#clexa fic

[ambii15]

Shattered Reflections - Chapter 33: No One

“Lexa,” Clarke croaked. “N-no one is coming.”

There was a distant crash and a curse that caused the both of them to crouch and duck behind a different wall. Both were increasingly aware that their current position was indeed not the best place to be holding this conversation. Not that any other room in the gallery was much better given the current situation and the villain slinking around. 

Lexa focused back on Clarke, ears keenly listening to any movement heading in their direction, “What do you mean? What happened to your phone?”

A slight pang of heartbreak rang through Clarke’s chest, “The towers. Th-they went out before we could even try to make the call. But Elijah has a radio on him. I had to try and come out here to get it. It’s our only chance.” 

Continue reading here!

[clexaweekofficial]

Clexaweek2024 ~ a free for all~

This year for Clexaweek, rather than assigning themes to the days, it's a free for all. Post whatever you want! Create something new, or update a Work in Progress. Share and support each other's work, leave comments, share fic recs and reblog your favorite art. Post on March 3rd!

If you would like to make something new and want a theme - you can send me an ask for a prompt idea, or feel free to check out years worth of prompts here.

Guidelines for posting here.

To view previous clexaweeks, here's a link.

Have a great 2024!

[femininenachos]

Hello lovely. I’ve been thinking about vacation au. Please tell me Clarke runs into Lexa swimming in some crystal clear Grecian water and wells has to close her mouth for her.

(Not quite, but close!)

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

By mid-morning the narrow streets near the harbour are already swarming with island hoppers fresh off the ferry. More line the quayside, waiting to board the day cruise that takes in the larger, more populous archipelago further down the coast. So-called ‘jewels of the Aegean’, they’re feted for being playgrounds of the rich and famous, boasting a slew of luxury resort hotels, designer boutiques and staggeringly expensive seafront restaurants.

For all its charm and scenic vistas, at least Polis has one foot in the real world. Here, craggy-faced fishermen and dock hands in scruffy overalls are hard at work unloading the morning’s catch, doing their best to ignore the clusters of tourists floating around, or at least tolerating their presence with stoic indifference.

And—it’s possible Clarke might be biased—Polis has Lexa, currently leading the charge like a woman on a mission. Clarke sticks close, her hand in Lexa’s sure grip, hurrying to match her loping strides as they make a beeline for the marina. Along the way they pass an assortment of small motorboats in all shapes and sizes, from dinghies and jet skis to skiffs and cabin cruisers and everything in between, until a gleaming white single-masted sailboat comes into view at last. 

Clarke stops dead in her tracks on the cobblestones, fingers slipping from Lexa’s.

Her jaw drops.

“Is this yours?”

Lexa glances over and laughs at Clarke’s expression. “I make good tips, but not that much.”

She points to the modest vessel moored next to it, an open-top vintage deck boat with a walnut veneer interior and burnt orange leather upholstery that’s bleached from exposure to the sun and the salty sea air. ‘Spirit of Polis’ is written in blue cursive script on the hull.

“I mean, this one’s great too,” Clarke is quick to respond. She styles it out. “Not so flashy. Compact. Classic. Nice, uh, sleek lines.”

Lexa peers over the top of her sunglasses, lips subtly twisting to the side. “It belongs to my uncle, so you don’t have to worry about offending me or the boat.”

She puts down the cooler containing their provisions of cold drinks and extends a hand to help Clarke aboard. A little unsteady on her feet at first, Clarke holds on tightly for support while she finds her balance, shifting her weight to counteract the bobbing motion of the boat as water sloshes against the sides. Once she’s confident she isn’t going to fall flat on her face or, worse, into the harbour, she takes a few cautious steps to reach the small seating area at the rear. She shrugs off her tote bag to stow under the bench and situates herself, the sun-scorched leather burning hot against the backs of her thighs.

From this safe perch (and prime ogling spot), she watches Lexa collect the thick rope that tethers the boat, tossing it onto the deck before she gracefully hops across with the cooler and gets behind the controls. Full of poise at the helm, like it’s second nature to assume command, the signature pout in place as Lexa lifts her chin like she’s surveying her nautical domain. 

It goes without saying that the whole preppy, boat-captain vibe is one hundred percent working in her favour.

Shades on. Hair spilling down her back in glossy chestnut waves, the ends getting whipped around by the wind. Appealing in her pale pink button-down worn over a snug white tank. Shirt open and catching the light breeze, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a hint of muscle definition and the ink that encircles her bicep. Tight little navy blue shorts hug her hips and ass in ways that are about to cause a major international incident at sea, because Clarke is far from looking respectfully.

“Ready?”

When her eyes snap up, she spies the half-smile on Lexa’s side profile, as though she detects the unholy thirst emanating from mere feet away.

Clarke gives a slow, absentminded nod, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as her eyes make another involuntary sweep down Lexa’s form.

“Clarke.”

She gets a hold of herself, breathing in deeply, and with it the spell is broken.

“Mm? Oh, yeah,” she says, feeling a resurgent wiggle of anticipation about this mystery adventure they’re about to embark on together. All Lexa was willing to divulge when they met is that it’s Polis’s best-kept secret, a spot known only to locals, unreachable except by boat, and so far unspoiled by tourists. Clarke had feigned offense on the last point, but soon dropped the act when Lexa tilted in for a kiss that went on and on and made her stomach clench. Each time Clarke started to retreat, Lexa would chase her mouth and draw her back in for more. 

Her lips are still tingling.

(Both sets.)

“At least give me a hint about where we’re going?”

The enigmatic smirk that plays around Lexa’s mouth widens a fraction. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m also stubborn as hell and won’t take no for an answer, so jot that down.”

It earns a laugh, one Clarke is fast becoming enamoured with, and she can’t control the warm tingle that goes through her when she hears it or the rush of elation she gets from bringing a rare grin to Lexa’s face. 

“Good to know,” Lexa says as she reaches for the ignition key. Her next words are almost lost to the splutter and chug of the engine before it roars to life. “I like a challenge.”

~*~

Within an hour, they reach a small, secluded cove surrounded by sheer limestone cliffs, the ancient rock sculpted by wind and waves, where sparse scatterings of tall, rugged pines sprout precariously from narrow ledges in defiance of the elements.

It appears like a mirage, shimmering into view: a bay of dreamy, pristine, white-gold sands and crystal clear turquoise waters, serene and inviting, and there isn’t a soul in sight. The closest thing they had to company was the pod of dolphins they spotted off the starboard (Clarke learned) side about twenty minutes ago. She’d gasped and clutched Lexa’s arm, bouncing on her heels in sheer delight. But it was the look they shared, brimming with joy and something unaccountably softer and fonder, that made it all the more magical, the moment already locked into Clarke’s memory.

“What do you think?” Lexa asks.

Lost for words, Clarke shakes her head in silent awe.

She turns to Lexa, and the smile Lexa directs at her, eyes bright and glowing in the sunlight, leaves her just as speechless. When Clarke finds her voice at last, it comes out thick, clogged with emotion; touched and amazed by the incredible beauty of what she sees—the place, and the woman who brought her here. So moved that she’s dangerously close to shedding a tear, her vision glazing over. 

She blinks the moisture away.

“It’s…” She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. Lifts her eyebrows. “Wow.”

She doesn’t second guess the impulse to wrap an arm around Lexa’s waist, to plant a soft, grateful kiss on her jaw.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.” 

Full lips twitch at the corners. “My pleasure.”

With one hand resting on the wheel, Lexa drapes her free arm around Clarke’s shoulders. They remain like that, Clarke hugging Lexa’s side and taking in the spectacular scenery as Lexa guides the boat in at a steady rate of knots.

“I can’t believe this place has stayed under the radar. You’d think tour operators would be running excursions out here every hour until sunset.”

“Clarke.” Lexa grows serious all of a sudden, and that only makes Clarke want to kiss her again. Coax another smile. “You must promise not to tell anyone. It’s how we preserve it for future generations.”

Clarke schools her features, pretending to match Lexa’s gravity.

“Well… it’ll cost you. My silence doesn’t come cheap.”

The slight frown Lexa wears smooths out as soon as she catches on. A quizzical eyebrow flexes in a way that’s rudely attractive.

“Name your price, but don’t forget I work in hospitality.”

“I’m not interested in your money, Lexa. What I want” - Clarke trails her hand over Lexa’s hip and the perfect curve of her backside to give it a slow, purposeful squeeze, relishing Lexa’s intake of breath and the darkening of her gaze as she glances at Clarke’s lips - “is you.”

She meant to say “your body” but she doesn’t correct the verbal slip. Because, yeah, she does want to bend Lexa into all kinds of shapes like a pretzel, but she also has a deep desire to learn more about Lexa as a person, to find out what makes her tick, beyond what she likes to do in bed.

Lexa takes it in stride regardless, easing back into the confidence she has in spades.

Something about the slope of her smile signals she’s about to gain the upper hand. 

She shrugs.

“Okay, deal.”

The enduring gleam in Lexa’s eyes before she turns her attention back to the sea gives Clarke palpitations. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out the engine noise and the crash of the boat breaking the waves. 

~*~

They drop anchor a short distance from the shore, an easy swim from the dazzling white sands. Not yet ready to take a dip, preferring to bake in the heat for a while first, Clarke spreads a large beach towel on the deck for sunbathing. She senses Lexa’s attention on her as she shimmies out of her shorts and shucks her loose tee to reveal the red halter neck two-piece that Octavia helped pick out after breakfast. 

(“Hellooo, mama,” Octavia had drawled after Clarke emerged from the en suite and gave a reluctant twirl. She’d let out a low whistle as she ran her eyes up and down. “Almost wish I was tagging along just to watch Sexy Lexy’s head spin 360-degrees before it explodes. The twins ain’t playing.”)

At the time, Clarke had rolled her eyes and fought a blush but she’s glad she went with O’s suggestion.

Aware of her present captive audience, she proceeds to get comfortable on her back. One knee bent, an arm tucked behind her head as a pillow, showing off her best assets like a 1950s calendar pinup girl. Even behind the dark tinted lenses of her sunglasses, she sees Lexa’s eyes hungrily trace the shape of her body. Clarke basks in it, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, secure in the knowledge that she’s not just a snack, she’s the whole damn meal, and Lexa looks like she wants to devour every last crumb.

But Clarke’s smugness is short-lived, because in the next moment she’s the one left gawking when Lexa wordlessly strips down to the skimpiest pair of bikini bottoms and not a stitch else, brow quirking up as she peers over her shoulder then dives off the deck, slicing through the water with barely a splash.

Clarke quickly levers up onto her elbows to watch Lexa surface seconds later, hair slicked back and plastered to her skull, a sly little tilt to her lips as she treads water.

“Come on in. The temperature is perfect,” she calls out, looking every inch the siren that lures thirsty sapphic sailors to their deaths. 

Clarke tries to cling on to the last vestiges of composure she has remaining.

“Gonna work on my tan for a little bit.”

The pout returns and she laughs, “Soon!”

Grabbing the tube of sunscreen from her nearby tote, she squeezes a large dollop into her palm. While Lexa does slow laps around the boat, Clarke liberally reapplies the lotion, slathering it on until all the exposed skin within reach is covered.

Before long, she hears Lexa climb the ladder onto the swim platform, accompanied by the rush of water cascading off her body as she rises out of the sea.

The soft slap of wet footfalls draws nearer.

“Lex?” Clarke twists around. “Could you do my—”

She stalls mid-sentence, only cognizant of her fingers closing hard around the tube in her hand when a spurt of lotion shoots out, splattering across her thigh and the towel. 

She doesn’t even flinch.

All Clarke can do is gape and stare, watching rivulets of water run down the slope of Lexa’s bare chest. Eyes drawn inexorably to taut nipples and golden skin that glistens under the sun, to the long, lean lines of Lexa and the scrap of luminous orange fabric that sits low on her hips.

Clarke’s belly tightens, arousal flaring hot between her legs.

(A voice in her head that sounds disturbingly like Wells tells her to close her mouth.)

She has to remind herself to breathe. 

Is thankful for the oversized shades that partially mask her expression, because she isn’t in control of what her face is doing right now. But if Lexa’s lip-bitten smile is any indication, it’s a lost cause anyway.

Casually wringing the water out of her hair as she approaches, Lexa glances at the milky white streak on Clarke���s inner thigh. 

“Not the first time I’ve made a girl squirt.”

Clarke mutters a sarcastic “ha ha”, rubs the lotion into her skin, then wipes her hands on the edge of the towel before she reclines again. She fakes nonchalance when Lexa sinks down beside her, but it’s impossible to ignore the butterflies.

She rolls her shoulders and stares at the sky above, fixating on the solitary vapour trail that cuts across the endless blue.

“Speaking of previous liaisons... do you bring all your conquests here?” She’s mostly kidding, but there’s an undercurrent of needing to know too. She peers at Lexa. “Or am I one of the lucky few?”

A slow shake of Lexa’s head before she leans over on her elbow, closing in and partially blocking the sun, and Clarke’s skepticism must be plain to see, because Lexa looks so intensely sincere now, no trace of a smile or any disingenuousness when she says: “It’s the truth, I swear.”

Still, Clarke has her doubts. There’s no way Lexa isn’t tripping over hot women throwing themselves at her feet and this boat trip is too well-orchestrated not to be a tried and tested seduction technique. 

Clarke peels off her shades to look Lexa square in the eye, and that frank, steady gaze pierces straight through her.

“I mean it, Clarke.” 

The space between them shrinks. 

Lexa’s pupils dilate as her focus shifts to parted lips. “You’re special.”

Water drips off the ends of Lexa’s hair onto Clarke’s shoulder and chest, and whatever rebuttal she had dies in her throat. She’s the one to reach out, gripping Lexa by the neck to tug her the rest of the way and kiss her like Clarke’s been dreaming of all morning.

As soon as Lexa throws a long leg over Clarke to straddle her, knees bracketing her hips, she needs no further convincing.

It’s on. 

She dips her tongue inside Lexa’s mouth and slides both hands up Lexa’s rib cage to cup her breasts, a shiver running through Clarke when she feels the hard poke of nipples against her palms. She kneads, and the low, throaty noise it earns her sets her nerves alight, warm tingles suffusing her body.

They kiss deeply, greedily.

They kiss until Clarke has to drag her mouth away to gulp down some air, only to have the oxygen punched out of her lungs once again when Lexa uses the opportunity to shove her bikini bottoms off, scoop her mane of wet hair to one side and resettle against Clarke’s thigh. With her hands planted on either side of Clarke’s shoulders, Lexa holds herself up as she starts to work along the tensed muscle.

The slick, molten feel of Lexa, sliding against her skin, riding Clarke, makes her burn. She lurches up into the next kiss, hungrily reclaiming Lexa’s mouth, urging her on with a grip on her ass, and that shaky little hitch of breath in the back of Lexa’s throat whenever the friction gets her just right succeeds in getting Clarke wetter and wetter too. At this rate, she might come before Lexa does, and the odds only increase when Lexa takes Clarke’s hand and guides it between her legs. 

“Use your fingers.”

Another surge of heat floods through Clarke at the instruction, hearing the normally smooth, modulated tone of Lexa’s voice roughed by need.

Clarke studies Lexa’s face, watching for the tiny flickers of reaction as she runs her fingers lower, fascinated by each and every twitch and jolt and slight gasp as she explores. She dips in and drags the wetness up to swirl around Lexa’s clit and is rewarded by the sharp jerk of Lexa’s hips and quite possibly the dirtiest kiss of Clarke’s entire life. She needs no prompting to slide through slick heat to tease at Lexa’s entrance again, fingertips doing a couple of slow swirls before she pauses. 

For a beat they remain suspended in a freeze frame of anticipation. Each holding still, a breath caught in their throats. 

On the exhale Clarke pushes inside.

And fuck, she missed this. Touching yourself is great and all, empowering, fantastic for stress relief, et cetera. But nothing beats the sound another woman makes when you enter her for the first time, when you hear that shaky intake of breath and you feel her clench around your fingers.

“Good?” Clarke asks. 

Lexa nods, bottom lip held between her teeth as she looks down at Clarke with hooded eyes, the green of her irises nearly eclipsed by black.

Part of Clarke can’t quite believe this is her reality. That she’s buried to the knuckles and Lexa is moving on her, rolling to meet the steady pump of her wrist. 

She glances between their bodies and a groan escapes, another sharp twist of lust coiling in the pit of her stomach once her eyes fasten on her own two fingers coated with Lexa’s arousal, fucking into her. But Clarke pries her eyes away, roving over tight abdominals, taking in the curves of Lexa’s tits and the jut of her nipples, torn between wanting them in her mouth and watching her fingers disappear inside again.

It’s Lexa’s half-stifled whimper when Clarke’s thumb finds her clit that sharpens her focus. 

Winding her arm around Lexa’s lower back, Clarke sits them upright and swiftly brings their lips together. The abrupt change of angle has Lexa gasping hotly into her mouth. Again, louder, when Clarke’s palm rubs in. Lexa grips her by the shoulder and the back of her neck, blunt nails digging in as Lexa grinds down harder, faster, speeding towards the climax—the first of many, if Clarke has her way—sucking in short, sharp gasps while Clarke keeps pace, despite it being hell on her wrist.

They’re hardly kissing at all now, mouths hanging slack and sharing the same air, noses pressing into cheeks as they pant against one another’s lips.

She soon feels the first flutters, the growing tension in Lexa’s form, the choppy motion of Lexa’s hips and the careless scratch of her nails at Clarke’s nape. She curls the tips of her fingers on each partial drag out then slams back in, lifting Lexa an inch off her lap with each thrust. Clarke keeps the heel of her palm tight against Lexa’s clit, the pressure firm and constant, and in the next collection of halting, rapid breaths, Lexa’s whole frame pulls taut. A ragged cry is torn from her throat and she clenches hard, coming in a hot spill around Clarke’s fingers. Lexa shudders through it, a tremble in her jaw when she catches Clarke’s mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss, licking into her with a groan that makes Clarke gush in turn.

They remain in a heavy lip lock long after the tremors subside, neither inclined to separate. Restless hands weave through Clarke’s hair then seek out her curves, roaming down her chest with purpose, pushing under the top half of her swimsuit. She gives a low hum of approval when Lexa’s thumbs roll over the tight tips of her nipples, the ache mirrored in the dull, pulsing emptiness between her legs.

She feels close to orgasm already, like if she got even the tiniest bit of friction she’d go off like a rocket. Just a small shift of her hand to grind against her own knuckles would do it. But the way Lexa is touching her breasts, palms running all over, teasing her nipples into stiff, hypersensitive points, might be enough to get Clarke there.

And all the while, she’s still inside Lexa. Fucking her lazily with slow presses of her fingers, incapable of much more vigour when her wrist is screaming. She’s debating what to do next, whether to withdraw and flip Lexa onto her back for round two or continue like this, when a distant droning noise intrudes, faintly audible above the gentle lap of water, the thick, wet squelch of Clarke’s hand working between Lexa’s thighs, and their combined heavy breathing.

Growing more distracted by the second, Clarke draws her mouth away. She squints at the horizon beneath the shade of her free hand while warm lips meander along her jaw and down her neck.

She ceases her movements, despite Lexa’s meaningful buck of her hips and the subsequent small growl of complaint when Clarke fails to take the hint.

“What’s—” Teeth nip at the fading hickey on her throat and she gasps, hand flying to tangle in Lexa’s damp, curling hair. But as the object begins to resolve itself, Clarke tenses for a different reason. “Is that a boat?”

Lexa abandons her sulk to look too.

A white shape is rapidly approaching, throwing up sea spray, sunlight glinting off the surface and the waves and making it difficult to discern from this distance until… oh. Oh, yeah.

Letting out a string of (presumably) expletives in her native tongue, Lexa scrambles off Clarke to scoop up the clothes strewn across the deck. She pulls on her tank top, yanks the shorts up her legs, and has just enough time to arrange herself into a casual pose beside Clarke before the other boat reaches them. The occupants are obnoxiously young; late teens or early twenties, as far as Clarke can tell from a distance; a bunch of bikini-clad girls and lanky guys in board shorts hanging off one another as music blasts.

She sighs inwardly. Grits her teeth and refrains from giving them the middle finger while they whoop and cheer in passing, beer bottles held aloft as they thunder towards the wooden jetty.

So much for the sexy beach idyll. Clearly, not everyone has such reverence for the tranquility of this spot.

“Shall we stay a while or…?” Clarke hedges. 

Lexa purses her lips and casts her stormy gaze around, jaw working side to side in rotation, but a gentle touch on her leg pulls her focus back to Clarke. 

Consternation softens into regret.

“You didn’t even get a chance to swim or feel the sand between your toes.”

“I’ll cope. Besides…” Clarke wets her lips and drops into a huskier register. “It wasn’t a total bust.”

Lexa’s mouth twitches, clearly fighting a smile, and to Clarke that’s a win.

“Come on, don’t let these pesky teens ruin our hot date,” she continues in a playful tone. “I bet you have a few aces up your sleeve; other favourite haunts to wow the ladies with.”

One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “We do have the boat for the rest of the day. I could take you somewhere else. For lunch, if you’re hungry yet?”

Clarke gives a noncommittal hum, lightly trailing her wet fingers along the soft skin of Lexa’s inner thigh. “I could eat.”

The suggestive undertone isn’t lost in translation. Their eyes meet and Clarke dares to make it explicit.

“But lunch wasn’t what I had in mind… unless we’re counting pussy as a food group.”

Lexa loses the battle against keeping her smile under control. The tips of her ears are tinged pink. “Are Americans always so forward?”

“Um, I don’t recall any shyness on your part two nights ago.”

Dainty little ears burn brightly while Lexa’s smile grows, becoming toothier, and Clarke just wants to smooch that perfect face all day long.

“Anyway, I prefer the term ‘go-getter.’ As in, I see someone I want and I go get her.”

A pained groan. “I should leave you stranded on the beach for that.”

“Hey!” Clarke swats at Lexa’s knee in retaliation, but Lexa catches her hand, holding it captive. Clarke sniffs for dramatic effect. “I was going to let you strip me out of this bathing suit later, but now I’m strongly reconsidering.”

“If it helps sway your decision, I’d definitely appreciate seeing you naked again.”

“And how would you show your gratitude?”

“Mm. At least three times, and maybe twice more with the strap if you’re into toys.”

God.

“Okay. Alright. Well, lucky for you, I’m kind of dying for you to fuck me so I guess that clinches it.”

It’s about as far from playing it cool as could be, but Clarke doesn’t care. The truth is she’s soaked, aching for relief, and she isn’t picky about whichever method Lexa might use to get her off, as long as it happens soon.

Eyes flashing dark, Lexa cups a hand behind Clarke’s neck and pulls her mouth to hers. Clarke reacts without thought, already opening up to accept the slide of Lexa’s tongue before her brain catches up and she remembers they’re not alone.

Cracking an eye open, she’s relieved to see nobody on the other boat appears to be paying them any attention. She attempts to evade the next kiss, only for Lexa to pursue it more doggedly, and that makes Clarke smile even as she lays a palm on Lexa’s chest to gently hold off her advance. The mini pout on Lexa’s face when they pull apart is a treat, and Clarke can’t conceal her enjoyment of it. Unable to resist the lure, she steals one final peck. 

For a few indulgent seconds, she luxuriates in the softness of Lexa’s full bottom lip, until it dawns on her that an hour-long return journey stands between them and more orgasms, and she sighs. 

“Why isn’t teleportation a real thing yet? Having to wait a full 60 minutes to get you under me is so unfair.”

Slowly, with the greatest delicacy and patience, Lexa brushes their noses together, one side then the other, nudging the tip before she withdraws. Despite the sun beating down on her back, it gives Clarke chills, shivers running down her neck and arms. For the duration she just holds still and melts while her stomach flips, and the butterflies that had lain dormant return in full force. 

When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted by the slight, sloping smile on Lexa’s lips and her stomach does another somersault.

“I’m starting to think you’re only interested in me for sex,” Lexa says lightly.

Clarke lets out a small scoff. “You’re the one with a one-track mind. I was minding my own business, soaking up the rays, until you pounced.”

“Can you blame me?” 

Lexa’s heated stare roves over several inches of cleavage before she forcibly drags her eyes back up. 

“Actually… I have a confession to make.” She draws that plush bottom lip, still slightly swollen and red from kissing, between her teeth. “I dropped a tray of drinks at work yesterday because I had a flashback to you sitting on my face. Anya yelled at me and I didn’t even give a fuck that she deducted it from my tips.”

Heat rises in Clarke’s cheeks, triggered by her own vivid recollection of events. She won’t forget it in a hurry and she’s flattered to hear it was just as memorable for Lexa too. But also, it feels like a point of pride that she made Lexa’s cool girl veneer slip, even if she wasn’t there to witness it in person.  

“Now I feel partly responsible for this tragic loss of earnings and broken glassware.”

“I said you were trouble.”

They inch closer, eyes glued to lips, their breath hot on one another’s faces.

“How can I make it up to you?” Clarke asks.

“I have some ideas.”

Her mind can’t help going to the aforementioned strap.

All smiles, they surrender to the magnetic pull. The world around them recedes. There’s only Lexa’s mouth on hers, soft yet urgent, and the tingles that erupt all over, Clarke’s pulse accelerating when long fingers thread into her hair again.

And it’s sublime. 

Close to perfection.

She can almost hear the swell of imaginary violins soundtracking the moment—until a smattering of shrill wolf whistles pierces through the bliss. 

The kiss breaks on a huff of shared, quiet laughter. Clarke’s eyes slide across to the jetty, where they’re being enthusiastically toasted by their neighbours. She groans and drops her forehead to Lexa’s shoulder, breathing in the saltwater, sun-warmed scent of her before showing her face again.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Clarke says.

The long, lidded look Lexa favours her with, eyes shaded darker by desire and the hint of some deeper emotion that feels altogether too big, too soon to acknowledge, has Clarke battling the urge to launch herself at Lexa’s lips again, regardless of the unwanted spectators nearby.

“Keep that up, Lex, and they might really have something to holler about—and possibly livestream on the internet.”

A faint smile reappears. “What am I doing, Clarke?”

“Looking. Giving me those” - she gestures vaguely - “eyes.”

It loosens a small laugh. Lexa lowers her gaze and Clarke regrets mentioning it now, because it feels like the sun momentarily disappearing behind the clouds when Lexa’s thrilling, singular focus isn’t on her.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” 

Lexa looks up, and the restored eye contact makes Clarke’s blood pump faster.

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Maybe I like it more than I should, considering.”

“Considering…?”

“I won’t be here next week.”

Pragmatic; matter-of-fact. A reality check and a casual reminder they both need to hear before they throw themselves headlong into… whatever this thing is between them: it has an expiration date.

In the lull, Lexa scans every millimetre of Clarke’s face and she hopes the nerves don’t show through the front she’s putting on.

After a moment, the corner of Lexa’s mouth lifts into a smirk, but it seems slightly forced. Her eyes are more pebbly, neutral grey than green. “Then let’s make sure you have good memories to take home with you.”

[clexmas23]

Hey Everyone!

7 days of Clexmas will begin on the 17th of December and end on the 23rd this year, so get ready!

Reblog or send this post out to anyone you think will enjoy it!

How To Participate: Fanart, fanvids, fanfics, moodboards, photo manipulations, fic recs, anything that jingles Clexa - let’s see it!

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Clexmas23 #7DaysofClexa

Dec. 17 - Day 1: Basically A Hallmark Movie Dec. 18 - Day 2: Naughty or Nice Dec. 19 - Day 3: Under the Mistletoe Dec. 20 - Day 4: Snowed In Dec. 21 - Day 5: Winter Wonderland Dec. 22 - Day 6: Spiked Eggnog Dec. 23 - Day 7: Free Day

[clexa-surrogacy-au]

Between Our Love

Chapter 10: Fifteen Seconds

Lexa floats, like a piece of driftwood, in the strange in-between world in the middle of consciousness and slumber. The car rocks gently around her, the radio hums, brief flashes of light break up the darkness behind her eyelids, and Lexa lay cradled in the center of it all, curled up in her seat with the seat warmers on, suspended in that place of limbo where time has no meaning.

At least, until the soft murmur of Clarke's voice breaks through the fog as if from a great distance. Lexa stirs, awareness gradually returning to her. Her lashes flutter as she blinks, cracking her eyes open to see Clarke looking at her with fond amusement.

"Sorry to wake you. I just— I'm coming up on the last toll and I can't find the coin purse. I think it's in the glove box. Which…" She gestures vaguely at the swell of her stomach, one hand still on the wheel. Which she can't reach. Right.

Lexa unravels her legs and spares a moment for a languid stretch before she opens the glove box to pluck out the frog-shaped coin purse she'd hidden there when they'd stopped for dinner earlier. They're already rolling up to the toll booth, so Lexa opens it up and counts out the change Clarke needs, handing it over to her. She yawns, feeling much more awake by the time they're gaining speed again.

"We're close," Clarke tells her, nodding toward her phone plugged in its holder on the dashboard. Lexa doesn't need a glance at the map to tell her that, though. She breathes in deeply and the scent of pine fills her lungs. They've already made it to the outskirts of Polis. The road ahead is flanked on either side by familiar pine trees, stretching up toward a night sky that's starting to lighten, the surplus of stars dwindling as the city's distant artificial lights bleach the sky.

Read more on ao3

[vmplvr1977]

mors non est finis (death is not the end)

Lexa Woods has been in love with Clarke Griffin for two hundred fifty-seven years. But it wasn't until Lexa's first death that she finally admitted it.

OR

The Altered Carbon AU. Death is never the end, when one can jump into a different body after death. But none can jump from one body to the next as seamlessly as a Commander. Lexa knew she loved Clarke from the beginning. So, when a tragedy forces them to choose between permanent death and joining the Commander Program, neither girl hesitates.

Unfortunately, their love is strictly forbidden, as Commanders aren't supposed to love or even experience emotions. But time nor death can keep Lexa and Clarke apart.

[blu3haw4]

For this Clexaweek, I'll try to write for last year themes as I make y way updating my WIP's. So here it is, For day one: Childhood Friends, an update and final chapter to this one.

Here's a summary:

Lexa, the future Queen of the Kongeda and Clarke, daughter of one of the biggest noble families of Polis, have been best friends since they're kids. As they grow up they start considering their feeling for each other, but the world and time were they live in is not on their favor. Chapter two is full of different moments of their lives, as they navigate to their happy ending.

Thank you for the amazing moodboard to @thecrimsonknight

Happy March third kru! Merry Clexaweek 💖

[hedawanheda]

secret recipe- part vi

posting this here because not sure if the ao3 email notification went out! But the new chapter is up, let me know what you think!!

[aphrodites-law]

Clarke wakes up eight years in the future, where her college best friend happens to be her girlfriend. Part 5/? (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4)

It was such a beautiful day that Clarke almost felt bad they’d sit in a dark movie theater for two hours. Lexa seemed happy to just hold her hand as they walked down the street, chatting about one of the business projects she was working on. 

Clarke knew questions about Lexa’s work were like flirting with danger. There was no way Other Clarke didn’t already know everything about her girlfriend's career, while she could barely hold the conversation. Parks and the environment had never made her feel so dumb. Luckily, Lexa didn’t seem to notice any gaps in her knowledge — or lack thereof. 

If Clarke was still on edge about the whole situation, at least it would’ve been nice to have some advantages. Her memory being so selective was a thorn in her side. It was like she was forced to walk this future with horse-blinders on because she might break it irreparably otherwise. It was all so… careful, tailored, that Clarke was starting to reconsider her stance on dorky sci-fi. Maybe Raven had cobbled together some kind of monstrous time machine and then stored it in Lincoln’s basement. 

“Do you want Milk Duds?”

Clarke tried to refocus. They’d arrived at the concession stand of the multiplex, where  a teenager was shoveling popcorn in a paper bag. Clarke didn’t remember this theater in particular, but the buttery-sweet smell put her at ease. Lexa and her went to the movies whenever they could, treating themselves to sweets. It was familiar territory for once — there was nothing to worry about. 

“No, you always hoard them,” Clarke replied mindlessly. 

“Do not,” Lexa protested. “You just take forever to eat them.”

“You have to suck the chocolate first.”

“Here we go.” 

“What kind of person just bites into them right away?!” 

“I don’t know you and I don’t hear you.”

Clarke grinned, finding it so much easier to fall into their banter than more serious exchanges. When the teen set their popcorn on the counter, she reached for her purse to pay but heard a snort and the smooth swipe of Lexa’s credit card.

“Yeah, right,” Lexa said. 

They made their way down the hall toward their screen. 

“So I can’t pay for my own food at 30?” Clarke teased. 

“Not the day of, grandma.” 

“Wow, look who’s talking now.” 

Lexa pinched her ass so fast that Clarke let out a startled gasp. 

—

It was a coming of age story on the raunchy side, with loud scenes and moody visuals in nightclubs and college dorms. Clarke felt completely disconnected from the story, knowing she would forget it soon. The more obvious reason was that they were done with the popcorn and now Lexa had her hand on her bare thigh. 

She wasn’t even… doing anything, but it was there, and Clarke didn’t care about any character or any damn plot point because her best friend’s fingers were touching her skin. She could admit that much. 

The real mistake had been comparing how Lexa and her usually acted at the movies. Sitting next to each other, sharing food or candy, but never… touching with purpose. Inevitably, Clarke wondered how she would’ve reacted if her Lexa had ever attempted this. If she’d held her hand and made no move to let go. Clarke wanted to believe she would’ve been effortlessly cool about it, but her current state showed otherwise. 

Breathing was a tall order and her hands felt clammy. There was no one behind them at least.

“Lexa…” she whispered, glancing at her. 

Lexa had a small smile but seemed otherwise focused on the movie. Her hand inched up higher, beneath her dress, and then stilled again. 

In the cover of darkness, Clarke realized her assumption she’d be safe from her own desires was a joke. The secluded but still public space made it worse – forbidden in the kind of way that made her ache. Now it made sense why Lexa had responded so positively to her movie suggestion. 

From the way her body was reacting, Other Clarke clearly had a fantasy for this type of situation, and Clarke had tapped right into it. Which was unfair, because how could she know she enjoyed this before she even knew it! 

“Fuck,” she cursed, her fingers digging into the armrest. With her free hand she reached for Lexa’s wrist, a weak attempt to stop her.

“Lexa,” she repeated quietly. “What are you doing?”

Lexa drew small circles on Clarke’s skin, like an apology. Only it wasn’t. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured a few seconds later. “Sit back.”

There was… no way. Clarke couldn’t. She couldn’t. But her heart had started pounding and the heat in the pit of her stomach felt unbearable. She knew this feeling but never this intense. There was no scenario where she didn’t take care of this. And to Lexa, there was no scenario where she didn’t care of this. 

Which was exactly why Clarke needed to choose her next words carefully: “Not here,” she pleaded, and then: “I’ll be too loud.” 

It had the effect Clarke had hoped for. Lexa lost all semblance of control and looked at her, her mouth parted open and her expression unreadable. Yet in the dark room, Clarke could still see the change in her. Could feel how her hand’s soft touch turned into a possessive grip. Fingers pressing into flesh, then her thumb rubbing against the spot as if she worried she’d hurt her. 

Lexa was quiet for a beat, then cleared her throat and gathered their belongings. “Come on.”

She’d entwined their hands without Clarke even realizing it, or maybe it was her who’d reached out first. Clarke wasn’t sure she could tell left from right anymore, or if she could even walk to wherever it was Lexa was taking her. They left the room discreetly, but the lights in the hall did nothing to snap Clarke out of her mounting desire. 

It felt like the fight had been lost the moment she’d suggested they go slow. Slow had meant eventually, and with Lexa, eventually seemed to only take a few hours. 

—

The restroom was miraculously empty for now, but the toilet stall Lexa had dragged her in was a tighter space than expected. Clarke felt a thrill.

Lexa pressed her against the door with little restraint, hand cupping her cheek as she kissed her deeply.

Clarke pulled back and looked into her eyes, knowing she didn’t want to stop her. It wasn’t just how her body reacted to Lexa’s hands or mouth. Wherever they were, from the comfort of their apartment to the cramped confines of this stall, she felt home. Home with Lexa. Attuned to her touch, her smell and her taste. The most mind-bending, confusing event of her life was happening, yet she felt safe. Tethered to this new life as if it was her own. Or could be, at least. 

Lexa rubbed their noses together. “Breathe,” she whispered. 

Clarke tangled her fingers in her hair. “I’m okay. Just wondering… why the toilet is the romantic setup I get.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa replied with a smirk. “You love traditions.”

“Tradi-”

Lexa kissed her again, her full lips like warm velvet against hers. She kissed her until it almost felt silly that was all they were doing, and really, Clarke was sick of fighting this. She reached for Lexa’s hands and brought them to her breasts, where Lexa needed no further instruction to palm them. 

“Fuck, Clarke, I can’t do the whole slow thing anymore.”

“You can’t?” Clarke repeated pointlessly, too lost in the feeling of Lexa’s hands on her body. 

“It’s your birthday,” Lexa said against her neck, inhaling when Clarke tilted her head to the side. “And I have so many presents to give.”

Her hands went down to her waist, her ass, and then pushed her dress up. She never looked away from her, smile growing as Clarke’s eyes darkened. 

“Lexa…” 

It was all she could find to say. Just the name of the woman in all her thoughts. She felt so needy; a need to connect with Lexa in all the ways they never did in her time. She pulled her close and kissed her, chasing her tongue. When Lexa moaned, she was reminded of what she’d told her earlier – how her kisses felt different. Clarke thought, good, let them be different. Let Lexa be surprised too. It was only fair. 

Lexa’s hand was beneath lace in a matter of seconds, fingers finally pressing against her. 

“Oh, god,” Clarke breathed out, knees buckling. 

“I’ve got you,” Lexa promised, firmly holding her thigh up with her other hand. 

When she entered her, Clarke’s body felt so overcome with pleasure she briefly worried she’d come on the spot.

“So wet,” Lexa husked in her ear. “I wish I could get on my knees. But not yet.”

Fuck. Clarke closed her eyes, thankful for the small mercy. She wouldn’t have been able to stop Lexa from licking into her if she wanted. Not even for a second. She could only focus on her fingers filling her, harder and faster with every moan that slipped out of her. 

Lexa took her quickly, like she worried someone would rob them of this moment if she didn't. Or couldn't wait to see her fall apart. Her eyes never looked away and her skin had a slight shine under the harsh light. She’d never looked more confident; more beautiful. And Clarke felt attractive too, though… with her tits nearly out of her dress, her leg hooked around Lexa’s waist and her fingers buried deep inside her, she should’ve felt dirty. And well, she did, but not in a way where she’d later feel empty. Where she’d be reminded she was someone you had fun with, but that was all. Lexa made her feel like a fucking bombshell. Was showing her that they were on the same page in every facet of this relationship.

Clarke wanted to last longer but couldn’t, needing release like she needed air. It hit her hard, just as Lexa found a different spot and adjusted her angle, because of course she knew every inch of her body. She muffled her moans in Lexa’s top, though she doubted it helped.

Lexa pressed small, tender kisses on her neck while she rubbed her clit in tight circles, whispering I love yous between Clarke’s sighs. For a moment they simply came down the same euphoric wave together, not in a rush to find the world again. When she finally pulled out, Clarke whined in protest. She couldn’t get enough, now wanting nothing more than to make Lexa feel the same. 

She’d crossed the line, and there was no part of her that wanted to go back. 

[heda-in-the-clouds]

Finding Your Love by Moonlight

Clarke Griffin did not want to be at this Halloween party right now. She was dragged here by Raven, whose girlfriend, Anya, was hosting said party.

Dragged here against her will, Clarke refused to put any effort into her costume, chosing to simply wear her old Sailor Moon shirt, a nod to her old childhood crush.

However, Clarke did not expect her current crush, Lexa Woods, to be at this same party. Moreover, Clarke was not prepared to see Lexa dressed immaculately as Sailor Moon.

In stark contrast to Clarke's pathetic shirt, Lexa wore the full costume, including the iconic blonde wig, white gloves, red boots, and the signature sailor uniform with its sinfully short skirt.

To her embarrassment, Clarke was spotted by Lexa from across the room, making her feel so underdressed compared to her crush who strutted towards her.

"Nice costume. I didn't know I had competition, Clarke." Lexa giggled.

"Thanks, Lexa." Clarke nervously replied as she found herself face to face with her real life crush dressed up as her childhood crush.

"But let's be honest. You're actually Sailor Moon with your costume. You look amazing!" Clarke confidently reaffirmed as she checked out Lexa from head to toe.

"Thank you Clarke. That means so much to me." Lexa smiled widely as her cheeks blushed from Clarke's compliment.

"I actually made this costume myself. My guilty pleasure is cosplaying and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to dress up as my favorite superhero. I swear I had the biggest crush on her." Lexa gushed.

Clarke's eyes widened in surprise. She couldn't believe Lexa, the hottest girl she knew, was into cosplay and shared the same crush as her.

"No way! I had a crush on Sailor Moon growing up too. She was actually my bi-awakening." Clarke confessed with pride.

Surprisingly, the conversation flowed easily between them once they discovered their shared love of Sailor Moon. Clarke loved seeing how passionate Lexa became when she discussed how she made her costume so it didn't come as a total surprise when Lexa asked her

"Hey Clarke. Would you like to take a closer look at my costume? We can go somewhere quieter and more private like my room if you want."

"I'd love that." Clarke eagerly replied as she allowed Lexa to grab her hand and lead her away from the party towards her room.

Coming soon to AO3

I'd like to thank the lovely @lexa-griffins for creating this amazing moodboard for me and beta'ing this drabble

Also, here's my manip of Lexa in her full Sailor Moon costume

[deviltakesthewaltz]

Scene in chapter 8 of DTTW that I didn't get to include but it totally happened:

Clarke’s eyes narrow as she notices the squirrels literally flying across the road. 

“Um. Are you? Are you moving the squirrels out of the way?”

“They fuck up your car, Clarke.”

“They’re squirrels. Your car fucks them up, they don’t fuck up your car.”

Lexa glances at her, aghast. "You hit them on purpose?”

Clarke makes a noise of outrage. “What? No! I’m not a monster.”

Lexa lapses into a grumpy silence. When another squirrel goes flying through the air, Clarke can't suppress her smirk any longer.

“That is adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“So adorable. Do you think they remember? Do you think they devote their life to you after? The Commander and her army of squirrels.”

“I’m going to crash on purpose.”

“Just don’t hit a squirrel.”

[macolethings]

Coming this Clextober to AO3... Witch's Chimney!!

Now on AO3

@mozz14

[audi0med1c]

Out-of-Context Snippets of my fanfic (2):

Clarke had already made good on her plan to get Lexa sweaty again this morning, twice.

"Clarke," Lexa moans as the blonde kisses her way back up the brunette's body, using her nose to nudge Lexa's face to the side so she has better access to the commander's neck.

Lexa feels fingers glide down her skin on their way back to her center, swollen and sensitive from coming twice already.

"Clarke, today would be a very bad day for me to not be able to use my legs."

"Shhhhhhhh" Clarke hums into Lexa's neck, dragging her tongue along the brunette's jawline before nipping at her chin. "I'm still in charge as long as you're in this bed, remember?" She coos, before planting a kiss on the girl's lips, smiling against her mouth, whispering, "And I say I'm not done with you yet."

A more fleshed out, adult-themed fix it, on both archive and wattpad that jumps in at 3x7 and further explores Lexa's character, her past trauma, and her struggle with love vs. duty.

[clexmas23]

Hey everyone! October is right around the corner and that means Clextober23 is coming up! 7 days of Clexa will begin on the 25th of October this year, so get ready! 

We can have all things Clexa with the spooky vibe of Halloween or Autumn sweater weather feels. Reblog or send this post out to anyone you think will enjoy it!

How To Participate: Fanart, fanvids, fanfics, mood-boards, photo manipulations, fic recs, anything that screams Clexa with a spice of Fall/October/Halloween - let’s see it!

7 Days of Clexa: This will be 7 days of Halloween/Fall-themed posts. Reblog Share Repeat! Send out ideas/prompts to your favorite writers and artists! Don’t forget to tag!  #Clextober23  #7DaysofClexa Oct. 25 - Day 1: Spirit Week! Oct. 26 - Day 2: Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice Oct. 27 - Day 3: Annual Fall Festival Oct. 28 - Day 4: Magical Nights Oct. 29 - Day 5: The Other Side Oct. 30 - Day 6: Vampires vs. Werewolves Oct. 31 - Day 7: Free Day

[clexas-wh-0-re]

Clexa forever !!! <3

[vmplvr1977]

Chapter 13 is posted!!!