of sweatpants, and you pull them on one leg at a time. They hang loosely, and you pull the drawstring tighter as you make your way back downstairs, tying it in a simple bow and then readjusting your tee.

Clarke is surrounded when you finally pad into the kitchen. Lily has attached herself to Clarke’s left leg, thumb in her mouth as she watches Clarke stir the pot on the stove, and Jack and Danny have taken to roughhousing not two feet away. Aden however, has taken to explaining the complexities of fitting a round object into a square hole to a mostly uninterested Madi who sits in her high chair, her tray littered with brightly colored toys. She spots you near instantly and the smile she beams at you makes your heart melt.

Clarke turns at the sound of Madi’s giggles, her eyes following her daughter’s line of sight to find you and she smiles too. It’s this soft little curl, a blush clinging stubbornly to her cheeks, and she pats Lily’s head before returning to the food.

“Careful,” you say at the two by the table as you make your way over, voice a tad lower than normal, and Danny stops mid pinch. That doesn’t stop her brother from taking advantage of the distraction and digging his pointer finger into her side.

Danny yelps, pulling away. She cocks her tiny fist back as far as it will go and you lurch forward to catch it before it hits it's mark.

“Danny--” Her name comes out in a breath. “Hitting is not how we solve things.” Danny looks at you, disgruntled, and you wait a few moments before letting go of her fist. You turn to Jack next and he refuses to look you in the eye. “And the next time you do that I’ll let her hit you back and we’ll see how it feels.”

“Lexa,” comes Clarke’s voice, and you look up to see her shake her head.

You turn back to your son. “Apologize, please, Jack.”

It’s a moment, possibly two, before he says sorry very quietly and then scrambles off toward the living room by himself, finding a spot on the floor with the toys left scattered about.

“At least it looks like the biting phase is over,” Clarke says softly once you’re close and you smile in spite of yourself.

“The small victories.”

There’s a slight breeze that night that carries in through your open bedroom window, the wind as it carries through the trees, curtains fluttering gently. The roads are silent past eleven o’clock, the cars this far off and distant rumble -- you can hear Clarke as she breathes, reclined next to you on the bed with a book propped on her stomach, and it’s so easy to feel lulled by it. Your arm is draped over her hips and she traces the inside of your wrist with the tips of her fingers and you can’t help the content hum that lingers deep in your throat.

“Are you at the station tomorrow?” she asks softly.

You don’t bother opening your eyes, managing a small noise of acknowledgement who knows how many minutes later, but you clear your throat a little afterward and say, “Early.”

“Anya need help with something?”

“There was a homicide downtown and their only lead ran off.” You grow quiet again, feeling the dip of the bed as Clarke reaches to turn off the light. She shifts with the sheets, trying to find a comfortable spot tucked close to you, and she does, settling warmly pressed to your front, head tucked under your chin and her hands seeking the heat under your shirt. The sigh she let’s out when she stills is one of pure satisfaction.

“She wants me to find him,” you mutter in the darkness and you feel her smile against you.

“Putting you to good use then,” She says, tangling her legs with yours.

“I’m good at what I do, Clarke.”

The wind picks up and she huddles closer. “Mm. The best.”